Dragoncrest Cliffs jungle bird

After her run-in with the pale wolf on the coast, Blackbear had been rather reclusive. She was embarrassed by how badly she'd lost that fight, especially after her not-so-impressive showing the day that band of Rusalka wolves had wandered onto their land. Besides, she'd realized she could be of better use in the territory, hunting and organising the caches and keeping a weather eye on the various populations of prey animals. Today, she was counting deer. There were not as many here as there had been on the taiga, but still enough that she was having trouble getting an accurate count. It would take more careful observation, and she was more than ready to set the task aside for the day.

Plus, she was hungry. But she wanted to find this small splinter herd and get a headcount before moving on to supper and a nap. The mottled shewolf was trotting in their direction at a steady clip, already having a good idea where they'd stopped after having spent so many days observing the herds in this area.

@Natjuk

Hunting was as good an ingratiation process as any. Food is always on their collective minds, especially in the midst of winter. Hunger as old as bone harrys. Natjuk answers as naturally as he knows how by tracking a splintered herd that has sauntered into Drageda's claim. He shadows them, drawn to the scent of deer scat and urine. Healthy bunch. On the outside.

He emerged from Drageda's inmost recesses looking for fresh meat. How rare to have it at his very doorstep. Not that he's complaining.

There is another ahead, he notices belatedly. Female, alone, but them all the same. Hurrying along her trodden path, he comes upon her with a hunter's slouch. His anxieties were quiet, preoccupied with food and nothing else. Though he is older - and likely more experienced because of it - Natjuk sees an opportunity. For growth and closeness. Deferring to her judgment will accomplish both. Chances are she knows more of this herd than he does.

A dark, thickly-furred ear swivelled back as Blackbear detected the approach of another. The wind was in his favor - and in both their favor, where the deer were concerned - so she turned her head to see who it was as he approached. Although she did not recognize the wolf before he by sight or name, he bore their scent and seemed healthy enough. Since he was on the trail of the deer and didn't seem too intent on having a conversation, she assumed he must just be hungry.

With a brisk wag of her tail, the shewolf picked up her pace, indicating her desire to get to the food as well. After this, though, she would keep pace with the male, sneaking glances out of the corner of her eye as she tried to deduce what role he would play. Blackbear tended to take down larger prey through attrition, but not all wolves had the patience for such long games as these.

She decided that, if the male seemed eager to get it over with, she'd do what she could to bring their chosen prey down quickly.

Presently, they came upon the herd. Blackbear slowed her pace significantly, not wanting to be detected before they'd chosen their target. She also took the time to perform a headcount, murmuring some of the numbers aloud as she picked out each individual. None of them stood out as particularly old or weak (to her), so Blackbear turned her attention to a younger buck - just past the age where it might be labeled a fawn. Daddy had always gone for the males when there was no other clear choice, saying that it was better take a possible father than a possible mother.

Blackbear had mixed feelings on that.

But anyway. Hunting. After scoping out the herd, she looked questioningly to her companion.

She accommodates with a pleasant wag of her tail. Natjuk answers in kind, rivaling her merriment. He's missed this. Not much can be accomplished with one set of teeth. Two, however...He smears a slick tongue over his lips. Yes, he wants this. As quick as we can manage, he announces with expeditious lopes. He sensed she understood this. If not, she will soon.

They slow mechanically, picking apart the herd. Natjuk divined much of the ungulates by scent alone, though not every tidbit of information will be of use in bringing one down. Firstly, this cluster is young. Aside from maybe one leading doe and buck, the rest are on the cusp of maturity. Likely unrelated. Secondly, these are mule deer. Thirdly, it is not uncommon for deer to roam about in search of better food. Notably in brumal months when forbs and grasses are harder to come by. What is strange is how they've invited themselves into enemy territory...Then again, it could be that Drageda has not hunted in a while, giving the impression of safety.

As if perceiving their rapacious appetite, the lead doe halts and revolves her large ears, head raised and alert. She then draws one hoof across the earth, manifestly disconcerted. They behave consequently, food-browsing no more and moving as one. Natjuk's breath hitches. There's no way they know who pursues. Are they just now finding out they roam where they should not, into the jaws of wolves?

