Heron Lake Plateau theodore rex

He had been out and about, checking on caches as he usually did in the afternoon, when he came across a rabbit that was already dead. It had not been stored, and he did not think it had been killed by a wolf. There was no blood around it, nor signs of saliva clinging to its fur. The Redhawk stood over it, studying it more closely and wondering if it had possibly died of old age.

Moving his muzzle to hover just above the rabbit, he sought out any signs his nose might give him, his breath making a tiny swirl of mist over the dead rabbit's body.

He'd spotted the tracks and taken it upon himself to follow them, eager to test his tracking skills; that, and he was curious. The pawprints carried a scent familiar to the young blackthorn (the distinct smell that the redhawk wolves all carried), but when he distinguished who among the group it was, specifically, Cinder couldn't recall talking to him face to face. 

When he emerged from the undergrowth with a flash of silver, the youth's glittering bronze eyes danced over first to Phox; he was a large wolf, draped in monochrome hues of black and silver - he could not see the wolf's own eyes, for he was facing the other way, absorbed in admiring... what was he looking at? Intruige sparkling in his gaze, Cinder tip-toed forward and poked his head from around Phox's shoulder (though he'd likely already been spotted). "What'cha doin'?"

...was that a dead rabbit? Why wasn't he eating it, or burying it?

Phox's attention was broken by footsteps, and he looked around to see a wolf coming toward him. A Blackthorn, judging by the stripe along his back and the greyscale fur colors. Phox rattled his brain for a name, but he didn't know Finley's latest batch well, seeing as he hadn't been around for the majority of their lives. Trying to figure out what killed this rabbit, he replied. It doesn't look like it was killed by a wolf. Or any other predator, for that matter. It doesn't smell sick, either. Phox wondered what could have killed it, but the most obvious explanation was a simple one. Might've just gotten too old.

bumping to present <3

Amber gaze watched the rabbit corpse with mild caution, tentatively wandering closer to sniff at it - what on earth happened to it? The youth's ears pricked at Phox's deciphering of the odd occurance, but his heart felt like it might stop completely at the last statement; tail stiffening and eyes widening with both wonder and fear. "How old are wolves when they die?" In reality, Cinder had never thought too much of death. It seemed a fantasy concept, so far out of his reach... it was something he didn't intend to grip, either. But could it really happen so easy, and was it inevitable?

As he was pondering in silence, his lips parted, only to taste a new scent tainting the air, a strange, unfamilar one. His brows quirked up in excitement, gaze wandering the horizon while his paws itched beneath him - was there someone here he hadn't met yet? Or maybe there was an intruder, a big bad man that Cinder could totally chase off! If he did that, he'd prove to everyone that he was just as cool as his siblings. They didn't have the comforting scent of the plateau wolves. He snuck a glance toward his new friend before idly sneaking off to the side, engulfing himself in the undergrowth that remained. 

Spindly legs caught his attention as he dove closer, tongue poking out from his muzzle in concentration as he scoped out the scene - he crept closer, creating images of him catapulting into an enemy and forcing them to the ground, only to return with baskets full of praise from his family. That was all he wanted, really. They'd be proud of him if he defended them, wouldn't they?

Suddenly a hot breath fanned in front of his face, brushing his whiskers slick against his cheeks. Cinder's gaze trembled upward, only to meet gleaming predatory eyes, flickering a vivid yellow that froze him in place like the deceased rabbit's body, paralysed by fear. There were a few heartbeats of silence, and then the trance snapped just as the jaws did - the blackthorn tumbled backwards, feeling pointed teeth scrape at his back, and a tremendous scream fled his mouth, shoving himself up to his paws and sprinting back in the direction of the darker wolf, away from the malicious intruder.

"PHOX!"

Phox shrugged, then realizing that would probably not be a satisfactory answer, he put in a, You and I have got plenty of years, comment. That seemed to soothe the kid, and when Phox looked back up, he'd vanished. The Redhawk figured the younger wolf just wasn't that interested in what had killed the rabbit. Phox continued to study it, eventually deciding it was just old age that had caused the bun-bun to perish. A second later, he heard a shout from... well, probably the younger wolf he'd just been talking to.

He didn't hesitate to lurch forward, the smell of the stranger overpowering everything else. Phox had never been a particularly brave wolf, but seeing a pack mate in danger was different from thinking about them being in danger. All caution thrown to the wind, Phox launched himself at the attacker, jaws wide as he tried to divert the creatures attention from the Blackthorn.

Those last words sure were going to be ironic, depending on this outcome.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Whether the sound was his heart, his paws, or the attacker's paws was unknown, but the sound filled both of his ears, echoed into his chest with a shock that seemed to freeze the organs in his body, leaving him a stone cold mess. His paws were fast on the rough ground, but not fast enough - a gust of air tickled his toes, followed by a gut-wrenching tug. Pain shot up his leg, and he peered down in fear to witness the lynx's jaws snap shut around his ankle, pulling back with a force that make the young blackthorn cry out in horror, tumbling to the floor. He'd never seen an attack before, let alone have the victim be himself! Oh, was he going to die now?

