05-15-2019, 01:30 AM
RAMONA LINGRÉ
✯ — THE GROWN UPS TAUGHT ME TO WATCH AND LEARN
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hunting, something she never had the chance to do before. and now, she was able to do it, especially with her dad. she loved that, really, being able to call him dad. nodding wordlessly, she crouched low after scenting the wind and observing it, leading the way to a position that dragged the scent of the herbivores her way. she stayed low in the grass, feeling the thrill beginning to spiral up her spine, muzzle firmly closed to keep from panting, tension awakening each muscle in her limbs, focused on her prey some distance away. eyes darting at every movement she waited, observing, learning.
her eyes flitted over a mother and her newborn, going to the buck, studying his limp, darting to the newborn, thinking. a mother would be sure to protect her baby, that's part of why the baby was able to stand up quickly, made for running from predators like her. moving as silently as she could manage, ramona crept a bit closer and stiffened as she picked up a new scent, changing course away from the herd, into the grass. she had caught the scent of age and death. a dying doe lay not far away, too weak to even bleat for her herd. Ramona looked back at kydobi for a second, debating, thinking. she would leave the old doe to kydobi's claws, continuing to her missive.
her gaze carried over a young buck who would be challenging the older buck for herd leadership and mating rights soon enough. she found the next, a hobbled old doe not far from the herd, grazing more slowly. her legs were covered in scars, a lifetime of fighting and escaping from predators. she wouldn't take on a seasoned doe or buck, she didn't feel like being gored. so it was going to be the newborn or the sickly doe behind her. life was brutal, after all, and it gave you hard choices. the newborn was likely going to be killed by the young buck if he could get the mother. maybe, if she was lucky, she could wait until the youth had had enough. the tensions in the feeding group were obvious enough to her.
her eyes flitted over a mother and her newborn, going to the buck, studying his limp, darting to the newborn, thinking. a mother would be sure to protect her baby, that's part of why the baby was able to stand up quickly, made for running from predators like her. moving as silently as she could manage, ramona crept a bit closer and stiffened as she picked up a new scent, changing course away from the herd, into the grass. she had caught the scent of age and death. a dying doe lay not far away, too weak to even bleat for her herd. Ramona looked back at kydobi for a second, debating, thinking. she would leave the old doe to kydobi's claws, continuing to her missive.
her gaze carried over a young buck who would be challenging the older buck for herd leadership and mating rights soon enough. she found the next, a hobbled old doe not far from the herd, grazing more slowly. her legs were covered in scars, a lifetime of fighting and escaping from predators. she wouldn't take on a seasoned doe or buck, she didn't feel like being gored. so it was going to be the newborn or the sickly doe behind her. life was brutal, after all, and it gave you hard choices. the newborn was likely going to be killed by the young buck if he could get the mother. maybe, if she was lucky, she could wait until the youth had had enough. the tensions in the feeding group were obvious enough to her.
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