Redhawk Caldera Getting high and skipping class

Hotah met the buck with the full force of his weight, the collision thundering through his chest and down his limbs. His teeth found purchase at the thick column of the animal’s neck—hot hide, panic-sharp musk, the buck’s frantic pulse hammering beneath his jaws.

It surged, tried to wrench free. Hotah only tightened.

Jr’s snapping teeth kept the buck turning, kept it from gaining leverage. He felt her presence—controlled, fierce, precise—flanking him like a second heartbeat. That brief look they’d shared still burned behind his eyes.

He shifted his grip, bracing his forelegs and hauling the buck’s head downward with a guttural exertion. The animal’s front legs buckled, momentum failing as Hotah dragged its weight off balance. He felt its strength falter—first a stagger, then a full collapse as its hindquarters gave out.

Hotah rode it down, pressing into the earth with grim, efficient force. A final, brutal twist of his jaws.

Only then did he release his grip, breath coming hard and warm in plumes through the cold air. He stepped back just enough to give Jr space, his shoulders rising and falling as he looked to her—eyes bright with the electric afterglow of the hunt.