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SUBJECT IS DORMANT
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Post by Deleted on Mar 3, 2013 10:43:55 GMT -5
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She was a predator by nature, a monster to those who did not live her way of life. Humans called her kind barbaric, called them all savages because they hunted and killed and ate things that they themselves had brought out of this world. And yet, they were hardly better. They were mass-murderers, executers who took more than they needed and, worse than anything else, they were hypocrites who dared to cringe when they watched a lion tackle a gazelle. Pandora wondered if they would flinch now, as they watched her stalking her prey, watched her act like a true animal. She wondered if they would think her twice the monster simply because she could do a magic trick and turn into a human.
The hare was unsuspecting of what stalked it, and the general was more than pleased. Her lanky body was crouched, teeth bared, body tense and prepared to launch itself at the creature when the moment came. Pandora was hardly a patient creature; she didn’t like to lie and wait for something that she knew there was a slim chance of her being successful of getting. She preferred to scavenge for prey, but in this instance, it wasn’t much of an option. Carrying herself forwards, the maned wolf’s paws fell silently, her eyes attached to her potential meal. It was a scrawny thing, but it would be well worth it. Well worth the ridiculous amount of effort she was putting into hunting, effort that she’d rather put into something else. Hell, even healing beat this by a long shot.
Suddenly, like a spring, she launched herself forwards. It didn’t take long for the animal to realize what had happened, but by that point Pandora was almost on top of it. The hare took off, swift and fast, but Pandora was close. Her jaws snapped for it, each lunge of her paws attempting to land on top of the creature and pin and down. However, it would seem that she wasn’t meant to catch it, for on one of her lunges, the one where she got the closest, her paws got tangled up and she was sent falling to the ground. ”Damn it,” she snarled, disappointed with her effort. The General sighed, righting herself and shaking off the little bit of dirt that had collected in her pelt. With a sigh, she accepted that she wasn’t meant to be a hunter. Her skills lied more in the department of healing, and recently in fighting, for her accuracy with throwing needles was slowly coming along.
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RETROMORPH
Archived
CORPORAL
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Post by Tibby on Mar 9, 2014 20:40:33 GMT -5
A day like this - a typical autumn day, grey clouds and chill breezes included - would normally chase this particular creature into the warmer ends of the territory; unfortunately, he'd gotten the urge to explore earlier this morning and hadn't considered the potential change in weather - or lack thereof. It had been a dark and chill morning as well, but Tibby wasn't one to look very far into the future. His optimistic side had kicked in and basically said "Nah, it's fine, go check out the bog! It's the only part of the territory you haven't been to yet and it's about time you got your tail over there!"
He chuffed quietly at that reminder. Sometimes he didn't know why he listened to himself. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with the day's weather; just the double-whammy of the approaching winter and deciding to visit the coldest, shadiest part of the territory really struck him as unfortunate.
In his awkward manner of walking on three legs, he limped-hopped-skipped toward what some subconscious part of him - probably his nose - said was another living thing. Truthfully he'd been a bit caught up in brooding about his decisions, but now he had something else to distract him: was this someone else friend or foe? What if he'd wandered too far and now he faced potential combat? That brought him to a stop. It could be a pack member gone rogue, except he'd been gone all morning and wouldn't know - but that pack member would think he'd come out looking for him, would think that there was a whole hunting party out behind this three-legged runt, and he'd have to take out the lead member - that was Tibby himself - before he could give any alarm.
His haunches hit the ground at that one.
For a time, he sat staring at the ground, wondering if this mysterious rogue pack member might be staring him down from the trees right now. He didn't feel afraid; he just felt himself falling deeper and deeper into his own little pit of despair. Today was truly a day for unfortunate things.
The sound of crashing twigs and leaves got his attention suddenly. Ears perked, imaginary scenario forgotten, he skipped-hopped-limped toward where the sound had come from. "Hellooooo," he growled softly, non-threateningly, his Egyptian accent coming forth a bit; "I am friendly. Please at least let me see you before you decide whether or not to kill me." Truly a pathetic greeting, but dying really wasn't on the to-do list for today - or even for several years, really. His pace slowed to a near crawl, and he turned somewhat defensively in an effort to hide his missing foreleg; if the stranger he could just glimpse through the foliage was somewhere in the middle ground on violence, showing off a weakness might goad him (or her? did he smell a her?) into attacking.
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