algid afternoon sun drifts in and out of cloud coverage; as if it were a cub playing hide’n’seek. permafrost hollows prove to be flush with deer; abounding in their rutseason.
looming rockpeak and glint of glacier are not croc’s first choice of prime territory; trees, tunnels and shrubbery offers both sanctuary and the promise of feasts to those aweary and famished —
such as he.
burned leg aches with impenitent stiffness; refusing to ebb from taxing journey from the wold. thirst is sated in the small stream of cool meltwater; tonic untainted. chin wet with droplets, he tracks freshest scents; tempted by the musk of prey at limping gait. content to take stock of herds seeking asylum in hallowed lands.
for now; with little choice besides.
looming rockpeak and glint of glacier are not croc’s first choice of prime territory; trees, tunnels and shrubbery offers both sanctuary and the promise of feasts to those aweary and famished —
such as he.
burned leg aches with impenitent stiffness; refusing to ebb from taxing journey from the wold. thirst is sated in the small stream of cool meltwater; tonic untainted. chin wet with droplets, he tracks freshest scents; tempted by the musk of prey at limping gait. content to take stock of herds seeking asylum in hallowed lands.
for now; with little choice besides.
October 19, 2020, 07:27 PM
Barbecue is not a flavor she can recognize on the wind; the scent she trails elicits a shudder of want along her belly, a flighty tremble of the heart.
Hunger is everpresent for the wretch and as she spiders across the hollow - sinking in and out of shadow, waiting impatiently between sweeps of cloud that briefly greys-out the light - and the trail she has found tastes fresh.
There is a charred quality to the canine musk she pursues. The smell reminds her of her mother - it is disgusting, and equally so it is distracting. She is briefly lost to nefarious thoughts of a time before.
A short sharp whine to issue from her throat before she returns to herself; the sound is a strangled sob, carrying over the whispering of the nearby vein of water. She looks askew for her target and notices, too late, that they are very close - and she is exposed now, standing plainly without cover.
Hunger is everpresent for the wretch and as she spiders across the hollow - sinking in and out of shadow, waiting impatiently between sweeps of cloud that briefly greys-out the light - and the trail she has found tastes fresh.
There is a charred quality to the canine musk she pursues. The smell reminds her of her mother - it is disgusting, and equally so it is distracting. She is briefly lost to nefarious thoughts of a time before.
A short sharp whine to issue from her throat before she returns to herself; the sound is a strangled sob, carrying over the whispering of the nearby vein of water. She looks askew for her target and notices, too late, that they are very close - and she is exposed now, standing plainly without cover.
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