Flycatcher Downs vorarephobia

The herd was restless. He could see it in the stamp of their hooves, the flash-white of their rumps. What was it like to be prey? 

As many times before, his minds eye imagined the white of a wolf's teeth, the final image they would see before death. He shook the uncomfortable image with a shake of his pelt. A wolf needed to eat. And to eat, one needed to die.

Continuing to press, tail flagged, the ironclad's gaze raked the herd searching for any signs of weakness until salmonberry eyes settled on a young spike. It's hindleg hung bloodied and pointed at some awkward angle. Such a pitiful thing would not survive long - the wolf would be doing it a favour.

Careful now, he would move to separate it from the rest.

@Ancelin @Ameline @Athalia tag for visibility perhaps ?

The hooded woman stalked the deer as well- albeit from the other side of the herd, and from such a distance that she did not spot the other wolf. She remained low, close to the ground where new green shoots began to spring up amid the dying yellow. Through tattered brush she watched- counting the animals with hungry eyes.

She intended only to take stock of them for now- take note of each individual, guess which does might be pregnant and soon to drop a fawn, and suss out any weaknesses. 

She thought the herd might have caught her scent- it would explain their nervousness. It was only when she spotted the injured young buck that she realized perhaps that they’d not scented her at all. Perhaps they merely feared the inevitable.

Grass flattened under heavy paws as the wolf broke into a lope, closing the distance between hunter and prey. A feint attack, a lazy snap of his jaws. Most herds would take their chances against a lone wolf, but not this one it seemed. Too caught up in the hunt, it did not cross his mind that the reason for this was that he was, in fact, not alone.

Muscles rippled as the ironclad quickly covered ground until he was running alongside the young buck, gaze calculating the best way to down it as it struggled to keep up with the rest. He lunged for its bad leg, teeth sinking into its already-torn flesh until he heard the whoosh of hooves signalling his release.

In its panic, the buck had spun to kick with its good legs - the wolf kept up the chase and watched gleefully as it ran, disoriented, into the brush. The sooner it tired or lost balance, the sooner he would eat.

Ears flicked, heads turned- and a blast of air came from several of the animals. Ameline’s head snapped up and she inhaled sharply as she caught sight of the wolf as it broke cover and moved toward the herd. She sought the movement of others here and there, to see that he appeared to be alone. 

She scrambled forward, not willing to be left behind while the stranger hunted the valley that she and Ancelin considered their hunting grounds. She calculated her options- and considering the fact that the targeted animal appeared to have a horrible injury, her best option seemed to be cooperation. 

She upped her speed. With the animal’s leg in such condition, it would not likely be able to outrun the other wolf, but getting it alone would be their best option. She moved for the flying heels of the other deer, spurring them forward so they might abandon their weakest member and give the wolves a better chance at taking him down.

He kept up a steady lope, salmonberry eyes locked on the spike as it arced through thickets and bushes in a desperate attempt to re-join the herd. For a creature on its deathbed, it certainly had plenty of fight left. It was going to be tough to down it lest he chase it for miles and somehow lose the herd.

His tail flicked in annoyance - until a streak of brown passed him in a blur. Another wolf? While he had expected to be chased like a stray dog wondering into the field of an angry shepherd, he watched curiously as she ducked and dove among the dust clouds kicked up by the herd.

With the deer now panicked and flighty, the ironclad did not let the efforts of his mysterious companion go to waste as he sprinted to block the buck's path with a snarl and a lunge at the beast's jugular.

Any solidarity the herd animals might have had disappeared when she harried them. They leapt and bounded away, soaring with each graceful leap and creating a growing gap between the fleeing herd and the fumbling stag. 

She chased them only as long as she needed to, before she turned and spotted the floundering spike in the distance. A bolt of grey lunged for its throat. Not wanting to miss out on the action, she began to sprint back toward the fighting duo.

His teeth caught flesh, jaws instinctually tightening until he met bone. By now the deer's blood flowed freely down the soft furs of his chin and arced in red ribbons as both wolf and buck moved in vicious tandem. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his feet firmly on the ground with little to find purchase on other than dry dirt - soon enough he was flung from his grip.

Pain blossomed in his shoulder at his awkward landing, but he was pleased to see the beast had stopped running and had begun to face its death-bringer whale-eyed and breathy. He was even more pleasantly surprised to see the brown hunter return, more than happy for the help.

He was quick to return to the fight, hunger and adrenaline reducing his injury to a dull pulse, jaws snapping at its hocks so that hunter-friend could seek an opening.

The wolf’s teeth sank in, and while he was thrust away, it seemed the animal had been sufficiently wounded to slow it down. She watched for the wolf to rebound- grateful to see that he seemed to have suffered little to no injury. He harried the animal, snapping for its heels. The young spike lowered his head as if to ward the wolf away, though he did not possess the crown that would enable him to reach.

In the wake of his attack she struck, streaking toward the distracted deer and jumping to catch the creature just below its jawline. She sank in her teeth and allowed her weight to swing, pulling the deer’s head down and causing it to stumble sideways from the sudden attack.

He cackled wildly at the buck's valiant efforts, quickly darting away despite the nonexistence of his antlers. While brown-hunter lunged for its throat in his opening, the wolf took advantage of it's loss of balance and struck at its flank. His weight was his best asset and the beast's hindquarters sunk heavily under him as teeth gripped it's uninjured thigh. Soon, it would be unable to rise and hunter-friend could strike again.

Amidst a mouthful of blood and hair came a violent, and unintelligible cheer. "JAAA GETH'EM!!"

She felt the animal balk and sway, now hindered by a gaping wound at its flank. The animal’s breath was warm against her side as she hung still clinging to the thick skin at its shoulder. She tasted the blood that slipped between her teeth, and urged by a cry from her hunting companion, she released her hold, dropped to the ground and then sprang for the ungulate’s throat again. 

It struck toward her with futile dashes of its forelegs, she stuck out a hind limb of her own to press it into the animal’s chest to keep her body from becoming a punching bag. 

With each second that passed, the animal would become weaker from oxygen deprivation. Now, with its windpipe crushed, it would never live to run with its herd mates again.