Cinder had never been a large wolf, and he was just smaller than the ferious feline, who's hazardous eyes flashed in his vision for the second time - it was an abnormally large lynx, with a bulking form and pointed incisors. He didn't have time to stop and stare, though, when he was being dragged like a limp doll toward the jaws of the creature. Where had it even come from? Why was it trying to hurt him?

If he had been in a calmer state of mind, where his sight was not blurring at the edges and the world did not spin so violently around him, he might have noticed the bones protruding from the intruder's stomach, or where the spine stuck out and streched the skin on their back. But he didn't.

Phox's attack snapped through his mind's spiralling thoughts, and for a moment claws tightened around his hind legs before the weight became looser (now his vision was a blur of black and silver), and the blackthorn's panicked body attempted to wriggle out from under the predator. He was unsuccessful the first time, but fear lent him a boost of urgent strength and with a second attempt (the lynx was momentarily distracted, though he could not see past the mass of fur and muscle) he was free! Or... would have been, if the creature had not noticed the writhing youngster escaping from beneath their claws. But it did, and as he moved to spring away a thundering growl and a crunch filled the air with venemous peril, followed by Cinder's second scream. It was of pain, as a searing heat sped up from the base of his tail and tingled up his spine, before there was a deathly numbness and then release. He felt his chin smack into the earth, but did not waste time looking back at the hulking creature behind him, and sped off into the shelter of any vegetation that had survived winter's grip.

Once he was safely wrapped in whatever he could find, terror-ridden eyes of bronze peered out into the open, only to feel shudders ripple through his body at what lay before him - the lynx had dropped something, but charged toward Phox like a raging bull.

Phox had never seen a lynx attack a wolf. They were smaller and usually left the larger predators alone. Not that he had much time to delve into that thought train. He ripped the cat off of the Blackthorn, and it clawed at Phox's face. Let's just say that wasn't a pleasant feeling. He could feel the hot blood dribbling down now, and he knew he would not come out of this mess unscathed. A second later, the cat managed to grab ahold of the other wolf's tail, and Phox watched in helpless horror as it snapped clean off. He had to keep himself from losing his lunch.

The cat dropped what had once been a living part of the younger wolf's tail, then charged Phox again. This time, blinking away the stinging blood that was running into his left eye, the Redhawk was more prepared. He dodged the cat's claws and teeth, swung around, and latched his own teeth firmly onto the back of the lynx's neck. Adrenaline was pulsing through his veins as he crunched down and felt the cat's neck snap between his teeth. He was breathing hard, and he tried to take stock of the situation.

It's dead, he said grimly. He hadn't seen where the younger wolf had run off to, but the trail of blood leading from the dismembered tail was easy enough to follow. Let's get you to @Raven.

The sight was like nothing he'd witnessed before - the clash of teeth and claws, the spray of crimson blood and the vicious snarling that wracked the air in bellows of violence. Perhaps he would have been able to better contribute to ridding the plateau of the creature if he had experienced fighting before, but, in truth, he had not. Most of his time had been spent within the center of the redhawk territory, and only recently had he begun traipsing on the other side of the borders. He was almost as inexperienced as a newborn.

Cinder shut his eyes.

Only when Phox's voice rang out through the clearing did the youngster look again upon where he had stood, and trembled at the sudden silence. The lynx's body lay limp on the floor, alongside a streak of silver that caused a wave of confusion to shudder through his skull - paws struggled to lift himself up after the weight of his shock (the encounter had been over almost as quickly as it had begun), and youthful eyes tipped back to peer in dismay at the sight of only a bloodied grey tuft at his rear. His tail was gone, and only a stub remained.

Nausea.

He felt dizzy, and wobbled as he stepped forward to exit his hiding spot. The blackthorn slunk toward Phox, feeling the numbness begin to wear off and the stinging discomfort start to take effect. His body moved close to the older wolf, taking comfort in the protection he brought - ordinarily, he would have so many more questions to ask, but the pain was sickening and he was still stunned by the entire scenario.

He would recover, but for now Cinder focused his energies on walking steadily.

Phox allowed the younger Blackthorn to lean against them as they walked. Thankfully, they weren't too far from Raven's den, so getting him there was doable, yet arduous. Phox's own face stung, but it was nothing like what had happened to the other wolf. Phox was pretty sure the tail loss was going to make things more difficult for the boy than a few scratches (no matter how deep) across his face.

When they got to Raven's, Phox let her take over. He caught the boy's name (Cinder) finally as Raven went to work on him. She cleaned the wound, put something or another on it for what he could only assume would stop the bleeding and prevent infection, and told him to lie down and get some rest there. The older Redhawk then asked what happened, and Phox explained in as much detail as he could about the rather large lynx and its odd behavior of attacking Cinder (and then Phox). She seemed concerned by this, looking back anxiously at the tailless Blackthorn, but she insisted everything would be all right.

Raven began to work on Phox, and he allowed her to clean his wound, but he decided the rest could take its course. He'd gotten more than enough scrapes and bruises without needing extra attention. I'll come by tomorrow to check on him, he said. He peered over at Cinder, who he assumed was already resting by now.

As for Phox, he wanted to go back and check on the lynx to see if there was anything especially odd about it. Maybe it would help him make sense of why it had acted that way.