Sheepeater Cliff staring in to open flame

@Dagur

a sheep had lost its footing. it might've been too old or too young; too something, at any rate. foolish and clumsy, unlike its brethren. the remains had been picked-over by foxes and crows, and now it was zharille that found it.

the face was eyeless. its legs were twisted strangely beneath it. there was almost nothing left of its belly, but it was not meat that drew her along this time. the sheep's crown, curving from its bloody skull, remained untouched.

these, she set upon with her teeth as if they might break off, to be carried and played with. it was not such an easy thing, obtaining them. they would not budge and zharille grew quickly flustered.

He watched.

Hungry and aching and wounded still. He watched the beady eyes of a feral child. When had he last seen The Big Man?

But here was a big woman. Big, strong, healthy. All the things he was not, all the things he wanted to be. Cautiously he skirted around her with watchful eyes.

Had she fell the goat?

as she was in good health, the meat remaining upon the carcass held little interest to her. the crown was what she'd wanted; but she was struggling, and came away frustrated, her mouth sore from the many attempts to grab or wrench the horns free.

in her periphery she saw movement, and caught a glimpse of the boy. he couldn't have been very old - and he looked wild-eyed, gaunt. no doubt he was after the carcass for more immediate reasons. she bristled and gave a flash of teeth, but did not lunge for him - instead, pacing around the sheep to its head again, covetous of her prize.

Why!

She was fat and a glutton upon the sheep for no reason! Yet Dagur could not say he wouldn't do that same in her place.

He sunk low, a mewling sound out from his lips. He had no choice but to grovel and hope that she might feel some need to share. Unlikely, but he had no choice.

he did not give up. he was desperate though, and anyone in his state would fight tooth and claw for life, or there was something wrong with them. it was a pitiful display - however, it fed her ego, placed her so far above him in her mental hierarchy that zharille felt soothed, and pleased, and it was enough.

a low rumble continued in her chest, and she less-so stepped away from the carcass and more towards him, to inspect him with a scrutinizing eye, a probing nose. he was very young but he was not feeble. when she was content with whatever she had learned, she clipped at his ear with her teeth and that was cue enough to go, eat.

It was a blessing and he took the clip upon his ear proudly.

With a quickness he went and devoured upon meat left on muscly legs. Nearly choked in his eagerness, but he remembered to stay low. To keep an eye out for her, so that he did not miss any warnings.

The moment she wished to ward him off again, she could.

Dagur had learned how to listen to the bigger wolves, above all else.

he took to the carcass greedily. the desperation was indeed strong with this boy, and zharille listened as he began to choke down the stale meat. a disruption of flies came to orbit her ears, and she snapped at them while she waited, lurking near.

when she'd thought him full enough, she lunged!

teeth snapped at his heel, and his tail, and if he turned she aimed for his face, to grab his nose or lip; but if she did not manage it (as he was smaller and the kind to be hypervigilant) it did not matter. the head was her prize, and she wanted to keep it for herself.

Her teeth would find his lips, as they flapped while he tried to choke down the last piece of meat in his mouth.

A gentle (ha) split through it!

A reminder of her, of her strength. He was much too tired — and now fattened — to flee fully. So he hunkered once more. Deferred to her greatness as he watched her work upon the skull.

Why? Was there something better in there she wished for herself?

a crack sounded!

zharille reared back and spat, and out came a small tooth. she tasted her own blood and knew her work was for nothing. the crown was not coming free; she would have to take the whole head, and then what? carry it across the wilds? it was not worth the strain.

a rumble of annoyance crawled up her gullet, but she fell away from the carcass after that. it held no interest to her. she watched the boy, then seemed to grow bored of him too, and turned her attention to the wilderness.

a gob of bloody saliva dripped from her chin.

As Dagur saw it, she was a source of food.

She must be. He did not think about how the sheep might have fallen by itself, only that her great strength had sent it down.

He weaved after her. Mindful to avoid the reach (or so he'd try) of her sharp teeth. A shadow, whether she asked for it or not.

the hungry shadow followed her like a wraith. at first it bothered her, and she would stop frequently to stare him down or rumble, even snap the air if he got too close - but eventually she would relent to having a tag-along.

she doubted he would be able to keep up for long. then again, desperation can be powerful fuel.