Any chances of a swift kill are gone. They have weathered well thus far. Natjuk peers at his associate with steely resolve. He's not about to crumble under this adversity. Not now, not ever. Even so, he will concede before doing anything brash.

They know, he smoothly imparts. No doubt she's noticed by now. They are young, too. Aside from the stout leading doe. What should we do? Natjuk has some ideas. None will ensure a surefire triumph. Something's better than nothing.

Blackbear didn't really have a good answer. She was used to hunting by herself, and when she'd taken her chances with deer (not often) the hunts had lasted over days and miles as she slowly whittled away at the animal's body and will.

We could split up at first and come at them from different sides to confuse them. That might give us enough time to land the first blow. It'll have to be a good one, though, or it'll just make them skittish and we'll never catch it. Blackbear was fairly confident in her own ability to land that bite, but she didn't want to volunteer herself - just in case that looked presumptuous. Also, what if she failed? Then she'd look like an idiot in front of the new guy. Do you have any ideas?

Attention flits between wolf and deer. So, a pincer attack? It could work. Not definitive. It never is.

She is chagrined. He knows why. He has hunted with plenty, all of varying qualities. They are prone to mistake more than success as far as meeting their mark is concerned. That is their life and their burden.

I was thinking to corral them into deep snow. Hope one trips up. Shrug. Who knows if that would work? And how could they possibly know every dip and crevasse? Implausible.

I prefer your plan. They were going to toil for their meal either way.

Easy thought that the deer would likely be able to traverse the snow more easily than she and Natjuk could. But perhaps an already wounded deer would struggle with this a bit more? It seemed as good an idea as any.

How about this - after we mark one, let's try to do your plan as well. Any advantage is good. I don't like the idea of trying to wade into chest-deep snow when a deer's only up to its knees, but if it was already injured, that could probably help us out.

It felt weird contradicting the male, even though he had agreed with her plan. He didn't seem to be that much older than her, but she still felt very young and silly around most of her pack mates. Like a kid pretending to be an adult and a soldier. Desiring an end to all the awkward conversation, she turned away from the male and looked back out over the herd. I'll go 'round. When they start looking back toward me, we can both rush forward.

Satisfied to have his input entertained, he nods his head. Natjuk did not view her proposal as dissension. More like a gathering of feasibilities and how to veer them into their favor. The odds are stacked against them whatever they do. He'll not consider a loss until it's come and passed. Not yet.

Roger. He takes a centered inhale before departing, stooping and moving opposite of her. He gives the herd a wide enough berth, sneaking via brush and muddied earth. He tries to keep to trampled routes. It's not easy, needing to compile his own path through intact snowbanks. Plumed pants drift skyward. A costly itinerary. His spirits are nonetheless high at the drudgery, settling imperceptibly ahead of the herd. He coils tightly with quivering brawn. Ready when you are.

His answer quirked a smile from the mottled shewolf, but she was already turning her own way, circling wide around the herd but closing in when she thought she and the male were about opposite of each other. Soon enough, the ungulates grew even more nervous, and their heads began to turn in her direction. Some were still looking back the way they they'd been, and one or two seemed to be looking toward her companion. That was good. It meant they were confused.

As quietly as she could, Easy streaked forward, causing some of them to leap back in startlement while others still seemed not to know what direction the danger was in. Soon enough, they would all know where she was, but for the moment she used their confusion, searching for the best target - and for her hunting partner as well.

As soon as the dappled she-wolf erupts does he act in kind, billowing onward to press at the middle. Some take to stotting right away while others run. None are stupidly belligerent. Not with two established hunters at their spurs and positively not on their land.

They scatter, diffusing wonderfully under the onslaught. This splinter is diminutive compared to others herds. You would not know that up close with the terror egressing from their frost-rimed bodies.

The outermost segments bolt and the core either goes with the rest or alters course. Natjuk spots the outstretched limb of one deer. It locks some milliseconds too late; as if recovering from some clandestine ailment. Through the scurrying chaos, he managed to see that. He often relies on scent rather than sight when it comes to hunting. How he picked up on that flaw is an undeniable miracle.

But it is far from over. The doe in question is more than capable of escape.

