All Welcome Fangs - Printable Version

The sun has sunk below the horizon, swallowed up in the black sky.

This is what she'd been waiting for, having found an overturned stump to sleep beneath for most of the day, she felt well-rested for once; not plagued by memory or roused by restlessness. She hadn't slept like that in a while. She is up quickly, legs stretching from their curled postion to carry her onward.

She had found more success hunting under the cover of dark, and so it became routine. Her figure weaved through the underbrush on careful paws, each placement a calculated effort to remain silent as a spectre. Pads sunk into the soft moss that coated the forest floor here, an extra cushion of silence. Even her breath was kept in careful check, jaws opening to taste the wind. The moon was making its way towards its peak, dappling the ground and slipping between branches to cloak the woods in scattered rays of silver moonlight. A cloudy sky would have served her better, but the moons gentle glow was not unwelcome, an odd sort of peace settling over the muradoii.

Such things are short lived.

New spring brought with it new life. She wished to cut one short tonight, and it seemed she was in luck; coming across a set of hoof tracks embedded in the soil. Smaller than caribou, but undoubtedly ungulate.

It would not take too long for Cetseni to come across not the owner of the tracks, but instead it's speckled offspring, nearly missed as it lay still as a stone beneath the cover of some ferns. Bloodstone eyes meet the round black void staring back at her, and yet still it makes no move to run.

It's almost unfair really. She stares longer than she should, as if it tugged at something inside.

Such things are short lived.

It only began to move when her teeth found their mark, a wailing cry echoing through the trees, soon stifled as she reaffirmed her grip, a paw pinning the body while she dragged her teeth through flesh, unpracticed, it is not a merciful or quick end, but it does end.

Some time later, she is sated, and for once not miserable with herself. She brings what is left of the fawn to the river; it's spotted tawny hide stripped of the bloody underlayer. She would wash it in the cold stream, for no other reason than to have something to herself.