Here's A Lesson For You
04-05-2019, 01:14 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-05-2019, 01:14 PM by Paris.)
Hunger.
It was the main driving force for survival in predatory animals, it caused a deep rumble in the very empty pits of their stomachs and it caused a painful ache when ignored. Since being forced out on her own, completely and utter alone in this monstrous world, Paris had become very close friends with her stomach, and knew hunger very well. Had it not been for hunger, perhaps the young woman would still be curled up in her makeshift den beneath a fallen tree, soaking in her grief for yet another season. But no, hunger did not care for such emotions, and it's need for satisfaction was all consuming. Thus, the snowy female sat on the edge of the forest line, concealed behind a gargantuan tree and low shrubbery, while the unmistakable sound of audible clicking journeyed ever closer.
Caribou.
Weeks ago she was lucky enough to have stumbled onto their migration path, and even more lucky to have been to study the members thoroughly before choosing her next meal. Evergreen eyes scanned over the backs of the familiar herd, carefully noting each member she could recognize from prior weeks. The old male with sagging eyes and pitiful coat, he hung around the back end of the herd, desperately trying to keep up with the rest of the flock while his aging bones ached; Paris figured he must have some sort of arthritis based on the noticeable limp in his gate. It was a promising sight, if not a little sad. To think of the male in his prime, competing in the rutting season for all the eligible cows in the area, sometimes Paris liked to think he was a grandfather of the majority of the herd members. To have lived to see the number of days he had seen, either the male was luckier than all the stars in heaven or he was damn good fighter. Either way, his days were now numbered by the stocking woman.
Carefully turning her head to peer downward quickly, the snowy female watched the forest floor for the smallest twigs and leaves as she moved about the underbrush. Her smaller form slid behind the great tree and towards the opposite side with little sound before she settled once more against the floor. This time, her eyes were trained on the cows once rounded like the largest fruits in the world, slimmed down and now carried tiny shadows with each movement. Originally, most of the cows were plump and waddled as they moved, some growing bigger of the last several weeks, and some slimmed as they gave birth to their newborn calves. Calves born into the world knew very little about the dangers that lurked in the shadows, naive to their adventurous ways and ignoring their mother's pleas to stay within the safety of the herd. Those particular calves were her favorite. Depressing as it was to take away a mother's child, Paris could not pass up the opportunity whenever it arises; an unguarded calf was a buffet served on a silver platter for the wolf.
While normally all members of the herd would be options for a pack wolf, Paris quickly learned that loners had less options and had to be smarter about their pickings long before they started to hunt. Choosing to take on the largest, roundest, muscle mass of a caribou would be idiotic. Caribou were fast and strong when confronted head on, a reminder she was quick to learn on some of her earliest solo hunts. No... Paris had to confine her options to the elderly and the young; members of the herd that contributed very little, who were physically less threatening and less capable of delivering devastating blows. It is that particular thought that had Paris looking more closely at the newborns than the old grandfather caribou; just because he was old, didn't mean he couldn't pack a punch if given the opportunity. Young caribou lacked the tools and the know how to really do her any damage, but that was why mother cows were always hovering over their young, acting as a living shield against predators like herself.
It was getting the calves away from big mama that proved the most irritating portion of the hunt. It meant sitting and waiting on the sidelines, watching, listening, carefully observing and knowing exactly where each and every single one was and being able to know which calf belonged to which cow; though it wasn't unheard of to have a cow protect another calf, generally their eyes stayed trained on their own offspring and less so on others. Unless... there was a young mother, potentially experiencing motherhood for the first time, who was unaware how taxing their duties should be. A few weeks ago, Paris had noticed a young cow showing some signs of late pregnancy, and yesterday when she had gone out to check on the herd, she noticed her young soon-to-be-mother was acting very uncomfortable and unsure of herself. Paris already knew she would be birthing soon, and as her evergreen gaze rolled over the backs of the herd, her eyes instantly honed in on the young mother grazing, and her newborn calf prancing about a few yards away.
You.