Natjuk barks, indicating he has found their best bet. Mustering up enough reserve to come upon her, he bites. He snags the back of the doe's right thigh, teeth slicing ineffectively. The nip does not maim, only mark a harmless slit on her meaty haunch; a promise of things to come. Unable to keep up the blistering pace, he hangs back to regain what he's lost.

So far, so good.

Sure enough, the male was exactly where he needed to be. They both zeroed in on the same deer, but he got there ahead of her. That was fine - as long as they got that first bite in, their energy would likely not be wasted for naught. Just for good measure, Blackbear launched herself at her target and attached herself to its hauch while the male had it slowed and gave it a mighty shake. It was at this moment that she glanced to the side and saw her hunting partner biting into their meal in all his experienced-hunter glory. For a moment, her mind was taken off the hunt completely, and she fast-forwarded to them taking down this deer together and looking on as the pack ate their fill, and maybe he'd turn to her and say, "Gosh, Blackbear, I couldn't have done this without you," and then they'd -

"Oof!"

A hoof had just glanced off her side, and Blackbear released her grip and began working her jaw as the deer all bounded off through the trees. Hopefully, there'd be blood enough for them to track their marked target. "Sorry," she said hastily, looking 'round for the male because probably he'd let go some time ago. "Lockjaw all of the sudden." Was the believable? She hoped so. Either way, she circled back to him, doing her best to walk off the painful but mostly-harmless blow, and asked, "What's your name, anyway?"

She loosed her fangs from its hindquarter as she took a glancing blow. Panic welled within. The hooves are sharp. One well placed kick and it's game over. The chase is put on hold, the deer leaving with a hysterical gait. Did they hurt it enough to leave a trail?

Despite the instinctual sway compelling him to keep going, he's more worried about his comrade. Putting on the breaks, he swerves, kicking up snow from his impetus. He struts right up to her; a man on a mission. She mustn't be too bad off if she's talking. Lockjaw. Right.

Natjuk. He looks her over, sniffing her face and neck, coming to stop at her ruff. Nothing distressing jumps out. Relinquishing her space, he stands attentively at her side, trying to draw her gaze to his own. Not one of his most tactful moments.

You okay? For the first time in a while, courtesy registers in his voice. Quiet, hushed, with a tinge of urgency.

Blackbear was surprised when he came to check her over, much like Daddy used to do when she fell out of a tree or got knocked around during a hunt or playfight. It made her feel a little silly and even more embarrassed, but she figured they had bigger fish to fry, and oh gosh he was close and she could feel his breath against her cheek, ugh.

"Blackbear," she replied, managing to keep her voice even, albiet somewhat strained. She turned her head toward her side to sniff through her fur, but the motion didn't hurt her overmuch and she smelled only minimal amounts of blood. "I think it's fine. Just a scrape and a bad bruise." She couldn't believe she'd already messed up this monumentally in front of him. "We should get after them, huh?"

Fitting name, he deems as he peers into her sunset sight. He further wonders if she has the ferocity of one.

She puts his worries to rest. So long as she was feeling fit enough to finish this then he had no complaints. Acquiescing with a firm nod, he trots back over to the deer trail that leads into the trees. Visually the trail fades into the underbrush. Nose-wise it's a luminous path. They follow it like two homing beacons, eating up earth in broad bounds.

Brown blurs ahead, clear of trees and shrub. Natjuk trots off in their direction, following in the disturbed snow. At first. They have put some distance between them so they'll have to book it to catch up.

Natjuk, she thought to herself, branching out slightly from the male in question to walk in the tracks of one of the herd. It was not the one they'd marked, so she shifted over to the next set of tracks, and the next, until she was running along the path that their meal had taken, following almost step-for-step. Natjuk was nearby, but whether he followed the direct trail or merely the larger path cut by the herd as a whole, Blackbear didn't know or care. They were going in the rigth direction, and she doubted the deer would be able to hide from them.

His name was pushed to the edge of her mind as they honed in once more. She slowed her steps, nostrils flaring as she tried to ascertain the herd's mood and strength. "I think they're slowing down," she said, pulling back a bit to jog by Natjuk's side. "Give me a moment to catch my breath, and then let's see if we can separate her from the others."

