The Glory of the Hunt [Half Truth, Flame of the West]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Water and mud splashed the green doe’s belly as she galloped after her quarry. The animal was in a panic; she could smell the tang of fear on its breath, feel the poundering and stammering of its heart. Its racing pulse was sweet music to her, a staccato rhythm driving her forward, calling to her. “Keep up! Keep up! I’m almost had!” The joy of the hunt rang through her body, her muscles taut with anticipation. She enjoyed the chase most of all, even more than the kill. Her lithe, hard body was built for this. This was the fun part. The kill itself was utilitarian; the only logical conclusion to the chase. She would be the victor; this was her race to run and win, and the meat at the end was her laurels. Her quarry was fleet of foot and swift of mind; it zigged and zagged, changing directions with lightning’s speed and precision.

It was no match for her. She had stalked it a great distance, only recently honing in on it, letting it know she was there and that its life would soon be ending. It had panicked and bolted, and in that moment of panic she knew how this would end. Unaware of where she really was, all she knew was the wind streaming along her flanks, the dappled sunlight occasionally beating down upon her back, and the smell of fear in the air. Victory was within her reach and soon would be hers… as well as a delicious meal. The creature was small, the perfect size for one kimeti. She’d eat it quickly, then find her way back home. A toothy grin burst across her face; she wasn’t going to lick her lips, not while running at this speed, but oh, the glory of the hunt. The anticipation. The raw connection to the Motherfather’s order. There was no need for thought here; this was simply the essence of life expressing itself in the way she knew best. This kind of exhilaration was what she lived for. She was vaguely aware that she was far from home; she'd gone further afield to even begin the chase, and she'd been jogging after this prey for a while now. But the hunt had her wrapped up in her own universe, a universe free of distraction. Free of territory, free of kin. It was her, her quarry, and the swamp itself.

This would be a triumph.  

[Minsuil]

Strider raised his head. The young wolf was alert and Flame could tell something had caught his attention by the way his ears perked forward. He rose from his position in the underbush and stood still. And then, he heard it. Something running towards them. It crashed through the twigs in such a frantic hurry, he could only assume it was being chased. Only a fool would chase this far - these were Westfen lands and most knew that.

The rabbit was approaching, it would run straight past them at this rate. Flame of the West nodded at his wolf, a silent okay. If the other pursuer could beat Strider to the kill, he'd let them keep it before shoo-ing them off. If not. Well, all the spoils to the victors.

A streak of brown flew past him. Strider leapt straight for the rabbit's jugular. His aim was true and Flame watched it twitch once, twice, as it kicked its legs in desperation. It was no use. The wolf would not let go, not when he had already tasted fresh blood. But Flame did not offer his companion any congratulations. Instead, he was focused on the green doe that had followed the rabbit straight into Westfen lands. He narrowed his eyes.

"Leave, you are unwelcome here."

Scaramouche Fandango

 

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Out of nowhere, a canine- not an eaglehound, not a sand dog- a wolf snagged her rabbit. She skidded to a halt, almost tripping over the creature that was eating her dinner. The small mammal's eyes bulged as the wolf made short, brutal, efficient work of it. Cursing, Half Truth pinned her ears and stamped her hoof in frustration.

"That was my chase she snarled furiously, barely holding back from kicking the buck. She drew her lips back and bared her teeth, staring him in the eyes."Is that your dog? Can you not control your beast, or do you regularly practice that sort of base rudeness- I mean, really, who sends an animal out to interrupt somebody else's hunt?" The rage in her voice was practically palpable. She looked the buck up and down, sizing him up. What did he mean, she wasn't welcome here? Did he honestly expect her to give up a hunt just because he thought this was his patch of land? It certainly wasn't his rabbit.

Well, it hadn't been his rabbit.

Minsuil

 

[Minsuil]

The doe bristled, she hissed accusation after accusation. None seemed to bother Flame of the West. If anything, he looked unimpressed. She was unable to catch her quarry and someone stronger got there first. The buck failed to see why she should be angry at anyone but herself.

"It was your chase. You weren't quick enough." He looked at Strider who was holding the rabbit diligently at the neck. He's learned to wait first. Some things had to be saved, animals cut specifically to get the most use of their pelts. But this was only a rabbit and there was no harm in letting his hunting companion have a treat now and then. He gave a nod and the wolf ripped into its meal.

He turned back to the doe, uncowed by her rage. "These are the lands of Clan Westfen, and you are intruding. Leave." His town was even, but the glint in his blue eye was enough to convey the threat.

Scaramouche Fandango

 

[Scaramouche Fandango]

She wanted to snarl "Make me," to get in the buck's face, to lash out- but he was bigger than her, and he had his pet. But she couldn't just leave; pride's sting wasn't a poison she felt like bearing. Her cheeks were already hot enough from losing the rabbit; she wasn't going to walk away without some retort. "What's a Westfen?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. Perhaps a question would deflect this into a conversation. She was reasonably sure she could hold her own in a conversation, while a brawl with the buck might end badly.

Of course, a brawl wasn't completely off the table. It'd been a long time since she'd last headbutted somebody.

Minsuil

sorry this took so long! D: