Autumn's Days Are Numbered

Tyranis had always been on the gaunt side, his fur had always been too thick and plush to show it but his narrow hips and long thin legs were telling enough. He had never cared enough before and had even thought his sleek frame was more fitting for a young man of intellect, but now that his thoughts were turning toward becoming alpha and the very real notion that he would need to fight had arisen, he was starting to view it as a weakness. He needed to get stronger, and that meant gaining muscle, which of course meant eating. He had always thought of hunting as beneath him, in spite of the fact that he was built perfectly for it, and thus had done little in the way of learning to track and catch prey. He had one lesson with Brandr once when he was around four months old, but that was the most he could account for other than catching the occasional snake in the plains.

He crept with his nose to the ground, searching for signs of anything even remotely edible, when he saw it; a pheasant, a great fat thing picking its way through the grass. It had spotted him, and regarded him apprehensively and began to pace away, unsure if the young lean creature was actually a threat or simply an atypical piece of scenery. Tyranis stood completely still, every muscle in his body tense as he watched the bird. It was hesitant and that was its mistake. In a blink of an eye he shot toward it and the bird took wing, with a ripping snarl he opened his jaws and closed them, just barely managing to grab its tail feathers. The bird shrieked and kicked and beat its wings wildly, still trying to escape, trying to sacrifice the bulk of its feathers for its life, but Tyranis had been lucky and had gotten a firm grip. He snapped his jaws over the phesant’s rear, tasting blood and smelling shier panic. He threw his head in an arch and dashed the bird’s body against the ground, stunning it until he repeated the motion twice more and killed it. Lucky. That seemed to be a running theme for him although just how true it was had been mostly unknown to him.

He let the limp bird fall and shook out his fur, dying to dig into what he considered a well earned meal when he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked, cocking his head to the side as he began to realize just what he was seeing. At first he had thought it was a pile of leaves resting on a large rock, but the way it moved in the wind was odd. Slowly, and with just a touch of horror he realized; he had had an audience.