Natjuk decelerates and comes to a standstill at the other's request. With an open, panting maw, he watches from afar. She's rejoined the herd. Darn. They would have to keep trying; wear at them until they disperse and heckle her to exhaustion. Problem is, they have already done that. Didn't work out as planned. Hunts don't usually go as intended. Not with the prey's antediluvian acumen. But they are equally prepared as far as intellect is concerned.

Easy watched the herd as well, expression unreadable save for the glint of excitement in her eyes. Although the doe had kept up with her herd well enough, there was blood running down her haunch and scattered in her wake. She would not last forever.

Okay, same as before? If we don't get her separate this time, we should just keep after her. One of us should go slower than the other to save our energy - we can take turns so that they never get a chance to rest. Eventually, she'll fall behind the others, said Easy, eyes still fixed hungrily at the herd. With a grin and a wag of her tail, she excused herself and began circling around once more, moving a bit faster this time because the herd was already trying to move along. But she caught them before they really picked up speed, cutting off their route and causing a few to turn away while the rest simple tried to get around her. Their doe was one of the former.

When it saw that its fellows had tried to outmaneuver the wolves instead of fleeing in the other direction, it tried to double back and join them, but Natjuk would hopefully be there to help her intercept.

Again, they engage. And again, the herd is cast into panicked upheaval. Most jump or run, passing unhindered. Natjuk does not become addled by the multitude of shapes, fixated upon their doe. It helps that she is marked by crimson filigree, glowing like a torch in their morose surroundings.

Blackbear does her part singling out their quarry. Natjuk intercepts the doe just as she's coming down upon her fore hooves. He heaves forth with jaws wide open, trying to put an end to this. He's fairly certain he's launched himself just right to land a hit but nothing is ever so straightforward.

Natjuk and Blackbear both launched at the same time, which should have made their attack foolproof. Blackbear hadn't been expecting to be knocked painfully off-course by one of the doe's fleeing comrades, but it was just the break their prey had needed. Teeth grazed fatally across her throat - she could not survive this. She would never have survived this. But she had life yet within her, and so the chase was on once more.

Blackbear let Natjuk get ahead of her while she paced away the second blow of the hunt, this one a bit harsher than the last. But nothing seemed to be irreparably broken, so she was catching up to the pair soon enough. When Natjuk seemed to lose his breath, she streaked on ahead of him, giving him a chance to recuperate. It cost her, but their reserves of strength would soon be replenished tenfold.

Hours passed this way, but soon enough, the deer slowed. Stumbled. Was only jogging along. Blackbear glanced toward her companion, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she tried to ready herself for what would surely be the finally showdown. But despite the arduous nature of their hunt, her eyes were bright with merriment.

Losers eat last, she called in a teasing tone, loping off to try and land the killing blow. She tried to rid herself of the sinking feeling in her chest telling her she likely couldn't beat out her hunting partner this time.

He slices deep enough to whet his palette, garnishing his muzzle with burgundy driblets. Blood weeps from her throat. Not the killing blow but a fatal one all the same.

He grounds with great force, buckling so as to circumvent the groan of his joints. He is semi-successful at that. Pain travels up his limbs and takes hold in the hinges of his being. Ouch. He will feel that when the adrenaline wears off.

What of Blackbear? He catches a glimpse of her in his pursuit, trudging along at a clip. She's gotten the short end of the stick this hunt. Could it be ineptitude, he asks himself. Inexperience or not, she catches up soon enough, relieving him. Glad to see you could keep up.

Everything after that was a kaleidoscope of events. Time had little significance save for the exhaustion that crept upon him. The burn of his lungs and the tiredness sowed into his muscles drives him.

The sanguinity of the situation is not lost on Natjuk. Blackbear elicits and he answers with an ecstatic smile. The doe's lurching step flags the end to this great chase. He quashes that hastiness that has cost him many times in the past. No, not now. Not at this pivotal moment.

Moving into position abreast their prey, Natjuk launches one more time. Success. With an implacable hold on her neck she finally crumbles, thrown off balance by his impetus. She descends, legs unfolding to frantically kick. But Natjuk understands her despair, taking her into his spit lacquered mouth and finishing it.

Hush. Your fight is over.