Dragoncrest Cliffs sediment dredged from the river of hate

since his failed assault upon the last wolf he had seen, shardul traveled to the coast. he had lost timber, regipre -- while the beast was by nature and want a solitary beast, he missed the company of those carefully chosen companions. hunger gnawed at his belly -- the argent cat had not eaten in some time, driven by the thirst for blood, by madness.

presently he mounted the deep cliffs and began to cast about for nesting murres and their delicate-shelled eggs.

he had come down from the north, following a cold river teeming with fish, as was the way of things. in following them the boy came in contact with many things he had not yet seen in his short life: the fleeting leaps and bounds of a warren of rabbits, for one thing. the hustle and bustle of their small bodies surprised him. they were not as graceful as the salmon in the stream, but their movement excited him. in giving chase, the golden boy thought he could garner a meal. it was not surprising when the rabbits evaded him, escaping through the many paths, for they knew the land and he did not.

but the rabbits had spurred him to move, and now the boy was lost. he was somewhere new, and the river had vanished from his sight. in searching for that familiar scent, the pulsing sound of it, the taste in the air of fresh and crisp wetness, he found himself winding west. and when he was impeded by craggy rocks and a gray cliffside, he gave up his search and felt his spirit wither.

shardul had turned 'round, growling beneath his breath at his inability to procure a gull. yet his yellow eyes caught sight of a dejected young body -- he crouched behind the nearest patch of underbrush, his silver body curled in a wreath of anticipation. salmon tongue snaked to lick his jawline; shardul waited. it had been long days since he had tasted the blood of his eternal prey, and he was loathe to miss this opportunity.

he was still, breath barely stirring the bush-leaves before him, his gaze piercing through the air toward the wolf.

he had thought to disperse from what little family he had, but now, being both alone and without much hope, trout did not know what to do. he could turn around and go further north, but that seemed like a negative thing. going in reverse was not something he was interested in - only forward, with great momentum. thinking this now as his lethargic gait carried him along the ridge, he caught sight of an opening in the trees and realized any forward momentum would carry him clear off of the world as he knew it. the cliff side dropped off in to the ocean; it was beautiful, something he should have been enthralled by at any other point in his life, but the poor boy was less enthusiastic with an empty belly. he was unaware of the danger lurking so very near; with a nose filled with the unfamiliar scent of brine and sea (as trout came from an inland family, comfortable with freshwater), he barely noticed the creature poising to strike.

shardul felt the desire rising within him; it choked him; it shuddered though his body, igniting his bloodstream. a low snarl poured forth from the catamount again; he slunk forward on quivering muscularity, claws slipping forth to caress the earth. all at once he could contain himself no more! he throttled forward upon straining sinew and screamed the lashing sound that is within the throat of all pumas.

death did not come quickly for the hapless little wolf.