Post by Marc Streampaw on May 24, 2008 20:33:35 GMT -5
Marc lay just off a deer trail, only hundred yards away from the mouth of his den. The den was across the stream, which masked the fact that Marc lived there now. He'd been hunting on his side of the stream for quite some time, but some how he never was quite able to catch anything faster than rabbits, deer always eluded him . . . until tonight. Tonight he'd been thinking hard about how the females would turn into human form then stretch and sew the rabbit and deer skins to make pillows and clothes, when he remembered something his father had said about their stream being good for the clan, and the source of everything they had.
"It provides us water to drink, a place to swim and bathe, it brings deer to us and hides us from them, till we are ready to attack. The Stream is Life. He'd remembered one of his older brothers - not yet gone on his first hunt- ask how a stream hides a wolf. But most importantly he'd remembered what father had said!
Just as it is difficult for us to smell across water, so it is difficult for prey. Upstream the water divides and has many deep patches of rushes and cattails. Never cross the stream unless the wind is in your face my son, that way you can smell the deer but the deer can't smell you," and he'd demonstrated how to lie still till a food creature passed-by, then leap upon them!
The memory of his father's instruction had kindled a flame in Marc's heart so much so that he'd leaped to his feet, forgetting that it was still day . . . but now it was finally night. Now Marc lay in a batch of rushes, he could smell the deer -so close- but couldn't yet see her. He perked his ears, he could hear her walking toward him, munching as she went the cool dewy grass. She was older he could smell it and she had no fawns with her this season, or he'd have smelled then either nearby or on her. She might be too old to have them, and that meant she was feeble or would soon be.
Closer . . . Marc could feel himself getting excited, but he must be calm or his slightest trembling would alert her. Closer . . . she was very old, now he could see the gray hairs on her muzzle, they glowed in the moonlight. Marc stilled his thoughts, hoping she would take just one . . more . . step . . .
She did. He leaped, mouth agape and latched onto her throat. His bite was off by a minuscule amount but all he'd have to do was crunch down harder. However, the old doe didn't rear back, frightened for her life, instead she lowered her head like a stag about to charge and . . . OW OWWW! She was trampling him! OWW OWW! He released her frightened of having his legs broken or his ribs kicked in. The moment he did she was off like a shot. She hadn't meant to kill him! She's just made him let her go!
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Marc howled in anger and frustration! How could he have fallen for that? He could have just killed her and she would have stopped trampling him! Still he couldn't give up hope . . . she was bleeding from the throat . . . question was how seriously? Would it be worth it to follow her, or was she not hurt enough to die soon? Oh he ached from her beating! Grrah! Why couldn't something just jump out and kill her! Like a bolder or a tree or . . .
"It provides us water to drink, a place to swim and bathe, it brings deer to us and hides us from them, till we are ready to attack. The Stream is Life. He'd remembered one of his older brothers - not yet gone on his first hunt- ask how a stream hides a wolf. But most importantly he'd remembered what father had said!
Just as it is difficult for us to smell across water, so it is difficult for prey. Upstream the water divides and has many deep patches of rushes and cattails. Never cross the stream unless the wind is in your face my son, that way you can smell the deer but the deer can't smell you," and he'd demonstrated how to lie still till a food creature passed-by, then leap upon them!
The memory of his father's instruction had kindled a flame in Marc's heart so much so that he'd leaped to his feet, forgetting that it was still day . . . but now it was finally night. Now Marc lay in a batch of rushes, he could smell the deer -so close- but couldn't yet see her. He perked his ears, he could hear her walking toward him, munching as she went the cool dewy grass. She was older he could smell it and she had no fawns with her this season, or he'd have smelled then either nearby or on her. She might be too old to have them, and that meant she was feeble or would soon be.
Closer . . . Marc could feel himself getting excited, but he must be calm or his slightest trembling would alert her. Closer . . . she was very old, now he could see the gray hairs on her muzzle, they glowed in the moonlight. Marc stilled his thoughts, hoping she would take just one . . more . . step . . .
She did. He leaped, mouth agape and latched onto her throat. His bite was off by a minuscule amount but all he'd have to do was crunch down harder. However, the old doe didn't rear back, frightened for her life, instead she lowered her head like a stag about to charge and . . . OW OWWW! She was trampling him! OWW OWW! He released her frightened of having his legs broken or his ribs kicked in. The moment he did she was off like a shot. She hadn't meant to kill him! She's just made him let her go!
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Marc howled in anger and frustration! How could he have fallen for that? He could have just killed her and she would have stopped trampling him! Still he couldn't give up hope . . . she was bleeding from the throat . . . question was how seriously? Would it be worth it to follow her, or was she not hurt enough to die soon? Oh he ached from her beating! Grrah! Why couldn't something just jump out and kill her! Like a bolder or a tree or . . .