Kintla Flatlands Plates and Saucers

Nestled down at the edge of the lake with piercing silver eyes scanning the surface, the wiry male wolf waited, as though deciding the perfect moment to ambush prey. His body was concealed by tall grasses, long, dry yellow stalks from the year past that arched over his bony shoulders and narrow flanks. All that moved were his two dark grey ears, and their movements were fast and constant- each swivelling independently as though to pinpoint the direction of an interesting sound. His sharp gaze would rest on one location for a moment, before darting elsewhere, to land upon some other point of interest. Truth be told, Shrike looked like he was either fearful or hunting- but in reality, the male was quite calm. This was simply his state of being. 

There was nothing here that interested him terribly. He could smell that a porcupine had passed through a day ago, a few deer as well, and wolves too. There were packs in this area but he hadn't drawn near their borders. The flatlands would serve, for the time being, as a home to him as the stimulation from the wide, open expanse was enough to satisfy the cravings his senses constantly demanded. Having tired of watching out over the lake of water, he stood up suddenly, with a quick jerk, and began to meander through the plains. 

His eyes continued to search the horizon, and he would occasionally cast a glance over one shoulder, and his ears constantly rotated atop his fine head. The scents and sights of unattainable prey- birds, mostly- did not interest him. But when the scent of a wolf- fresh and close- caught his attention, he froze, lifting his head high and casting his bright gaze out across the flatlands. His posture was that of someone who demanded to find whoever it was who was within scent range. He was a hunter who did not like being disappointed. Wanting to lay eyes on the wolf, whoever and wherever they were, he issued a sharp bark to see if it would catch their attention and give away their position.

Thank you for starting!

Pallas had been overturning rocks for newts (with no luck) when a bark rung in the area. Her triangular ears shoved forward and she whipped her head around, scanning the vicinity with a displeased squint to her features. She hadn't expected company, and truth be told, had let her guard down a little. She had been too absorbed in finding food to really notice that she was practically on top of another wolf. Perhaps this was the reason she was just as thin as Shrike, though the condition was not a look that she wore well.

With a grumble she placed her paw back on the ground and the rock fell, crushing the insects beneath it with a loud swarming splat. It was unlike her to want to seek company, but she did not want to be caught offguard by this wolf again. With that she turned around and nearly spooked in surprise, for there was a male not too far from her, his heads peeking over the reeds like a submarine's swiveling periscope. Her hackles riffled independent of the wind, and she studied the male before her without words to excuse the brashness of her examination.

A flash of white, and Shrike had spotted the wolf he'd scented, but it was only with fleeting glances that he regarded her, looking away and continuously scanning the flatlands in between the glimpses he caught of her. With each look, he gathered more information about her- that she was large, had brown eyes and a tough look about her face that gave him the impression she might not be terribly friendly. Her face was pock-marked with scars revealing dark skin, no doubt from numerous squabbles and fights, a further reflection of some sort of history and perhaps an unfriendly personality. Her fur was coarse and hung about her lean body, revealing to him that she was likely older than him by a few years as well. Within a few seconds and perhaps two or three glances, Shrike had already made up his mind about her. Tough, hardened, short temper, quick to strike. Warning. 

So within seconds of being spotted, his own physique softened and his posture would have read I am not a threat. Shrike's quick glances slowed, as he was well aware that his usual habits often made others uncomfortable. His ears turned back and relaxed, his mouth opened slightly allowing him to pant gently. He could see her in his peripheral vision, but did not turn to face her. He awaited to catch any motion from her, before he made a choice for his next action.

While Pallas studied plainly, Shrike did it much more subtly. His fleeting glances were met with coldness, though their lack of intensity caused Pallas to stow away what would have possibly been the beginnings of hostile body language. His glances continued and they seemed not unlike the abrupt tilt of a crow's head -- that was, until he panted and seemed to dissolve into the ferns that sheathed him. Her own body language remained confident, if vaguely assertive: her tail trailed above her hocks, a silent wave that seemed to regard his subordinate behavior. In stiff but deliberately placed steps the she-wolf turned towards him, her muzzle extended to sniff along his own. Unless he moved, she would trail her muzzle along his cheek to scent him, identify him, and, as all dominant wolves do, broadcast dominance by keeping her head above his own. When/if (don't want to PP!) the meeting ritual was done she would pull away and walk about him, noting the slightness of his frame and the shock of black that guarded his illuminant silver eyes.

