hell_in_highheels | [oom] Hunt (Cubefall, Day Three)

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[oom] Hunt (Cubefall, Day Three)

For once, River is actually awake before Richard. Her whole body is flush with excitement. Today she takes the final step. Today, they will visit the Library and find a book with a full moon and prey, and she will hunt beside him for the first time.

She watches him as he sleeps. Watches the way his chest rises and falls. Watches the dreams flicker across his face. She knows about the nightmares, knows there are times when he relives that night over and over again. But tonight she thinks she succeeded in wearing him out, as he is sleeping as soundly as she's ever seen him sleep.

She casts an eye at the clock. It's a quarter of five. She can wait forty five minutes, she thinks.

And so she waits.

And watches.

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She blinks, confused at the aggression, and a bit bewildered at Dam's response.

Grinning briefly at the dog, she looks back at the black werewolf and then looks down, leaning forward to brush her muzzle against his chin.

You?

He relaxed as soon as she blinked, ears splaying sideways a bit as his mouth opened in a smile.

Glad you're here. Wherever here is. He licks her nose, then rises a bit to look around. Dam?

New place, sir, just for tonight. Should be safe. Water's a short trot upwind.

The black werewolf turns his attention back to him, ears listening to their surroundings. Well done. To River: Can you stand, pup?

She doesn't know. Her limbs feel -- odd.

So she tries, feeling the new muscle stretch. Ooo, stretching feels good. She tips her chin up and yawns, a nervous flashing of teeth. Her arms come up and out, and she splays her claws, curling them in just as quickly.

As she stretches her torso, she feels the emptiness of her stomach.

She turns back to him, ears flat, whining a bit in the back of her throat. Hungry.

All right. Can fix that. He grins a bit, standing. Dam's ears get tousled with his knuckles as he passes him, headed upwind.

We'll find a trail at the water. He doesn't look back.

He's hungry too.

Edited 2009-06-01 03:32 (UTC)

She follows him, her eyes taking in the woods, searching, seeking. Everything in this world is new to her, and while she seems to know instinctively that there are very few things that actually pose a threat, she is still wary. He is her mate, she knows this, but there's something new about him as well. She does not know quite where she fits in this new order yet.

The night is quiet here, and she can hear the sound of running water ahead of them. Something small darts away through the leaf litter and without a thought, she's chasing it, crashing through the brush with a singular intent. It goes to ground in a wide mouth hollow and her jaws snap closed on empty air.

She growls in frustration, pacing around the hole for a few steps before she realises they did not join her. She races back to rejoin them, following her own scent back to them.

Here she comes, yips Dam, wagging his tail. You can't catch prey like that. You gotta be sneaky!

Too small anyway. Come on, pup, you have a lot to learn yet. It's patiently said, but one ear flicks a bit in annoyance as the black werewolf turns away to finish the trek to the water.

It's a good sized stream gurgling past and there are several sets of track leading down to and away from the water. He crouches at the water's edge, using one hand to steady himself, and laps up a quick drink.

Here. This scent, this is deer. We'll follow this.

She flicks her ears right back at him, before looking away, ignoring him pointedly until they get to the stream.

At the water's edge, she slots in beside him, brushing against him as she also bends to drink. Her nose wet and cold, she whurfles in his ear.

Like the way you smell.

And then she turns to identify this new scent, drawing it from ground and the set of hoofprints in the soft mud and up the bank. She stands back to her full height, breathing it in.

Prey.

He laughs and twitches away. Cold! In his ear! But she's standing again and he joins her, bumping her shoulder once.

Prey, he agrees, testing the wind as Dam gets a drink too. Young, male. Good chase.

Come on.

She bumps him right back and falls in behind, content to let him lead for now.

Besides, this way she gets to run through warm banners of his scent as well as following the fading ribbon of the prey scent.

They'll have to run for a bit, but that's okay. Running is good. He keeps his nose to the wind, one ear on their surroundings, and one ear on them.

It takes time, but eventually that prey scent starts to grow stronger and running turns more and more to stalking.

She's watching him, watching Damocles, trying to mimic their movements, but the musk of the deer is richer here, stronger. It's making her mouth water. All around them the forest seems to be holding its breath as the predators pass by.

Her belly grinds against her backbone, reminding her she needs to eat and soon. She can't contain the low whine in the back of her throat and her ears press flat to her head as she hears herself.

Quiet! and Shhh! he and Damocles both say at once.

If the deer hears you, he'll run.

And we'll have to wait to eat. The black's ears flicker uncertainly. Maybe you should wait here.

Dam bumps her thigh. He didn't let me hunt my first time either.

