PREY [Roma]

[Skamandar.]

A slight rustle in the undergrowth was the only faint whisper of presence as the lion worked his paws steadily over the ground, cautious with each pained step. There was pride in each small step, a secret victory. He could feel the weight of his hind limb, feel it hanging as limp as any prey he'd ever felled. He could move it if he willed it, and had spent weeks getting his strength up just to take a few simple steps without his leg dragging behind him. But he'd made it out of camp, crossed the threshold back into life. He was still breathing, still moving; still...hungry.

Shamen were respected in the forest, and as he was the eldest (and only) in the Pride, he was no longer sent out to hunt or scavenge. It was a lifestyle he was accustomed to, as the females in his homeland Pride hunted for him, though there were times when he had felled of his own. But he had noticed that in this strange new pride (consisting of other creatures similar to him, yet so entirely different) that both the males and females hunted actively. He wanted to prove that he was still of some worth, despite his age and injury. Skamandar still felt he had the world to conquer--still so much to be done, and already he had surpassed the lives of so many lions he had seen in his homelands.

So here he was, making his way through the thick undergrowth of the forest; it was difficult for him to move as silently as he had wished but with time he moved as smoothly and quietly as his injury would allow. Skamandar pulled gently to a halt, massive head lifting slowly to scent the air, jowls hanging open. The scents of the forest flooded through him, bringing him back to life; he smelled the small prey, much too small for him to bother with. Then there was something else, something akin to the herd of Stonepaws that lived in the fields, who called themselves Bellator.

His head swung to the left, to the right, trying to discern where it originated from. The left. He stole forward, keeping his body low to the ground (painfully so), following the scent trail and coming upon a path of broken branches and stirred earth. It was big, by the looks of it! His belly twisted in hunger, pulse spiking with that familiar excitement as he plunged further into the forest after his quarry.

It wasn't long before he caught up, the fear-scent so strong it made his head swim and mouth water. In a copse of trees just beyond, Skamandar could see it moving; he could hear the angry thrash of it's heavy paws, the panicked guttural snorts and huffs. Skamandar crept closer, so low to the ground his thick mane brushed the dirt. He got a better line of sight and saw it was indeed a herd creature, pulling savagely against a rope that was taut around its neck that had gotten wedged between two branches. It was trapped, obviously some human had tried (and failed) to capture the prey-beast, much to the delight of Skamandar. It was fairly large, and he knew that a chase would've been pointless. But it was trapped, and Skamandar's mouth continued to water at the prospect of such easy prey.

He walked silently from the bushes, not bothering to conceal himself any longer, confidence swelling in his chest as his prey saw him and redoubled its efforts, letting out a shrill whinny of fear, pawing angrily at the ground. Skamandar parted his maw and let loose a throaty roar, challenging the stonepaw. It reared up onto its hind legs, hard paws striking out at the lion. Skamandar skirted around his prey, til he was at its flank and bunching his muscles he prepared to pounce, claws kneading the forest floor in anticipation.


ooc | sorry it took longer than I thought to get this up for you ): hope it's okay!

[ROMA|RED]

Roma had been subjected to the loud opinion that Sister Wolf thought this adventure pointless for the past two hours. No matter how Roma explained it, Sister Wolf was thoroughly unimpressed and irritated that they were wasting their efforts.

They had come across tracks that Roma had not seen in a long, long time. The half-moon shapes in the dirt had Roma so excited she was sure her eyes had been yellow for the first hour. She’d had little experience tracking, but she had pestered Sister into her reluctant assistance.

After a few miles, doubt flooded in.
What if it was just another retro? She’d seen all sorts of equines throughout the Menagerie as well as shifters, but the tracks didn’t smell like either, and she was determined to at least see. What was more; there was evidence that the animal was dragging something – an observation that Sister had made without enthusiasm.

The trail had taken them deep into Analoya Territory, and after some quarreling Roma had allowed Sister to take over. She was quicker, and had sharper instincts … which she was more than happy to remind the girl of. It had taken some time, but eventually (in trial and error) they had learned to share consciousness in both forms.

Now, Sister tread quietly through the undergrowth of the forest. Roma had to keep reminding her that their quarry was not their dinner. Suddenly Sister Wolf froze, and her nose rose to the air. She smelled a … it was then an equine scream echoed through the trees and hit her ears. Before Sister Wolf could stop her, Roma had taken off full speed.

