a thousand times I tempted fate;
His ears are focused upon the wounded plump coon but his eyes are on Fjall as she seems to be so confused at the rush of fleeing coons. As she picks out a rather large female he perks up watching with rapt attention as she moves to bite but instead of doing much damage is given a swift slash to the nose from the claws of the female. She yelps and he almost moves to her, but holds steady letting her learn from this. You must always watch out for the fangs and claws of prey or predator. Briefly does he glance at his own catch, watching the male bristle and dance upon the soil as he wants to flee but can't. A heavy sigh escapes before he turns and heads straight for her, gait slightly awkward with his limp.
He pauses before the fragile female, a glint of mirth in his eyes as no longer is he shy in the face of blood. Blood is welcomed, it eases and soothes the nerves that would other wise be frayed by the close proximity. "Do not be sorry.." He pauses, tilting his head to the side as his eyes lock upon the bloodied nose. "We will make you a little warrior still, it takes time and practice." He says this almost softly, as if he this is natural to him yet it is not. The squeal of the coon draws him back as he steps up and gently licks at the wound on her nose, orange eyes colliding with her golden ones. "There, now come and let us ease his pain."
He moves around her, coming up from behind and his muzzle reaches out to coax her forward; pushing her towards the male he had left in the dirt. It is then he realizes just exactly what he has done, as his cheeks warm at the memory. Women, they seemed to be getting him all flabbergasted and confused. never had he comforted someone like this and he feels awkward now, clearing his throat as he now timidly pushes at her side; feeling the lack of meat beneath the fur. Once he is satisfied that she will indeed move forward by his gentle persuasion does he settle beside her, eyes peeking from the corners to look at her before settling back upon the coon.
"He is vulnerable, he cannot run from you.." He whispers this, for perhaps she needed to taste the thrill of the reward before she joined the race for the hunt. "He will not survive his injuries, his death will be a mercy by your teeth." He pauses, shyly turning towards her as he stops but a few paces from the weakening male, no longer are his obscenities spewing but instead a keening sound of pain. He hates to admit that the sound does not bother him, instead it does the opposite. It calls to his predator, demanding a swift end. But this is not his battle it is Fjall's and tonight she would hopefully learn just what pride she could give herself when and if she took the pain away from the coon.
Would Orra be pleased by this? Would she reward her son for the good act? Or was this no longer for the need to please his mother but instead aid a friend? Was she his friend? How does one know when to think such things? His confused thoughts are drawn upon his scarred face as he watches the blood seep from the coon, the awkward angle the leg seems to be at and the mewling cries that reap from his lips. Although he is weakening, he still hisses and warns. For even in death we fight despite the pain, but death is inevitable. No matter whose hand you fall from, but this time it is for survival instead of pleasure. This is his blood drawn since that night and though he feels the desire to torture the weak creature he does not need it, he just needs her to feed as he cautiously looks to her. Wondering what she will do... no pressure, no force. Leaving her to decide fate..
Jericho. six - no mate - no imprint - nowhere |