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FINALLY!

He had finally caught a beaver, the one he had been tracking and waiting for. It had been weeks, quite literally weeks!, since he had begun his steady hunt after spying the beaver building a dam in one of the deeper waterways out of Spirane. Everyday Arthfael had went back and hid patiently behind some berry bushes, hoping that the scent of the berries would mask his own, and he had spied the beaver only a few times. It had been incredibly difficult at first to wait because he had wanted to jump out and try to get it but he also knew that if he tried more than once that the beaver would catch on and it would not come to this bank willingly. Over time he had grown a bit more patience and he felt quite happy at his growth in this area because it would help his hunting skills. And his desire to become a protector of the mountains, but he was still young yet for such training.

This morning, well before dawn had begun to reach its fingers over the horizon, he had camped out in the spot with droopy eyes and a quiet yawn only to be rewarded with the silvery flash of pale moonlight on wet fur. It had woken him up on the spot, his body alert as he had watched the beaver begin it's own morning ritual of gnawing on a small tree trunk before shuffling around to collect a few things from the bank. Arthfael did not feel even a moments worth of guilt that he wished to eat the beaver when it was trying so hard to prepare for the upcoming winter. It was prey, after all, and he felt the warriors right to the creature after having put so much effort into his plan.

He had found himself a small bed that extended off of the larger end of the river which was shallow enough that it only covered his feet. The bank was high, effectively shielding him from the beavers view, and he circled around to enter the water. Each step was pain staking so that when his paws lifted and dipped back down there were no outright splashes, just the constant gurgle of water sluicing around his paws, and he kept himself tucked lower than the bank until he was directly aside the beaver. It could beat him back to the main river if it was canny enough but he didn't give it time.

The moment that he held his breath is the same moment that he lunged from the water and up the bank, startling the beaver so much that it froze, and in that moment it was scooped up into his jaws and he shook it violently - more out of his own panic in the situation than out of violence - and it died quickly. A snap then death and then Arthfael stood there with wide eyes until his lips grinned around the beaver and he began to trot back to his den. He ate it quickly at the mouth of his den, careful to keep the fur intact and doing his best to peel it off the flesh without tearing into it.

Now he had it tucked out to let the sun dry it before he could put it in his bedding and he left the almost picked clean bones in a pile around a tree further from his den. If they managed to stay there then later he would gnaw on them but he was more worried about his pelt. And proud. Grinning to himself Arthfael decided a nice bath would be in order and some more fish to go with his beaver filled belly and left his den, pelt still laid out to dry, to head back to his river.

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