The slender male did not move away as the larger female started toward him, though his posture did tense slightly. She moved with a purposeful step, and again he noticed with a quick glance that her posture was dominant. He did not curl into submission but remained neutral and calm, one ear turned toward her now and his face turned just slightly, so he could keep her within his view should she make any sudden movements. He could not forsee her suddenly charging and attacking him for no reason- it simply wasn't natural for a wolf to do so, unless they were protecting young or defending a kill, and he could smell neither about her. 

His tail wagged gently between his ankles as she approached, coming close enough to touch her muzzle to his cheek and begin to trail along his body. Subserviently, he laid his ears back and tilted his muzzle up so that he could gently lick the very corner of her lips to appease her before she moved along his body. He kept his head low, sniffing her elbow as she passed around him, keeping all four feet rooted to the ground as she looked him over. This was her right as the dominant wolf, decided speechlessly between the two of them. He remained still, to await a verdict.

While her outward posture may have been seen as aggressive to a bystander, to Pallas, there was little in the world more important than establishing hierarchy. Hierarchy bred structure, and this environment wolves flourished in. Shrike's lack of defensiveness was met with an equal lack of hostility: as soon as she had made her rounds Pallas pulled an agreeable distance from the sterling furred male and relaxed her posture visibly. His sniffing was allowed, and as she turned away she saw him remain still in her peripherals. With unspoken introductions out of the way the she-wolf felt much more at ease in this stranger's company. Eventually she moved again, lifting her muzzle up and down as the scent of a deer filtered elusively in the wind. With a soft grunt she was off in the direction of the scent, her expression that of a wolf captured with interest as she trotted down the trail.

Pleased that nothing about him had caused her concern or offense, Shrike was more than happy to bound after Pallas, latching onto the scent of the deer and the opportunity of catching a meal. He slowed to a trot and traveled directly in the path behind her so that their scent, should it reach the deer before they did, would only come from one direction, rather than fanning away from her and risking having his own scent give away their approach. There was power to her short step, but he wasn't quite sure that that step hadn't been caused by a stiffness of some kind. Either way, he was not terribly concerned; she probably had more power, while he had more speed and thus, he still felt confident that they had a decent chance at hunting down a deer. 

His head was low as he trotted, and in truth he looked as though he was herding Pallas like a collie might herd sheep, though simply because the male wanted to be as hidden as possible and was using Pallas as a sheild. He relied on his sense of smell to assure himself that they were heading in the right direction, but allowed her to take the lead, watching her for any sign that she had spotted something.

The she-wolf's ears canted back as she heard the rush of reeds behind her announcing Shrike's accompaniment. A thrilled feeling rose in her gut as the scent of deer became more heady. She did not notice the male's posture behind her, though she could hear the quick foot steps that confirmed he was still only a stride or two out. At the brim of a tussock-lined hedge the she-wolf stopped and hunkered down, her gaze settling ahead where a small congregation of deer milled. Pallas, for all her years, had never perfected the art of hunting: but she had perfected the art of an ambush. Like her he was thin, but there was a leanness to him that suggested swiftness and tenacity.

If Shrike was still besides her she would cast him a silent look before fastening her gaze on the closest deer to them, a juvenile doe who at the moment, had her back to the two wolves on the rise. She snaked forward on her stomach, mindful of the wind as she advanced. She was not particularly picky on which way they executed their hunt, so long as they were rewarded in the end with a meal. Quietly she would inch painstakingly close to the herd  until there was no more cover to conceal her -- and then she would burst from the reeds and hopefully flank the doe alongside her newly minted companion.

When the female's posture changed, Shrike lifted his head, scenting that they were now relatively close to a herd of deer, if not within sight of them. He moved to the side, then, so that he too could see, while remaining behind her. His companion's posture had lowered so that she might avoid being seen, and between the two of them, winter might have camouflaged them better but the grasses of the flatland would just have to do, to conceal them. He caught a flash of brown, a glance from the female, and his eyes finally lifted her face before following her gaze. He caught sight of the doe she'd targeted, but he continued to scan the herd before agreeing silently that the young doe would likely be the easiest catch. 

He moved away from her side, circling around and away from her until he could see the doe from the side. He looked to the place where he'd left Pallas but could not see her, not at first. He waited, watching the grasses to see if she would burst forth, or simply sneak forward until he caught sight of her white hair, waving like fluffy tufts of grass. Had he not been looking for her, he wouldn't have seen her, which worked to their advantage- the deer hadn't been looking in that direction. 

