Traveling into the neighboring redwoods, Azoula was on the hunt for prey; the scent of an abandoned moose calf guiding her way, as she stalked in and out of the shadows. The air around her was crisp and cool, the temperate dropping as a steady drizzle of rain came down from the heavens. Each step she took was cushioned by a thick layer of fallen leaves and foliage, concealing her paw steps. In sync, the rhythmic drone of rain falling on the canopy consumed much of the forest- eliminating her existence altogether. The calf wouldn’t see her coming.

Following a path that leads to a small clearing, Azoula remains in the shadows, slinking down into the underbrush and stalking forward until the calf comes into view. Her rounded ears swivel forward, shoulders pulling down and close to her core, her strength coiling into her hind end as she prepares herself to spring.

All she needed to do now, was wait for the right moment to strike.


1/3 Tracked and killed any medium prey animal with 2+ participants (Moose calf).  

"Speech"

Tracking... tracking food today. Fine. Iscariot's steps are careful over the brush, fading into the dappled sunlight without much effort. Careful steps over the ground, rocking on the outside of her paws. As close to soundless as they could manage in the living forest. Coming alive with it. That much, Iscariot could handle.

Nose low to the ground, tongue flicking across it for the barest moment. Right. Wet nose, smell better. Focused. It's not long before the calf comes into view, not long before she remembers this isn't her hunt alone. Right.

Flanking the calf, amped to split the thing from the pack, Iscariot takes off at a dead run. Snarling and snapping gleefully, startling the calf in her compatriot's direction.

Sunken down into the underbrush, Azoula was waiting for the right moment to strike, understanding that patience and self-control were necessary virtues in the game of hunting. But she should have known her hunt wouldn’t be effortless; in fact, someone was crashing it before her very eyes, leaping out from the tree line and herding it towards her. Oh? Something about the tiny wolf was vaguely familiar; seeing such a small thing wasn’t common, after all. But Azoula didn’t have time to dwell on it, her prey was running straight at her, and she needed to act. Flanking to her right, she leaps out from the foliage and cuts the moose calf off, releasing a mighty roar that is almost deafening. The calf startles, trying to flank to the left, but Azoula is vicious and relentless; springing off her hind legs, she leaps into the air and straight onto its back, sinking her hooked claws into its hide and grabbing onto the back of its neck.   ”Speech”

Better than one, easier that way. Something about a means to an end, and Iscariot isn't going to dwell. Working in time with the tiger, they'd be fine. The calf was a big one, but she's able to flush it easily. Adrenaline coursing thick through her system, nails digging hard into the ground beneath her paws. Running flat out, it's impossible not to have a good time.

With the calf off and running towards her large companion, Iscariot is quick on its heels. Snarling and snapping, finally taking hold. It's a mad dash to try and topple the thing, Iscariot clinging to the beast as it staggers. As it fights to stay upright. Sure, she'll work for a meal. Fine. Not like Riot was going to let go, digging in as their prey begins to wobble.

With the tigress on its back, and the smaller wolf latched onto one of its hocks, the moose calf slows down and starts to falter. Stumbling, it crashed into one of the towering redwoods, almost crushing Azoula between its body and the trunk; but she’s crawled onto its back now, using her claws as leverage to keep herself upright. The calf starts to bellow and grunt, vocalizing its pain and frustration, trying to keep itself upright until crash! The weight of the tigress and the wolf bring it to its knees, the sound of collision reverberating throughout the forest.

Still, Azoula does not let go; she is sinking her fangs deeper, the familiar pulsation of vessels against her lips driving her predatory instinct. Blood is seeping through the corners of her lips, trickling down the calf’s body in steady streams. Twisting, it was still trying to dislodge her, but it was a futile attempt; one that left its throat open, giving Riot the opportunity to grab its windpipe if she desired it.  

"Azoula Davati"

With a great crashing, a great banging, they topple the moose. A below from the moose, and something that sounds a lot more like pain. Iscariot doesn't relent. She can't, too close to a warm meal. Flailing and kicking out, unbalanced and chaotic, a hoof flies by her head. Calculated risks and all that-- she's fine. The opening at the moose's windpipe calls to her, and she's quick. It's a deft grab, with the grinding of teeth and crushing of cartilage. With a last mewl and bellow, the creature finally stills. It's only when the struggling has finally stopped and the calf lays dead that Iscariot takes a step back. Her forequarters dipped in gore, she surveys the catch. Not bad, actually. Not bad at all.

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