We are the Gifted

. . .




Cross paced through the prickly grass, his shoulders churning in a panther-like motion above his head as his black paws kissed the earth without a sound. His normal mannerisms were decided and stealthy, and rather stalk-like, but when he was actually hunting? He was untraceable. The boy had, not only instinct on his side, but the training of many excellent hunters in his pack. In his first year of life he'd learned how to track and take down everything from the humble rabbit to a caribou. He'd even witnessed a cow hunt in the south. The boar on the path before him, wouldn't know what was coming until Cross made his spring -

-which, a minute later, he did. Cross tore out of the brush clump and charged headlong at the creature that was nearly as large as he was. Snarling and snapping, he curved past the wheeled tusks as smoothly as a matador and attached his teeth to the tender neck skin just behind the ugly skull. His fangs were the pivot point, the rest of his body was kicked up wards- effectively flipping over the boar's back - letting go in mid air to land solidly on the other side of the creature which was now sporting a scarlet plume on the side of it's neck. Had his parents been around his mother would told him that that was an excellent way to get his teeth pulled out, and his father would given him a silent nod of approval. But niether were here. Not anymore. And he didn't have the time to thick about them - the boar, now angered, was charging him again.

The beast came in, swinging it's head like the spiked weapon it was, but Cross was dodging - leaping back in a quick, smooth succession of hops. It kept coming, but it got nothing but air. The boy was straining, using ever ounce of focus that he had to keep himself safe, but the truth was, he was making it look easy.

Cross swiveled his hind legs aside and then yanked his head away all in a heartbeat. There was a sickening THUNK as the boar's head slammed into the side of a tree. It wasn't nearly enough to do any real damage. But it was a perfect distraction. It didn't have time to recover - Cross went after the same place he'd ripped away the tough hide, and snaked his fangs into the jugular vien. One bite and then he dashed back before he could be scewed. The pig could paw and squeal and try to cut him again, but it was no use now. It was only a matter of time.

The alabaster youth kept himself well out of range - even up on a boulder as he awaited the death of his prey. The boar snorted crazily and kept trying to scale the sheer stone to snap at the wolf, but slowly it's roars were quieted, and eventually it collapsed over onto it's side in eternal silence. Cross was breathing hard, but he wasn't panting as he would've been a month ago. He was improving by leaps and bounds, and now the young hunter could toast his success with a feast.





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