Redhawk Caldera My mind's a jungle, it's dark and wild

At long last, Peregrine made a kill. His jaw clenched tightly around the body of the coyote pup. He would have preferred to kill its mother, yet she had given him the slip. There were no other pups (they had likely already died of hunger) and this one was little more than a scrappy bag of bones. But the shadowy Alpha male would not complain. Meat was meat. This would sustain the Firebirds, with a little left over for Fox and himself. He hated to take even an ounce of food from his young's mouths, yet Peregrine was afraid that if he didn't fuel himself, he wouldn't survive to continue providing for them.

Once he reached the rendezvous site, he dropped the carcass. Before calling for his mate and offspring, Peregrine carefully rationed the meat. He wanted each of them—including the runty Peter—to get a fair share. He put aside one haunch and leg for each growing boy, then reserved the head for Fox. This left the other internal organs and other scraps for the hunter himself.

Splattered with blood and gore—it took every ounce of strength not to start wolfing down all the fresh meat spread in front of him—Peregrine called @Fox, @Ferret, @Gannet, @Whip and @Peter to the supper table.

Just 'cause he rationed stuff doesn't mean there can't be squabbles—and just because I only tagged Fox + kids doesn't mean nobody else can show up! ;)

Link to roll.

Lack of food had taken its toll. Once rambunctious and ever on foot, now the bandit could be found pooling what remained of his energies in the stretching shade of a tree trunk. It frustrated him; his mind said go but his body protested, and his efforts did not take him far before his legs dropped out from under him and he sprawled on the ground with an exhausted puff. His penchant for biting and chewing on anything he came across was now backed by an urgent need, and presently, he munched on the twigs strewn in front of him, and clods of dirt, and went so far as to roll rocks on his tongue.

Still with a stone pinched lightly between his molars, Ferret dozed, before awakened by his father's summons. He may have ignored his father's call, had it not chimed that dinner had been served at last. This spurred the bandit to his paws, and he called upon the last of his vigor to hurry him to the ration that had been set aside from him. He barged in, ravenous and reckless, and latched onto a haunch with growl. He eyed his father with suspicion, his hackles raised as he proceeded to jerk and drag his offering away, hell bent on finding a secluded area where he could consume his food without interference.

Peter had been sleeping inside of the den - yet again he was experiencing bouts of feeling very cold even, when he was staying in bright and warm sunlight outside, therefore he sought a warmer place elsewhere. The smell of food hit his nostrils first and, when he woke up and realized that it was not a dream, but a very real thing, he scrambled up to his feet and emerged from his hiding place.

There was his father standing over a mauled corpse and his brother Ferret taking off with a very real looking piece of food. With a wagging tail he proceeded towards his sibling first, wondering, if that was the only meat they were going to get, but, when he saw that there was more, he proceeded, sitting next to the rationed portions and looking up at his father expectantly.

In an effort to conserve all the energy that he had left, Whip stole away to slowly skulk about the furthest reaches of the rendezvous site as he waited for his father to return with something to fill his aching belly. It was a gamble everyday, and sometimes Whip's hopes were dashed against to rocks by his father returning home with nothing in hand. Being only a pup and not fully understanding the situation, Whip blamed his parents for not providing enough for him to eat -- he blamed them for not satisfying his most basic needs. It was the birthgiver's job, of course— to provide.

Still, when when the family was called, Whip answered by rising from the crudely dug ditch from which he searched for worms, grubs, and anything else that could quell his hunger pains. For a moment, his dirty features lit with joy -- a call such as this usually meant food. When Whip arrived, he found himself correct in his assumption.

An allotment had been layed out for him. Four individual piles for each boy: one of which Whip claimed for his own. The haunch and hind leg of a coyote pup was hardly enough for a growing boy. Whip knew this as soon as he began to tear away at his own ration. He would need more.

As he ate, his eyes first fell on his brother, Ferret, who has smartly began to drag his ration away to eat in safety. The thought of taking Ferret's ration to add to his own pile crossed Whip's mind, but it was soon shelved. Even at a young age, Whip weighed his options carefully. Stealing from Ferret would surely be more trouble than it was worth. He was a wily beast and would most likely put up a fight. The notion was dropped and Whip silently conceded to allow his older brother to eat without bother.

