Little Pig, Little Pig

*Odysseus* · 02-22-2019, 05:59 PM

Without ceremony Odysseus hauled the dead pig up out of the brush and deposited it on the creek bank. He'd gotten lucky with it; the little sow had been rooting around in the creek in search of thin ice to break and drink from when Odysseus had stumbled upon it. The chase had been brief and ended once the hog had fallen through the very thing it had been in search of. Odysseus had tried to wrest it from the water without falling in himself. He was a big guy - of course he hadn't been successful, but the end result was still a dead pig so he couldn't complain too much.

The old fighter hauled himself up on the bank and stood there, shivering and slightly breathless, for several seconds. The pig's screams still rang in his ears and he doubted the sound would be going away any time soon. Odysseus was of the opinion that if pigs were half as fight-savvy as they were loud they would be much higher up on the food chain. He was grateful they weren't; this was the third pig he'd caught this season. Each little porker had kept him full and happy for many, many days.

Odysseus shook out his coat and then, finding it to still be too wet for his liking, shook it out again. His fur was thick and plush, and the cold of winter didn't bother him much. The water did, though. It sliced right through his fur and allowed the cold to reach his skin. The sooner he could dry it out the sooner he would regain immunity to winter's icy bite.

Once satisfied he had done all he could to rid his coat of water Odysseus padded over to the pig carcass and dug in. He rolled the little hog onto its back and used his forelegs to pin it in place. Starting at the lower abdomen and working his way up to the chest Odysseus used his teeth to open the carcass. Hot steam poured from the bloody entrails and dampened the fur on his face as he bent over it. He was about to take a bite when a chorus of yips rose from the other side of the creek.

Odysseus straightened and stared daggers into the thick underbrush. He couldn't see the coyotes but he knew exactly what they were up to. The little bastards had the nasty habit of letting him do all the hard work and then trying to reap the benefits themselves. He didn't begrudge them their craft; each animal had its own strategy for survival; he just had no desire to be their victim today.

Perhaps he should have been more proactive in his efforts to defend his kill, but seeing as the coyotes were still on the other side of the creek and he had some time to kill, Odysseus decided to enjoy his meal while he could. He bent over it again and began to eat - and he took his time with it too. This was his meal and he would be damned if he let a couple would-be scavengers ruin it for him.

The yipping picked up as the coyotes prowled along the opposite side of the creek in search of a way across. It was clear that the open water (while not deep in Odysseus' opinion) was giving them trouble. Wryly, Odysseus thanked the heavens that the pig had fallen through and flailed around. If not for that the coyotes would already be in his face and giving him trouble.

Odysseus continued to eat even after a small splash and a triumphant howl was heard. He did shuffle around the carcass so that he was facing the creek though. Any second now...

Ah, there was the little bastard. Odysseus regarded it coolly, but didn't so much as raise his head even though it barked at him and bared its teeth. He stared, his gaze never wavering, but continued to eat as though the coyote's meant nothing to him. As he hoped, his blase reaction seemed to unnerve the coyote. It continued to bark but didn't advance and instead paced along the edge of the bank.

A second coyote soon joined it, but it, after finding its companion hanging back and a very large, very unimpressed wolf on the kill they were after, didn't seem to know what to do. So it did what coyotes do best and simply barked at him.

Odysseus let them bark for a good long while as he ate. He continued to stare, but his posture wasn't particularly aggressive or defensive. After awhile he just got tired of the noise.

Suddenly he lunged at the coyotes with a roar on his lips. Both were caught off guard and shrieked in alarm. One fell down the embankment backwards which left just one to taste Odysseus' wrath. It cringed away from him and then wailed when he managed to grab hold of its shoulder. The little bastard managed to get in one good bite on his forehead before he flung it into the creek.

He stood on the edge of the bank and glared down at the two coyotes. Odysseus' stance was authoritative now and his gaze promised hell if either dared set a foot on the embankment. Wisely the pair scrambled up the opposing bank and disappeared into the brush on the other side leaving Odysseus bleeding from a crescent-shaped gash on his forehead but victorious.

"Odysseus" and "Olafur"

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