Sequoia Coast spit and retrieve

@taggerik i hope i spelt this name right, but i guess we'll find out when i edit it later or something

edit: NOPE. @taggirik? @taggarak? who knows, I'LL JUST LOOK IT UP ALREADY — @Taggarik

jfc i need to go to bed my eyes are on fire right now

He had seen the ocean and, well, found that it was not just some big giant lake.  At least, if it were, it was one of the most foul, salty, awful stupid things he had ever made the mistake of trying to drink out of.  And so, Rickshaw had continued gamboling right along as coyotes were wont to do, though he found that there was also a whole lot of nothing out along the coast.  It was not the sort of sight his world traveler brain would have associated with beaches.  Not like the beaches he had heard about at one point or another.  They weren't caked with throngs of people trying to pet the doggy and give out tasty heart attack inducing tidbits.

Hell, there wasn't even a trash bin in sight.

Instead he found the coast to be one of the more lonely and desolate places that he had visited, though up to that point he had mostly crossed the valley and threaded himself between the mountains without encountering another soul.  A cat here, a fox there, but no real trouble.  So the coyote had slipped into a silent sort of ease, bobbling along at a pace that could have been so easily construed into melancholy.  His ears were half-masted and splayed unevenly out from his skull, his eyes were somewhere along the same point though they were decidedly focused on the stretch of sand and water ahead of him.

"Goddamn," he murmured, wondering if he tried to roll his eyes again if they'd just roll right to the back of his head.  Perhaps they'd roll out of his skull and dangle about grotesquely on strings.  He closed them momentarily, not entirely inclined to find out one way or another.  But when he opened them, something had come rolling out from the gradual shift of the tide.  It bridled his interest, putting a cap in the ass of whatever self-imposed circle of hell he had confined himself to, and he honed in on it.

"The fuck's this?" he asked, to no one in particular.  "The fuck is that?"  It's a seal, Rickshaw.  It's a stupid seal.  Not that he was supposed to know what it was, as he had never seen one.  It gave him reason to pick up his pace a bit, closing off that distance so pinpoint that he completely missed the point where it was definitely dead.  Oh so dead.  But not so dead that in some screwed up way that salty water and gritty awful shore hadn't turned it halfway into frozen seal jerky.

Hey, at least nobody had to club it, right?

the hives — hate to say i told you so

Lmao @ your tagging attempts! Just a quick post because I probably won't be able to get on tomorrow. :)

He was back on the coast, but with his last two hunts on small game having failed, this time his priorities had shifted. He still maintained his watch for other wolves, but his nose was trained toward the scent of carrion, an easy meal that would not require he expend much energy to partake of it. He did not, however, pass by a shuffling crab. He scooped it up in his jaws, the sharp points of his teeth easily piercing its carapace to envelop his mouth in salty, delicious juice, before he worked the creature toward his powerful molars where it was crushed into a chunky pulp he could swallow.

It was not enough, and so he continued, his strong snout alternating between combing the sand for trails and the saline air flow. It was on a passing gust that he caught whiff of the seal, and also that of coyote. He quickened his pace, his gray eyes narrowing on the indistinct forms in the distance that, as he neared, became clearly the carrion he sought and the competing predator. Had it been another wolf, and a more sizeable seal, he may have considered sharing, but Taggarik, like many of his kind, was not often inclined to tolerate the smaller canine. Even less so when his stomach was pinched with hunger.

He bared his teeth at the coyote, aggressively marching up to the seal and placing a heavy paw on top of it. His fur along his nape and spine had risen with his threat as a baritone growl reverberated in his chest. This meager offering from the tides was his.

well that's okay because we all know i tend to drop off of the internet for a couple of weeks at a time right !__!

And now more had he started to hone in on that bloated whatever the fuck it was when some lumbering dark mass seemed to emerge right out of the top of it. Only not really, it was more like the wolf had spied him out long before he had ever thought about him (or any other predator). Wherever it had come from, it may as well have materialized out of thin air for Rickshaw. It did not deter him immediately, though his approach was swift to slow and his body slunk to hover and glide seamlessly across the gritty beach.