She bumps Dam back and moves to brush against her mate, rubbing her muzzle against his shoulder. Sorry. Please don't make me wait. I'm strong. I can do this. Please?

He stands tall and unmoving for a moment but finally bends down to nuzzle her ear.

All right. Stay quiet. The scent is strong and we're nearly there. Watch your paws.

And then it's back to creeping slowly forward so as not to startle what they're hunting. It really isn't much further and the black werewolf freezes and hunkers down the moment the young buck is in sight. Dam crawls forward at his side, alerting on the animal but holding his place for now.

She does watch her paws, freezing when he freezes, and then very carefully creeping through the undergrowth on the upwind side of the buck. The smell isn't as enticing here, and she can think more clearly.

The creature's head comes up and it looks almost directly at her but she is the same color as the leaf litter, and keeps her eyes downturned. She does not even breathe until it goes back to grazing.

She crouches down, quivering with restraint, her body poised like a nocked arrow, ready to let fly. Finally in position, she looks to him, waiting his signal.

He's tempted to try tactics, but tactics with a puppy is like asking Dam to stop panting. It could be done, but not easily nor for long.

Better to rush the animal, get in a hard strike, and follow the blood trail if that doesn't take it down.

Go. He bursts from the undergrowth, catching the tips of his claws in the deer's side, trying to pull it down. Dam comes in on the other side, jumping high to avoid the flash of rear hooves.

River follows, angling behind Damocles, all her power focused on prey, not really knowing where or how to hit.

Instinct takes over and she feels herself leaving the ground, aiming for the only vulnerable spot she can see as the deer flees. Her claws slash into the soft white belly. She smells blood and lunges again, her jaws clamping on a hind flank, but her grip is no good.

The buck chambers the leg and in an terrified frenzy, lashes out with razor sharp hooves, catching her across the muzzle, slicing her open to the bone.

She yipes, tumbles away, coming up snarling, more determined than ever to see this thing ended.

Dam's latched onto the withers of the animal, weighing it down. He's on his hind legs, hopping along with the deer to keep clear of its hooves.

Richard rushes forward, fixing his claws in the back of the deer's neck this time, gripping tightly. He ducks low, nearly crouching, then snaps up again to catch its throat, biting hard.

She watches as the arterial spray coats his muzzle, watches the creature crumple and fold beneath the power of his strike. It's over and done with by the time she catches up, and as much as she wants to rip into that flesh, something makes her hold back.

It's not her kill.

The hunger twists inside her and she howls her frustration at the sky.

He looks up at her a bit startled, ears pricked forward as he licks the blood off his snout. Then he snorts and moves in on the deer's abdomen, ripping in to get at the liver.

Won't take long, Dam pants next to her, giving her a bump. Once he starts on the liver, then we can eat too.

Damocles is right: it doesn't take long till the black has the intestines sprawled across the ground and is pulling out a deep red smooth looking chunk of meat.

Kay, now we can eat, Dam says happily, starting to creep in at Richard's side.

The blood smell is enough to drive her mad all over again, but she waits until he looks at her again. Dam is getting his mouthful and still she waits. Lower than the dog in the pack hierarchy. She does not like this.

Finally, he glances at her and she crouches, teeth bared, ears pressed flat against her skull, her own blood running down her cheek.

Hunger gets the better of her and she darts in like a shark, tearing off a hunk of meat and backing away again just as quickly, swallowing it whole.

Neither male pays her any mind, both intent on their own feeding. Dam, at least, carefully avoids whatever area the black werewolf is chewing on. The dog works at the rib cage, pulling off strips of meat and cracking bones to try and get at the heart and lungs within. Richard is still in the guts, pulling out the kidneys now.

If it weren't for their black fur, both of their faces would be stained red.

She edges in, baring her teeth at the dog, backing him down. Her jaws fix on flesh and bone and she tears, rips, crunches until the dark meat of the heart is exposed. Her fur is paler than his, and the blood stains it black in the moonlight. She feasts, losing herself in the feeding, her hunger only sated after long minutes. When she's done, a considerable portion of the carcass has been stripped clean.

Dam's stomach is smaller than both of theirs. Even picking at the edges of the kill, he's full long before either of the werewolves. He lays off to one side, drowsily licking his muzzle clean.

The black one pulls off the femur, daintily stripping off the last of its meat before cracking the bone to get at the marrow within. It's a last treat; there isn't enough left on the carcass to make it worth bringing back to their makeshift den.

Her ears prick at the crack of the thick femur bone and she comes to investigate what he's doing. She makes eye contact, and blinks, but does not look away as she moves close and starts washing the blood from his face.

My mate.

Even in canine, the sentiment is quiet, as if more spoken to herself than to anyone else.

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