Evergreen trees were in abundance here, their boughs so thick creating an umbrella of snow-dusted needles. Cones of illuminating sunshine pierced through the gaps, dotting the forest floor below. Small creatures of the Neverwinter Forest flitting in and around the roots of the large sentinels, some scampering up the bark, using the divots in the trees to squirrel away their items and foods to get them through the winter of the Wilds.
Lying in wait within those boughs, a female lynx camouflaged herself, an unknowing spectator to the little world below. Eyes of moonlit silver, with an ocean’s depth to them, watched and waited; she was starving, carefully picking a target. Her usual meal, snowshoe hare, was nowhere in sight, but a plump ptarmigan she had been eyeing was busying itself in the snow. Probably looking for its meal; not that it was in dire need, considering it appears to have been keeping itself very fed. It was a prime target in her hunt. Being a poor flier, it’ll be an easy catch. It’ll suffice her belly for now until she can find a hare…or two later.
With a practiced grace, she lifted from the bough, barely shaking the large branch she had perched herself. Her eyes never left the bird as she travelled the branches, getting a better position. The ptarmigan had a heavy body, and its wings would not be able to swiftly lift its body once startled, which made her position ideal. A drop on the bird from above would negate any direction it attempts to flee.
She knew this thanks to her mother. From an early age, much earlier than her older siblings ever started, her mother took her on hunting trips, teaching her the ways of their people after noticing a knack for tracking and hunting. It was the way of her people; teach them what they need to know and say goodbye as early as possible. The lynxes were a solitary bunch, even more so the tribe she hails. They only get together during the gathering of the Northern Lights, the namesake of the territory they inhabit.
Her mind went back to the task at hand: catch the bird. Her body readied itself, long legs bunched underneath her, shaking with anticipation. Without further thought, she zeroed in on the bird and—lift off! With large paws splayed wide in front of her, she caught the bird as it startled into flight. A swift chomp to the neck and a twist of her jaws, the bird’s life was no more. Every other creature in the vicinity scampered in all directions in a fit to get away from the sudden predator.
Amyrlin ate greedily, and quickly, for she heard a large SNAP in the near distance. Sniffing, she couldn’t get a scent, but it sounded big. And then she heard it, a low rumbling moan of a bear. It was hibernating season for them, save for the sporadic times they come out to find food. It was unfortunately one of those times, much to Amyrlin’s dismay. Wide eyes, searching for movement, finally landed on the hulking form of a bear emerging from behind a lage evergreen. It was sniffling before it stopped moving. Its large heard turning in the lynx’s direction. It growled as its eyes found the source of the scent.
“For fuuuuck…sakes.”
She ran.
And it ran after her.
Lying in wait within those boughs, a female lynx camouflaged herself, an unknowing spectator to the little world below. Eyes of moonlit silver, with an ocean’s depth to them, watched and waited; she was starving, carefully picking a target. Her usual meal, snowshoe hare, was nowhere in sight, but a plump ptarmigan she had been eyeing was busying itself in the snow. Probably looking for its meal; not that it was in dire need, considering it appears to have been keeping itself very fed. It was a prime target in her hunt. Being a poor flier, it’ll be an easy catch. It’ll suffice her belly for now until she can find a hare…or two later.
With a practiced grace, she lifted from the bough, barely shaking the large branch she had perched herself. Her eyes never left the bird as she travelled the branches, getting a better position. The ptarmigan had a heavy body, and its wings would not be able to swiftly lift its body once startled, which made her position ideal. A drop on the bird from above would negate any direction it attempts to flee.
She knew this thanks to her mother. From an early age, much earlier than her older siblings ever started, her mother took her on hunting trips, teaching her the ways of their people after noticing a knack for tracking and hunting. It was the way of her people; teach them what they need to know and say goodbye as early as possible. The lynxes were a solitary bunch, even more so the tribe she hails. They only get together during the gathering of the Northern Lights, the namesake of the territory they inhabit.
Her mind went back to the task at hand: catch the bird. Her body readied itself, long legs bunched underneath her, shaking with anticipation. Without further thought, she zeroed in on the bird and—lift off! With large paws splayed wide in front of her, she caught the bird as it startled into flight. A swift chomp to the neck and a twist of her jaws, the bird’s life was no more. Every other creature in the vicinity scampered in all directions in a fit to get away from the sudden predator.
Amyrlin ate greedily, and quickly, for she heard a large SNAP in the near distance. Sniffing, she couldn’t get a scent, but it sounded big. And then she heard it, a low rumbling moan of a bear. It was hibernating season for them, save for the sporadic times they come out to find food. It was unfortunately one of those times, much to Amyrlin’s dismay. Wide eyes, searching for movement, finally landed on the hulking form of a bear emerging from behind a lage evergreen. It was sniffling before it stopped moving. Its large heard turning in the lynx’s direction. It growled as its eyes found the source of the scent.
“For fuuuuck…sakes.”
She ran.
And it ran after her.
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