The New Meeting - In which events begin to happen

[Runfast]

Talltree, warrior of Moonclan, was buried in the snow. No, nothing was wrong with him, he wasn't hurt. He was hunting. The think about Moonclan territory was that there was very little cover to be found anywhere. To counter that problem, the warriors of Moonclan hid in the snow. I mean, there was just so much of it!
Only the tip of Talltree's nose was apparent, his dark eyes invisible in the shining white.
His apprentice was nearby.

A bit earlier...

"We do what?"
Raypaw wasn't quite sure whether or not she believed her mentor.
Talltree looked a bit impatient. "We bury ourselves in the snow." He spoke with more articulacy, like he was speaking to a kit.
The white she-cat didn't look convinced. The warrior sighed. "Do you see anywhere else to hide?"
Raypaw looked around the frozen landscape and shook her head.
"We make use of what we got," he finished. "Just dig a hole, get in it, and let the snow fall back in. You'll still be able to see and smell if you do it right. When the prey gets close enough, wait for it - then explode out of the hole."
"Explode?" Raypaw looked amused.
Talltree wasn't. "Yes. Explode. Snow is heavy in large enough quantities. Better you make noise and jump out of a hole then to be silent and trapped like a fool."
He turned away from her and went to digging his own hole...

Now...

Raypaw was freezing. Dig a hole - yeah, right. Bet he's off chuckling somewhere with a big pile of fresh-kill. The apprentice sighed heavily, the snow melting for a moment in front of her.
There was nothing - no birds, no foxes, no deer - not anything, nowhere. This STINKS.

[Longstorm]

Not too far away, Windface was buried himself. The pale gray's darker face was concealed nicely under the blinding white just so...
His eyes narrowed at the sound of fluttering wings. There! Just in front of him, a mountain-bird was eating the dead bugs that he had brought with him.
The warrior bunched up his muscles, then - "YAAAAGHH!" His yowl was muffled by the falling snow, but the bird squawked in terror a split second before he snapped its neck. He sighed, satisfied with the size of it. "Thank you, ancestors, for the life of this creature," he mewed solemnly.
Burying yourself was one thing, but burying prey was something else entirely. It was a bad idea. It just was. The snow had a habit of stealing away all scents. There were apprentices who lost their prey seasons back and found it perfectly preserved when they became warriors.
Windface picked up the bird and carried it a ways until he found a large jutted stone that stuck out of the snow. There was a ledge, and he set the bird there with a young white hare he'd managed to surprise.
The tom sighed, a plume of warm breath turning to steam in the frigid air. It's a good life.
The warrior turned around and headed towards a small patch of winter-trees, looking for another place to bury himself.