Rounding the corner, they put on the breaks just before slamming into the back of tail and fur. Roma panicked, but with agility Sister Wolf dug her claws into the under growth to slide beneath the large tail and almost beneath the hooves of the flailing horse.

On the other side of the clearing Sister Wolf approached the massive creature. Lion?! Roma supplied with a paradox of awe, surprise, and fear. The horse’s head tossed wildly, eyes rolling in terror. Instantly they were of one mind and the red wolf's head rose high, her lips peeling back to expose sharp teeth. A low growl rumbled from her depths. Both lupine and girl were scared, but shoved it down deep siphoning off the adrenaline into courage.

Mine, the snarl said without question. The Red Wolf remained dangerously close to the flailing hooves of the horse. However, Roma had been around horses her entire life and though precarious had judged a safe distance of striking range.

[Skamandar.]

Skamandar kept his brown eyes trained on the stonepaw as it danced to and fro on panicked paws; he was watching its muscles tense, trying to anticipate which way it was going to rush or strike next with those dangerously heavy paws. He'd taken his fair share of blows from paws like those, in his younger days back home. They were deadly, he knew--not as deadly as the warrior's spears he'd faced, but they still gave his heart a flutter of warning.

He saw his moment to strike, muscles bunched as he prepared to spring forward—but a flurry of sound and movement erupted in his peripheral stopped him short, only moments before another creature charged in front of him. Skamandar pulled up to his full height, massive head tilting down as he examined the skinny little thing. It was a small red bluntclaw, flashing its prickly teeth at him; challenging him for the prey. He was certain that it thought its own snarl seemingly vicious and terrifying, and he knew that it could probably get in a few good nips here and there. But this thing did not worry him.

He regarded the bluntclaw with mild interest, scarred eyes fixing on the creature’s face. “What does a bluntclaw want? This land belongs to the Pride, not the Pack. You can not hunt this sacred forest.” He gave a gentle shake of his head, the small bones and beads that adorned his thick brown-grey mane jangled and clacked, ringing out the subtle threat that her bones could easily be added to the collection. He did not have a particular liking to bluntclaws--in his homeland, they had come in all shapes and sizes and he thought them particularly ugly. They were pitiful scavengers, waiting until his pride had left the bones of hard-hunted prey to steal away whatever was left. They rarely hunted themselves, but fed off the efforts of others. A few times the bolder ones had attacked, and stolen his cubs away. This bluntclaw was different from those back home, but she still held the same manner as her brethren and he regarded her as such. "This is my kill to make, bluntclaw. The earth has willed it so."

[ROMA|RED]

I could give a damn what the earth has to say, Roma thought but Sister stilled her tongue sharply. It was a triangle of wills, and Roma was the odd man out. Sister Wolf would have just as soon agreed with the massive feline and took them away, but she knew the girl was stubborn.

What was more, it was a daunting task. He was huge, his teeth sharp, his claws long, and his skill obvious by the way he held himself. The last mental image was supplied by Sister Wolf, and Roma couldn’t disagree.

Still, Roma wasn’t going down without a fight. How many times had she struck the respect of God into an animal that outweighed her by over a thousand pounds or more? With the thought, the red wolf’s head lowered acquiring the lion’s scent.

Age, provided Sister Wolf simply, which in the animal kingdom meant weak. Sister Wolf’s confidence rose a single notch, but Roma could feel it. They rose themselves in a mirrored fashion, unrelenting in determination or threat.

”Mine,” she insisted. Her tone brooked no argument, but an inflection on Sister’s part held the edge of aggression. Roma disagreed. Maybe he would see that they wanted the horse for companionship, however Sister cut off her notion as teeth a cub’s snout. Fool. Hunter, hunted, Sister explained. Roma let it sink in.

The lion would see even less of a purpose behind her not wanting to eat the creature, and her hackles rose. The entire internal affair had transpired in seconds.