The decision was made, and Paris began the tedious process of moving in for the kill. Carefully, slowly, she would move herself away from the cover of the woods, and dip her belly low against the ground as she moved parallel to the calf. Eyes flickered to the mother and halted her movements when she saw the cows head raised and in her direction. Paris could feel her heart thumping in her chest as she remained perfectly still, practically laying flat against the earth as she waited for the mother to look away once more. In a minute or two, the cow would resume her grazing, and the calf would continue to play with some of the others before breaking away and giving chase, running in a wide turn away from the other calf and curving back towards the rest of the heard. Mother wasn't watching, the other calves were a far enough distance away, no one seemed to recognize Paris's presence. It was time.
Now.
Off to the races, the snowy female bolted forward and made a directly line for the calf, her paws pounding against the earth and her nostrils flaring as air rushed to and from her lungs. The calf, seeing a wolf for the first time, was alarmed and stumbled in it's path. The herd, equally frightened by the presence of a predator, began to holler and move like a wave away from her. The mother, suddenly aware of the danger her calf was in, pushed violently through the moving herd in attempts to reach her newborn. There was no point. Paris was closer, the calf was already on the ground, and within seconds the snow white coat of the female's chest was covered in the warm, sticky blood of the caribou calf as she sank her canines into the animal's jugular. Paris held on to the calf for a long minute, holding tightly as the calf violently shook and cried out, but soon fell silent and still. Moments later, Paris would flick her eyes up in time to see a furious looking mother cow charging her, making Paris quickly drop the calf's neck and flee with her tail tucked.
But the deed was done.
And the new mother would quickly realize this as she guarded her calf's body, every now and again attempting to nudge the child awake and back onto it's feet. Paris, panting softly back in the safety of the woods, would watch for nearly an hour as the mother tried and tried again and again. But eventually, she would have to leave to return to the safety of the herd, less she too be taken out by the predators lurking in the dark. It was not a time for celebration for Paris, rather a time for mindful prays.Let this be a lesson, Young Mother. Keep a better eye on your next calf, less it become victim to the same fate. Her thoughts would chant, watching as the mother disappeared along the migration path, allowing Paris the chance to finally feast on her kill. As she approached the carcass, the familiar rumble of hunger would vibrate through her stomach walls and a small sigh would slip past her blood stained lips.
"I know, dinner time."
"Paris"
It was the main driving force for survival in predatory animals, it caused a deep rumble in the very empty pits of their stomachs and it caused a painful ache when ignored. Since being forced out on her own, completely and utter alone in this monstrous world, Paris had become very close friends with her stomach, and knew hunger very well. Had it not been for hunger, perhaps the young woman would still be curled up in her makeshift den beneath a fallen tree, soaking in her grief for yet another season. But no, hunger did not care for such emotions, and it's need for satisfaction was all consuming. Thus, the snowy female sat on the edge of the forest line, concealed behind a gargantuan tree and low shrubbery, while the unmistakable sound of audible clicking journeyed ever closer.
Caribou.
Weeks ago she was lucky enough to have stumbled onto their migration path, and even more lucky to have been to study the members thoroughly before choosing her next meal. Evergreen eyes scanned over the backs of the familiar herd, carefully noting each member she could recognize from prior weeks. The old male with sagging eyes and pitiful coat, he hung around the back end of the herd, desperately trying to keep up with the rest of the flock while his aging bones ached; Paris figured he must have some sort of arthritis based on the noticeable limp in his gate. It was a promising sight, if not a little sad. To think of the male in his prime, competing in the rutting season for all the eligible cows in the area, sometimes Paris liked to think he was a grandfather of the majority of the herd members. To have lived to see the number of days he had seen, either the male was luckier than all the stars in heaven or he was damn good fighter. Either way, his days were now numbered by the stocking woman.
