a thousand times I tempted fate;
They rustle the bush, small red berries falling from the limbs as the well fed bandits scurry to snatch up their treasure. Orange eyes accessing the situation, the memory of Fjall's stomach teasing his ears as he calculates an outcome where such can be resolved. The bush is settled quite a few feet away from the caves, surely where the critters were housed. He would need to be quick, one wrong move and he would lose them to their burrows among the stone. A snort behind him draws his attention away from them as head turns to the female. Before he would have punished for such a mistake instead there is a quiver on his lips, with humor in his eyes. As he spies the dirt in nose, the reason for her sound. His scarred face directed towards her own sharp features.
It is now, in the presence of the moonlight he can see the lack of food and scars that seem to glint in various spots from the light. The way her skin seems to cling to her bones, though some meat stands between them it is not enough to hide the fact. Ears flicker still listening to the raccoon's as his eyes glance over the female who seemed pleased with his company despite her predicament. "You will tonight." He states with such conviction, grabbing hold of the voice that had brought many to their knees except this time he does not say it with fear but determination. Tonight, he would fed her well. For that's what friends do, wasn't it?
At that thought brows furrow, a look of puzzlement on his scarred face. Perhaps he would ask her after if this made them friends, he had never had one before really. Orra was one he cherished and was loyal to. No other had ever come close to that, not even Everlyse despite the deep rooted need to be with her; for he hoped one day they could have that too, as brother and sister. Collecting himself again as he, leans slightly into the female, voice low and gruff as eyes are fixed upon the ringed bandits. "Do not let them reach the caves.." He hopes she will understand this, for if they were to make it they would lose the chance to eat this night.
And like a snake that shed it's skin, he seems to transform before her. Shedding the weak and shy boy back into the machine, but with a purpose. He quickly glances back to her, orange eyes flickering like an open fire in the night as he nods silently before crawling almost hypnotically towards the bush. Every so often pausing and scenting. Testing the limits and where to move and shift. His intent is to block them from the caves, leaving them no option but the openness around them. Thir chatter so noisy as they seem to beat at each other for the ripest berries, hissing and spitting as they are distracted by each other rather the ones that stalk them. His movements are slow and precise so that Fjall may see how he uses his body with an advantage to their dismay. The way his muscles ripple beneath his fur, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the silent way he feet tread through the blades of grass below them. Until they are but a few feet away, then the cover is blown.
The high pitched squeal was expected for they had been spotted, like a spring back legs propel him in a flat out run. Massive paws hitting the soil without mercy as a ferocious sound rips from his lips while saliva strings like banners brought with war. The coons now dashing madly, some seeking the caves while the others try to slink from the madness. He hopes Fjall will try and pick out her own, it would be a good test to see how she will do. While he, well his if of course the plumpest critter of the flock. The waddling fiend scurrying to the small stone burrow as he charges towards him like a head on collision. Nails digging into the soil as muscles contract only to propel him once more into a leap. Orange eyes fixed at the round rump as the his head breaks the first shadow of the den. As he soars down upon him.
Gaping jaws strike fast, the taste of iron thick on his tongue. As the world seems to slow to a crawl. Teeth seem to pop when they enter his flesh, the yowling scream the coon gives as claws attempt to strike his face. Feet try to backpedal quickly to avoid his head from striking the wall before him, shifting him as instead his shoulder takes the hit as head gives a jerk and twist slinging the wounded creature far from the opening.
Instead of killing it now, he has merely wounded it. Broken one of his back legs and perhaps punctured an organ as he seems to flop upon the soil, spitting obscenities in coon. Bloody spit seems to drip from his jowls as orange eyes seek Fjall to see if she had indeed caught one for her own but if not she could have his to learn on. He had never really taught anyone before, it was either buck up or die, so this is all new to him. Unsure if there was a proper way to go about it, but doing it nonetheless. As his chest heaves from the exercise, the limp now more prominent from over use as he moves towards the plump coon. Orange eyes linger on Fjall, a brow rose in question? Wondering if she had caught one too...
Jericho. six - no mate - no imprint - nowhere |