The red wolf remained in place, neither taking ground nor giving it – suggesting she would not move, however there was no interest in a real fight with the feline unless it came to it. The horse shifted nervously in the background, and it suddenly occurred to both Sister and Roma that the horse would have been hard to take down for the lion before she’d shown up. Now …

A deep rumble escaped her suddenly, as her hackles raised even higher. Teeth bared as she showed the large lion that she was not about to back down. Large ears lay flat against her skull, her tail high in defense and confidence. Was it really worth it to him? They would see.

[Skamandar.]

Skamandar watched the seemingly thoughtless bluntclaw as it regarded him with that steady snarl, the glare of fang and what he thought was hunger. But the more he watched the more he saw—he saw hunger, but of a different type. The lion was puzzled by the thought. If the bluntclaw was not hungry, why did it insist on protecting the stonepaw? Before the enclosure he had known no other reasons to hunt, save hunger. But this new world brought many new things to his understanding, perhaps even that a bluntclaw could think beyond the snarl of its gut. Perhaps it was hunting for other reasons, like he. To prove itself worth to its pack? But perhaps that was just wishful thinking, wanting to see his own weakness reflected. It would've brought some small comfort to know that he was not the only aged creature in this forsaken realm; but this bluntclaw was young and wet-nosed, still just a pup.

He regarded the she-creature with growing interest and curiosity, but in the few moments they measured each other up the thing challenged him again, staking claim. His patience was usually long tempered and even, but since he had nearly embraced his ancestors time seemed all the more precious, and this red furred nuisance was wasting it. "I have told you already, bluntclaw, this is my kill." He growled, thunder rumbling in his chest and claws working into the earth as he willed his hind leg into motion. He did his best to hide the limp but even so he knew he could kill the youngling with a well aimed swipe of his paw.

"Leave. Or I shall find myself with a new fur lining for my den," he said with a twitch of his whiskers. "Though the smell of bluntclaw tends to linger like a bad taste." It was strange, this talking before blood-spill. He had known for a while it was a custom among the humans to drone on in attempts to distract the enemy. But he was a creature of few words (especially since spoken word was still relatively new concept) and found himself relying on age old instinct--listening to the rhythm of his heart, the steady flow of breath as he paced in front of his quarry, tufted tail twitching. He pulled up within a few feet of the bluntclaw, body poised for attack as he parted his greying jaws and loosed a thunderous roar that could echo for miles around. The stonepaw started and reared wildly, striking out with sharp paws; taking his chance Skamandar heaved himself forward, lashing out with a heavy swipe of his paw aimed for the pup's face.

[ROMA|RED]

What she lacked in heft and power she more than made up in speed and stamina. As the lion leapt Sister Wolf ducked and dodged, coming around from behind in attempt to snag his tail and clamp down with sharp teeth.

Around the far side, she whirled – her paws digging in to keep her place between the lion and the horse. Peppering guttural barks and growls at the feline, she darted and harried, doing her best to catch his coat where her small, sharp mouth could and exhaust the proud lion. She did not go without injury, for in addition to several cuffs the brute was quick in his old age and caught her perfectly in the ribs, sending her flying.

Death seemed an inch away as she was dashed beneath the hooves of the horse. Impossibly, the mare’s attention was surpassed in terror by the massive predator rather than the side-dish scrap of a wolf that lay well addled for a moment or two within easy striking distance. She regarded Roma the same as if the lion had thrown a rock at her, and dismissed the lithe lupine just as quickly.

Once again in possession of her balance and self, it was Roma who rose to limp between the great cat and crumbling mare. By now, the poor creature was shaking from head to toe - her sparse mane stuck to her specked crest with sweat, and her nostrils flaring in hot quick breaths. Gathering herself, Roma’s head lowered again as she emitted another, deeper, more menacing growl. Golden hues glared sharply and she rumbled the same claim through gritted teeth and pain.

”Mine”, she asserted. Breath came from wheezing pants, as she was sure she’d had at least bruised ribs. Her spine ached fiercely, and for some reason one eye wouldn’t focus correctly … but (believe it or not) she’d had worse. Roma thought back to when she was a teenager and had managed to take a spill with her Quarter Horse stud Wheeler. It had left her with a black eye, split lip, cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, torn ACL, broken ankle, and a multitude of scratches, bruises, and scrapes. Not to mention the other zillion times she’d broken something or … the memory caused her current pain to pale and in the rise of confidence she mocked a charge, teeth flashing as she snarled and repositioned.

