Honeyed Pasture The thrill of the hunt

oh hi there hahaha

Instead of trotting off, Phocion decided to stay put. He did not want to abandon his well-caught prey on the off chance that a stray buzzard came along and started picking at it.

So he crouched low again, flattening his lithe form to the ground, and waited. Perhaps another rabbit or some other bit of prey would come this way.

In his waiting, he began to think about the pack he was to serve. It had not been a particularly good start. Because of his dumb, uncouth body language, he had been met with raised hackles. It would take a long time to get in their good graces. Phocion hoped this gift of a rabbit was a good start.

His ears picked up a rustling ahead. His prayers had been answered. Another rabbit sat in a particularly tall patch of grass, just three or four tail-lengths ahead. With a final glance at the already-dead creature, he began to creep forward towards the newcomer, teeth bared and primed for the kill.

This rabbit must have been sharper than the last, smelling him coming and probably scenting death nearby. With a small sound of alarm, it fled. Phocion's muscles bunched, preparing to spring after it, but then he remembered his prey behind him. He could not--would not--abandon it.

With a small sigh of disappointment, he turned back and returned, laying on his belly and placing his head on his paws. A small shiver crawled up his spine--he suddenly felt as if someone were watching him. Standing, he did a full, slow spin, eyes narrowed as he searched for the other. Spin, spin. . .there. A pair of yellow-green eyes were surveying him behind a thicket of dead branches. Krypton's eyes. A hot flush of embarrassment overcame him as he realized she must have seen his failure.

"Krypton," he muttered in greeting, nodding his head.

Rolls here