His other siblings however, they were not safe from the child's devious plotting. Next, his gaze fell on the youngest sibling, Peter. He was a much more fitting target: one of which Whip believed he could dominate into securing his ration. With Whip's ration fiercely protected behind him, he approached Peter with his tiny tail lifted high and a scratchy 'errrrrrrr' rumbling from his throat.

The prospect of food was ever-so-appealing. Fox had never been a stellar hunter, and the lack of prey only made it worse. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten a solid meal, and she was on the verge of venturing outside Redhawk Caldera to find something of substance. As usual, though, Peregrine came to the rescue.

Five piles (plus Peregrine's own) lay before him, and three of the children were already scarfing down their meals. Smartly, Ferret had pulled his own food away from the others. "Where's @Gannet?" she asked the dutiful hunter, concern in her eyes. She couldn't imagine anybody passing up food in a time like this. Fox took a seat by the head and began to dive in, keeping a close eye on the untouched pile of food meant for her currently not present son.

Tiny note: they do not live in a den; the rendezvous site is an open area. Here's a photo of it (although it overlooks a lake instead of mountains). :)

Four of his five family members arrived promptly. Ferret claimed his share and then dragged it away after giving his father a jealous glare. Peter seemed to be awaiting permission, which Peregrine gave with a pointed nod. Whip dug right into his share and Peregrine did not miss his roving, covetous eye. Normally, Peregrine wouldn't have intervened during a dominance scrap at the dinner table, letting his sons sort it out among themselves. But this was a matter of life or death and the father wouldn't (possibly couldn't) stand by.

"Whip, back off," he rumbled, coming between Whip and Peter. "Eat," he instructed the runt, still using the same blunt tone. Peregrine meant business. "Don't know," he added, lifting his head to peer at Fox. He shot Whip a pointed glare, then walked over to stand by Gannet's portion, as well as his own. "We need to make sure he eats," he said rather blandly before raising his muzzle again and summoning their missing son directly. It was not a request but a command. This wasn't a you-snooze-you-lose situation; it was more of a you-snooze-you-die one.

He did not go far; he was too hungry. His nails dug into his ration as his teeth tore into it, shearing off chunks that all but choked him as he hastily gulped them down. His eyes did not stop scanning from his littermates to his parents, and the hair along his spine remained bristled. The noise of his chewing, gulping, partial choking and coughing was punctuated with short growls.

Ferret fed so fast that part way through he staggered back and retched most of it back up, with long strands of mucus and bile strung from his mouth to the barely chewed pile. But, waste not want not. He savagely re-consumed what he had spat up, before taking his gluttony back to what was left.

Though hungry Peter was still a bit at loss of what to do with the big piece of food. And while he was pondering about getting a permission and also eating, his brother Whip had snuck up to him and with a domineering growl made claim to the piece of meat that still lied untouched at the runt's feet. Never being the one to pick up a fight, he dropped to his side, exposing his belly and peeing. Don't attack me, take what you want, I don't mean any harm.

However his father was quick to resolve the situation and with this kind of encouragement, Peter rolled back to his feet, picked up his slice and for the sake of safety, pulled it closer to, where Peregrine stood. There - finally feeling safe - he lied down and began to chew.

There it was, submission. Peter had reacted exactly how Whip had hoped. He moved in closer to snag his brother's ration, but before he could take it away to add to his own pile, Peregrine intervened by blocking Whip's path. Begrudgingly, the child bit his lip and stifled the growl that formed in his tiny, sunken chest. He backed away, tail tucked low and ears splayed back.

Moving back to what remained of his own pile, Whip ate and forced himself to be content with what he had.

Gonna finish this off for us. :)

When Gannet still failed to appear, Peregrine shifted his feet and said unnecessarily to Fox, "Keep an eye on them. I'm gonna go find him." If he had to drag his second-born here by the scruff of his neck and force feed him, he would, though Peregrine could not imagine any reason why the pup had failed to appear, other than the possibility that he simply hadn't heard somehow. Surely his hunger must be as painful and demanding as the others'? One way or the other, the Alpha was determined to fetch him and make sure all of his pups were fed today.