Roma, wasn’t going anywhere.

[Skamandar.]

The aged lion growled as he felt his claws slice through air, rising up on his haunches and twisting to the side in attempts to follow the bluntclaw as it dodged and darted behind him. He felt its fangs scrape against his tail mid-turn. He was just quick enough to avoid a complete snap of her jaws, but there was still the sickening scent of his own blood as it sprinkled the forest floor. The bluntclaw was too quick for him as it darted in and out of his reach, clipping and nipping and drawing too much of his precious blood. The wounds were small but numerous and he was tiring more quickly than he wanted to admit.

But he wouldn't lose this massive prize of a stonepaw, not when it was so easily within his reach! The bluntclaws snarls and threats only served to goad him onwards, to strengthen his resolve. He let loose another roar, hot breath frosting in the air as he challenged her again. Skamandar waited for the she-beast to step into his range and struck out with a quick series of swipes, claws unsheathed. He let out a triumphant cough of a snarl as he connected with her and hammered out a few good hits, enjoying the feel of flesh between his claws again. The bluntclaw was momentarily winded and he lashed out again, connecting with her flank and sending her flying back, beneath the hard paws of the prey beast.

He saw she was weakening, and was amused by the thought that she seemed almost to mirror his own body--breath coming in heavy pants as his, hide as ripped and torn and flecked with blood and sweat. He felt himself finding some subtle connection with this worst of scavengers, some tug inside him that yielded to its dedication. He crouched low, bunching his massive body and coiling his muscles watching, waiting for her to right herself from beneath the stonepaw, catching her breath and charged again with a resounding challenge. Skamandar unleashed a coughing roar of his own and sprang forward to meet her; she darted to the side at the last moment, feigning her attack and flanking him again. He pulled up short and rose up once more on his haunches to turn round again but his hind leg failed him. He let out a snarl of dismay as his haunches sank to the ground and he floundered for a moment struggling to regain his footing.



ooc. -cowers in corner of shame for taking forever-

[ROMA|RED]

There was a part of Sister Wolf that could not deny she was beginning to enjoy this, even injured as she was. She was one to be careful, steer clear of a fight whenever possible … it had been so long in fact that she had forgotten. She had forgotten the heat of body and muscle, the thrill of combat, the ecstasy of blood. Her claws again sank into the soil as she halted in her path, putting herself between the horse and the lion. Keen eyes narrowed as the beast faltered, and Sister lowered to lunch.

No Sister, Roma said suddenly, expelling the energy to keep her wolf half from falling upon the lion. From a kill? Maybe, but more likely from a certain and brutal death. It was an unusual exchange between them, for customarily it was Sister who spoke caution to Roma who acted too eager.

Sister Wolf’s hackles came up, her head low and she spat a snarled threat nonetheless and mocked a charge. Fine, but she would not make it easy either. Her paces backed, paw by paw until she was again close to the horse. Clear as day her stance spoke that the equine was hers, and that she would treat the lion or whoever else tried to take her away the same. Her threats quieted, but her teeth remained exposed, her ears flat against her skull and her hackles up. She would not be taken unawares by feigning a falter. Even if it was real, he was still very deadly ... and Sister was not one to gloat before the battle was over. It was how one was killed in a fast way.

[Skamandar.]

Skamandar glared as the she-creature lowered for what he assumed would be a final attack, for either one of them. He continued to struggle to bring the feeling back into his hind leg, to gain some semblance of defense. His massive head lowered so his throat wouldn't be exposed: he wasn't prepared to die so easily, especially not to miniscule an adversary. Skamandar raised a paw, claws unsheathed and covered in tufts of her blood and fur as he waited for the final rush, only to find her pull back. He saw something flash in her sharp eyes, something that made her stop momentarily. He had assumed she was going in for the kill, though he had been confident he could rebuff her quite easily, or at least keep her fangs out of his neck. But that slightest of hesitations exposed something in her: humanity.