Carefully turning her head to peer downward quickly, the snowy female watched the forest floor for the smallest twigs and leaves as she moved about the underbrush. Her smaller form slid behind the great tree and towards the opposite side with little sound before she settled once more against the floor. This time, her eyes were trained on the cows once rounded like the largest fruits in the world, slimmed down and now carried tiny shadows with each movement. Originally, most of the cows were plump and waddled as they moved, some growing bigger of the last several weeks, and some slimmed as they gave birth to their newborn calves. Calves born into the world knew very little about the dangers that lurked in the shadows, naive to their adventurous ways and ignoring their mother's pleas to stay within the safety of the herd. Those particular calves were her favorite. Depressing as it was to take away a mother's child, Paris could not pass up the opportunity whenever it arises; an unguarded calf was a buffet served on a silver platter for the wolf.
While normally all members of the herd would be options for a pack wolf, Paris quickly learned that loners had less options and had to be smarter about their pickings long before they started to hunt. Choosing to take on the largest, roundest, muscle mass of a caribou would be idiotic. Caribou were fast and strong when confronted head on, a reminder she was quick to learn on some of her earliest solo hunts. No... Paris had to confine her options to the elderly and the young; members of the herd that contributed very little, who were physically less threatening and less capable of delivering devastating blows. It is that particular thought that had Paris looking more closely at the newborns than the old grandfather caribou; just because he was old, didn't mean he couldn't pack a punch if given the opportunity. Young caribou lacked the tools and the know how to really do her any damage, but that was why mother cows were always hovering over their young, acting as a living shield against predators like herself.
It was getting the calves away from big mama that proved the most irritating portion of the hunt. It meant sitting and waiting on the sidelines, watching, listening, carefully observing and knowing exactly where each and every single one was and being able to know which calf belonged to which cow; though it wasn't unheard of to have a cow protect another calf, generally their eyes stayed trained on their own offspring and less so on others. Unless... there was a young mother, potentially experiencing motherhood for the first time, who was unaware how taxing their duties should be. A few weeks ago, Paris had noticed a young cow showing some signs of late pregnancy, and yesterday when she had gone out to check on the herd, she noticed her young soon-to-be-mother was acting very uncomfortable and unsure of herself. Paris already knew she would be birthing soon, and as her evergreen gaze rolled over the backs of the herd, her eyes instantly honed in on the young mother grazing, and her newborn calf prancing about a few yards away.
You.
The decision was made, and Paris began the tedious process of moving in for the kill. Carefully, slowly, she would move herself away from the cover of the woods, and dip her belly low against the ground as she moved parallel to the calf. Eyes flickered to the mother and halted her movements when she saw the cows head raised and in her direction. Paris could feel her heart thumping in her chest as she remained perfectly still, practically laying flat against the earth as she waited for the mother to look away once more. In a minute or two, the cow would resume her grazing, and the calf would continue to play with some of the others before breaking away and giving chase, running in a wide turn away from the other calf and curving back towards the rest of the heard. Mother wasn't watching, the other calves were a far enough distance away, no one seemed to recognize Paris's presence. It was time.
Now.
Off to the races, the snowy female bolted forward and made a directly line for the calf, her paws pounding against the earth and her nostrils flaring as air rushed to and from her lungs. The calf, seeing a wolf for the first time, was alarmed and stumbled in it's path. The herd, equally frightened by the presence of a predator, began to holler and move like a wave away from her. The mother, suddenly aware of the danger her calf was in, pushed violently through the moving herd in attempts to reach her newborn. There was no point. Paris was closer, the calf was already on the ground, and within seconds the snow white coat of the female's chest was covered in the warm, sticky blood of the caribou calf as she sank her canines into the animal's jugular. Paris held on to the calf for a long minute, holding tightly as the calf violently shook and cried out, but soon fell silent and still. Moments later, Paris would flick her eyes up in time to see a furious looking mother cow charging her, making Paris quickly drop the calf's neck and flee with her tail tucked.
But the deed was done.
And the new mother would quickly realize this as she guarded her calf's body, every now and again attempting to nudge the child awake and back onto it's feet. Paris, panting softly back in the safety of the woods, would watch for nearly an hour as the mother tried and tried again and again. But eventually, she would have to leave to return to the safety of the herd, less she too be taken out by the predators lurking in the dark. It was not a time for celebration for Paris, rather a time for mindful prays.
