Nustril flopped around uselessly in the water as the nearby thud of metal on wood startled him and he tried to find his feet. His nose tested the air and his whiskers wiggled as he did so. Carefully pawing his way out of the stream he went to investigate the source of the noise. Surely his mistress had done something nearby, though he did not yet know she had played a prank on him.
When he found the dagger embedded in the trunk of a tree he let out a feline sigh with a little bit of growl behind it. Then his ears perked, as did his whiskers. She had made a mistake in this, if she had not fled afterward. Without making any sudden moves to give away his intentions he looked carefully at the dagger. Testing the air with his nose again, as if confused, he turned slowly in the direction of the stream. In truth he was not interested in the smells.
His eyes traced the trajectory of the throw. It was difficult to determine an exact direction, but her little cave was the only suitable hiding place from which to emerge and then retreat into once more. Snarling in victory he began to thunder toward her with all the boundless energy of an eight-hundred pound kitten. She would be squished, and then she would receive slobbery kisses, and then she would admit defeat!