He could see now that she was what the Whitefur's called Shapeshifters; that this she-creature was more human than he was, even though he was capable of mimicking that form. It still felt unnatural to him, and he used it only when the helpful little pawtips required him to open doors or mix a poultice. He realized that this she-creature was not just fighting for the meat, or for the pride of the kill. It seemed that she was protecting it for more human reasons. Perhaps to carry her across long distances? In his travels he had seen humans doing such things before on the Hillbacks, strange beasts that plodded through the deserts with hill-like growths cresting their spines. He shook his thoughts back to the present, gritting his teeth at his wanderings. He was getting to be what the younger cubs liked to call him, senile.

But her hesitation gave him enough time to haul himself up and steady himself on all four paws, though his hind leg still trembled from fatigue. The she-creature was still fixing him with that glare, the human side of her vanished behind those sharp golden eyes. Skamandar knew that he could not last much longer--the little imp was too quick for his old bones to keep up with. And he knew there was no way he could expend the energy on killing her, then drag the carcass of the Stonepaw back to the Camp.

Skamandar raised his great head, solidifying his stance as if to square off with her again. But he simply dipped his maw slightly towards her, something he had seen humans do when admitting to a draw; though in the lion's eyes it was an almost sickening defeat. He didn't wish to think about the wounds his self-pride would suffer, he wished only to think of getting home and resting his old bones on the comfortable den of leaf and moss, to lick his wounds in peace and quiet. He slowly backed away with not over cautious steps, but steps that warned against any other attack. He turned away from her without a second thought, moving his thick brown body over the terrain with startling silence even after such a trying fight. It wasn't long before he disappeared into the forest, shrouded by shadows, with only the faintest whisper of a cry echoing through the trees as he lamented his defeat--he knew that soon he would die, like all things old and withering must. But not yet, no, not just yet.


ooc. IronChild whaddafook sorry this took so long

[ROMA|RED]

The old lion seemed to rally yet again for another round, but after what seemed a moment of thought his head bobbed once in … acknowledgement? In perhaps a foolhardy instant of astonishment the red wolf’s head shot up mid snarl, a look of utter befuddlement claiming her features. Was this, a draw? They could continue the fight, there was no denying that. Though the proud lion was old it had taken every shred of experience and agility they had just to keep their skin, and the very real fact that only because the massive feline’s age robbed him of his natural killing ability was the reason they had stood a chance was not lost on Roma.

As he ambled off, Roma felt sorrow and regret. Her human half still held on to the romantic notions of the majestic lions of Africa, their roar unlike anything else in the animal kingdom – true Kings. It was in that moment, though sure that he would not see, Roma dipped her head low until his presence was long gone. The clearing seemed lesser for his leaving, and if not for the blood in her mouth, the fear in her heart, and the adrenaline of battle she might not have believed she’d seen him. Roma had never seen a real lion before, and it was only in the Menagerie that one might meet a creature of such regal essence – a vision one might think of only in story or fancy, and have to fight him.

The petrified whinny of the horse, and almost being trampled was what woke Roma and was instantly harassed for her silly musings by Sister Wolf. He was old and we were quicker, and held a stronger will, she insisted as they dodged away from the beast’s flailing hooves.

Golden eyes shifted back to where the lion had disappeared amongst the trees and bracken, and the miasma of gold was overtaken by a rich brown as Roma shifted into her human form and stood.

“No,” she said allowed as she shook her head in disagreement. “I don’t think that was it at all.” An uncharacteristic sigh from Sister was all she felt in her mind before she turned toward the horse and took a step. She almost face planted as her knees buckled – but caught herself. “Damn,” she hissed and looked down. Every inch of her was bruised or scratched. Her clothes remained intact, but stinging cuts were quickly bleeding through the fabric and she knew she needed to take some time to clean up before she did anything with the horse.

The equine in question had only slightly settled, her soaked freckled pelt steaming as her wide blue eyes watched the human in trepidation. Roma’s hand went to her face, wiping sweat from her brow with a sigh. It would be best to leave the mare be until she settled – she wasn’t going anywhere with that rope and it was already a miracle that she had not injured herself.

Let’s take a break and clean up, they said almost in unison as she limped to where she thought she heard running water. Still, Roma couldn’t help but look back a last time where the lion had retreated into the forest and disappeared from reality. Somehow, she knew it might have been his final fight – and she was almost sorry he had not won it. He certainly had not lost … and the thought made her smile to herself as she limped toward the stream.

END THREAD!