The Bracken Woods Superstition

It was bad luck to drink water from a source near your kill. 

The lynx panted softly in the wake of the hunt, the tip of her tongue curled against the warmth of the air she breathed. Summertime heat could be nearly unbearable. She could have waited until dusk to hunt but the gangly hare had been too tempting to resist. The chase had led them both zig-zagging through the woodlands until she overtook her quarry on the edge of a stream. 

Its blood trickled into the water. She was thirsty, but she kept her impulse in check. Even though it was her own kill, which she’d pull away from the shore to gnaw, she wouldn’t drink from the water until she’d finished eating, and had moved upstream. 

She ate quickly, nervously, eyes up and tufted ears switching independently- ever on guard should someone even fathom approaching her while she ate.

There was blood on the wind. Zahir's nose lifted, scenting at the air, and she rose from her place in the forest to track the scent. As she went, the smell of lynx popped up, growing stronger. It must have made a kill. Bloodred eyes cut through the gloom of the forest, settling upon the back of the lynx. The wolf watched, and waited.

Frequently, the feline paused and allowed silence to consume the area. Satisfied with the security of her position, she’d continue eating, crunching through bone and gristle, feasting as quickly as she could knowing that would never, truly be alone.

On one pause, she scented the canine. She sat up, and narrowed her eyes, squinting through the filtered light of the woodlands until she saw the white of the wolf’s fur. She’d seen ones like it in the North before; pale, wintery. Here, the wolf stuck out like a sore thumb against the greens of the woodlands.

She eyed the wolf. She’d never liked the look of their long snouts, and the heavy scent of their fur. She bristled and stared directly at it. After a slow inhale, she hissed. It was the only movement she made as she waited, ready to assess the wolf’s next moves and react accordingly.

Zahir had been spotted, as witnessed by the lynx's hiss. She didn't move at first, uncertain of what she wanted to do here. She had plenty of food, thanks to Reyson, and didn't feel like challenging the cat for a half-eaten hare. Even so, she felt her tail lifting, and a loud, snarling bark rent itself from her maw. She wanted to get her blood pumping. The wolf advanced on the lynx, lips curling back over long fangs.

Their audacity was another reason for the lynx to dislike canines. There was always reason to suspect they were never on their own, either- they lived in brainwashed communes and resorted to hostility senselessly. 

The hiss had been a warning, though hyssop was no match for a wolf in a fight. She’d caught the hare fair and square and felt entitled to it. The wolf didn’t look starving to her, so for it to challenge her for her meal was for no reason other than to be a bully. 

She crouched and snatched her kill the moment the wolf lifted its front paw to advance. She whirled and sprang across the stream with one bound, putting more distance between them. She didn’t want to waste energy running away if she didn’t have to. With an obstinate flick of her short, striped tail she glared over her shoulder at the wolf, huffing a short exhale of breath as though to say leave me alone! 

She’d measure its reaction, and retreat further if necessary. She had several cards up her sleeve still. A cat was never without its tricks.

Zahir snickered as the lynx got up and bounded across the stream, taking its kill with it. She followed it across the water, moving at an easy lope but yearning to pick up speed. She wanted to chase, to run this creature back from whence it came. Another snarl and Zahir's hackles rose, and she rushed the lynx, teeth snapping. For Zahir, it was play.

Hyssop out. Thanks for the thread!

Unsatisfied, the canine lunged. A waste of energy, she thought- a wolf would be no match for her in speed. Hyssop gripped the hare scraps in her teeth, and vaulted away. She was fleet- faster than any wolf could be by a long shot- and she didn’t look back as she shot away into the wilderness. 

She hadn’t even had a drink from the stream, and yet her luck had been bad. What a day.

The lynx raced away before Zahir even got a good chase in. Disgruntled, the wolf let out a low howl, then went on her way. She took a drink from the stream, and even marked one of the trees, so as to warn the lynx should it come back. Zahir then left, feeling altogether underwhelmed.