Sure buddy, you just be possessive over that corpse. He thought it, but the words didn't come forward. He couldn't catcall at this guy, though the temptation was ever there to try anyway. Maybe he was into that sort of thing — the wolf, that was — and maybe it didn't matter if he was looking for a hole in one or just interested in putting a few balls around.

But nah, catcalling was totally out of the question here.

Rickshaw curtailed his advance a few feet out from the wolf and its so-called quarry, not hesitating as he dared to circle on around. He gazed past the dark-haired canine for only a moment, just a moment that told him that there was little less to glean from the sandy and grey shores ahead as far as food was concerned. At least, there was no more of this oversized sushi laid up on a sea glass and shale plate anyway. His steps slowed once again and he wondered whether or not the wolf would let him pass.

He was a scavenger, after all. He had no issues in waiting this one out.

lol

His muscles coiled further the closer the coyote advanced, and he shifted himself closer to the seal, placing more of his threatening mass over it. Still, the coyote drew nearer, and he thought it rather bold. It did not occur to him and nor would he take the chance the smaller canid simply wanted to pass him by; there was plenty of space upon the beach in which to do so, he did not need to invoke the hungry predator's wrath by trying to cross so near.

So, as the coyote came to within a few feet, striking distance, Taggarik lunged. His jaws had parted, his full compliment of determined teeth bared. There was no warning in the fast, savage way he shot forward; his fangs had no intention of meeting each other in the air. It was flesh they sought. He would see his competition laid out beside the seal if he could catch it.

Instead of writing 'lunged' at first I had written 'lunched', which I almost left because in this scenario it kind of fits? lmao

It turned out that it may have been his pause that was the first mistake in what would no doubt be several. The wolf, who had seemingly been so poised and positioned over that carcass turned more into a coiled snake in a corner. It lunged towards him, teeth appearing from behind dark lips in an instant. Much like the instant that the wolf closed in the scant few feet between them; it was an awful and brilliant display of power the lurked beneath a plush winter coat.

It was really interesting to watch, though it dawned on him that perhaps he should be moving.

He backpedaled in futility, much too late; there simply wasn't enough purchase between him and his now attacker to steer himself clear. So Rickshaw opted to try and run, even though he felt the sink and pull of teeth against his hide.

The coyote's reaction was slow, far slower than he had expected. He anticipated a miss, anticipated seeing the scavenger flit down the beach and return to harass him again after, for as much as he intended to catch the coyote he knew them to be wily. But he was prepared if he were to connect, and when he felt his teeth meet with hide he clamped his jaws shut and called upon the powerful muscles in his neck and shoulders to drag the beast backward and off its paws. This would buy him the time he needed to reposition his teeth elsewhere, somewhere more deadly.

feel free to powerplay the hell out of this, kris; sorry for holding this up for so long. x__x

His escape failed him spectacularly.

As the teeth of his assailant sank into him, he let out a strangled cry. It cut off abruptly as he tried to free himself, but also in his attempt to reach around and return some sort of parting blow to the wolf. Where he had always though he had done well to stay out of their way, to feast when they had long left some kill they couldn't drag back, he was finding that his own arrogance was the start of his unraveling. But perhaps in his final stand he failed to realize this as well, and the scrambling to both free himself and inflict pain simultaneously was nothing more than a fool's errand.

And it would earn him a fool's death, too.

no problem!

The lesser dog hollered in pain, but he was deaf to this noise. He did not even flinch as teeth snapped at him, inflicting several small wounds across his snout. He was determined, and with raw strength and focused speed he sunk his fangs into the scavenger's throat. His aim was true, and his powerful jaws closed on the windpipe, crushing it, and stealing the coyote's breath. He held his fatal grip on the smaller canine stopped struggling, until it no longer even made a twitch, and then he let the corpse slump to the sand. He turned back to his meal, and feasted.