As they were positioned, Pallas would have been directly behind the doe while Shrike had moved around so that if he ran straight forward, he would be attacking from the doe's right side. Had they both attacked from the same position, they would have simply started a chase, and the doe would have simply needed to run in a straight line, away from the wolves. As it was, Shrike wanted to cause confusion, so the deer would have to maneuver and make a decision before springing away, which would give his hunting partner a better chance at getting close enough to attack.

Once Shrike felt he was in position and could not possibly sneak any closer, he darted forward, streaking toward the herd like a silver bullet, aiming to cut the young doe away from the herd and send her whirling and running, closer to his hunting partner.

PP of Pallas is 100% acceptable - this may be my last spree post tonight (sorry!) but I have tomorrow off :D

Pallas had waited within the folds of the fronds, all but her fur still as she watched the doe for any sign of weakness. Momentarily she had scanned the spot where she had last seen Shrike, and he was there no longer. Her ears and eyes strained as she listened, and it was then the ropy male shot forth from the tall grass, wild noise and all -- in some ways his fleet progress sharp like the falcon's dive. Not a moment too soon too, for the wind had just shifted in the doe's favor. With a surge of power Pallas lumbered forth, her eyes trained on the doe as her slender neck shot upright and alarm and her lithe limbs dallied; with a patter she bolted one way and then the next, noticing too late the pale dervish that was Pallas. This caused the doe to falter, her slender legs criss-crossing in a panicked pirouette as she tried to right herself by turning away from Pallas. This loss of time, momentum, and speed was all Pallas needed: with two hefty strides she had closed the gap and threw herself at the doe, her teeth rallying around the doe's angled hocks. All of this was done with a mindless intensity, and she hoped Shrike would be there shortly to help fell the doe before she shook free completely. Even if the doe got away, she was wounded and between the two of them they were more than capable of eventually running her into exhaustion.

The doe's tawny head flew into the air when she heard and saw Shrike speeding toward her and she whirled on her ankles and took a bound away from him, but in that moment she caught sight of the larger predator emerging as well, from another angle, causing her to balk and doubt her escape plan. This cost her time and her easy escape, and Pallas was upon the doe, biting at its legs and causing it to slow further, as it did its best to avoid the nips and bites. The doe's efforts were in vain, though, as this gave Shrike the time to gain on her and with a snarl he leapt, aiming to grab the tender spot just below her jawbone. 

The doe was quicker than he anticipated, though, and whirled away from him at the last moment so instead he collided with her shoulder, pushing her sideways and causing her to stumble. He had nothing to grab onto and so, circled around her hoping to find another angle but she wisely whirled away from him in order to protect herself. With several other herd members standing nearby, Shrike knew it was only a matter of time before she rejoined them and found her safety. It was his turn, then, to distract the doe so his hunting partner could make the kill. Grabbing into the nearest foreleg and holding his ground, Shrike did his best to hold the doe still enough that Pallas had a shot at killing it.

In a flurry of fur and fangs the doe stumbled, knocked off balance by the intrepid Shrike's blow. Pallas did not stand by and watch, her limbs churning into overdrive as instinct consumed her. As Shrike circled for a weak spot Pallas dove in, complimenting the flitting male's attack to the hock by attacking a forelimb. The doe's hooves struck out and one grazed her on the cheek with a sharp report and Pallas, angered, bit down deeper into the leg. The doe, grappled from two limbs, fell to the side with a thrash and a cloud of dust. Pallas lunged then for the throat with a silent efficiency, shaking the doe's neck as dust rose in a solemn swarm about them.

His plan had worked, and Pallas, though she'd taken a kick, had managed to grab another leg so the doe fell to the ground and was set upon almost immediately by the pallid wolf's fangs. Shrike released the leg, which struck out a few times as the doe struggled on her side against her oncoming demise, but Shrike circled around to grab the base of the deer's neck, just above her shoulders and bit down as hard as he could, keeping her more immobile as Pallis' fangs did the trick, slowly squeezing the life out of the doe and shaking her head to cause as much damage as possible. 

The doe had fallen quiet several moments before Shrike released his grip. He panted softly and looked over to Pallis, to whom he gave a nod of recognition. She had done a very good job of catching the doe by the throat, and for her he stood back, allowing her to choose where she would feast first, before he would move in to eat as well.

TY for the thread!

There was chaos, and then it was over. The doe struggled but for a moment before it succumbed to its injuries, and Pallas held it firmly until it moved no longer. Her gaze fell on the male in silent accolades but she made no move to let him feast first; with quick saws of her hooked teeth she pried open the doe's cavity and ate -- once she had her fill she would stalk off to lick the mess from her pelt. She would leave the rest to Shrike, for she had no intention of staying in the region.