Post by Deleted on Jun 4, 2014 6:33:14 GMT -5
There were so many things he could have done to that female whilst she slept - her fatigue so stanch and unflinching that he doubted the heat of his body pressed against hers would have roused her from her deepening slumber – but he remained far from Datura’s coiled body, turning from his perverse thoughts to instead sprawl his massive body at the mouth of the cavern. The salt carried by the ocean wind seared his eyes, and he closed them out of respite from the saline gale. His shoulders stretched and his muscles undulated with a sweet aching, and though his intentions were to rest but a minute, the steady cadence of Datura’s breathing mingled with the distant roaring of the tide brought an unshakable drowsiness to his senses, and soon, the lupine giant fell asleep.
--
He woke to the roar of thunder and the absence of Datura – both of which riled a displeased growl from him. He loathed storms and their accompanying downpour, as well as the abject misery that overcame the sky; adding to his irritation, he beset himself over allowing the female’s escape, disappointed that she had managed to creep past him when his sheer enormity blocked off most of the cavern’s entrance. Such a sly, wretched little thing she was…
He lifted himself to stand, neither rushing nor fretting over her departure – having no idea how long she had been gone, he had no hope of catching up to her now, so he merely stepped out from the narrow cave at an unhurried pace, emerging on the Rarizu Overhang with dark grimness written clearly in his stoic expression. Perhaps she would return to him when she realised that her bid for freedom would be without fruition, yet if Datura had no intention of returning, then she should pray dearly that they would never cross paths again. He was not worried – she, however, should have been.
He scaled the remainder of the cliff with ease, the century-old path a simple trail that sloped upwards and granted passage to the wall’s squally summit. A faint smattering of rain wetted the air and clung in dainty beads at the coarse tips of his fur; he glared heatedly at the forthcoming clouds, expecting the weather to worsen. A guttural growl emanated from him – this time, not from anger, but from his hungered stomach. His last meal was days ago, perhaps more, and his large size necessitated frequent meals to stop his frame from thinning. For now, Datura was gone from his mind, independence nothing new to the solitary brute. Goliath’s focus was intent on satisfying a more primal part of himself, and as his eyes scanned the surrounding trees and the open rolling landscape of the Nyjoro Hills, he decided to head towards a distant collection of trees that spread into an impenetrable forestry – after all, the oncoming storm would force most of the nearby game to dry shelter. He was hunting on his own, so the cover provided by the trees would aid in ambushing, especially when he hadn’t the numbers or sheer force of a hunting party to manoeuvre his prey towards him. Only in his youth did he have his brothers at his side to rally with him… and how simple hunting was, the likelihood of failure being so small that they could have merely stared their prey down and watched its terror yield for stiff legs and a quick death.
He wandered inaudibly through the trees, the heavy rain and intermittent thunder softening the sound of his approach, yet his size was still hideously obvious even at a far distance. Birds and measly stoats alike fled from his presence, the rustling high up in the treetops and low in the shrubbery foretelling of the escaping morsels. The razing wind snapped at his hide and bowed even the thick branches of trees, the rain managing to strain through the dense canopy and drip down his muzzle. Smells filled his nose, thrown astray by the rampant gusts and musk of rain, so finding a scent trail was next to impossible.
A deafening crack resounded ahead of him, unlike the churning boom of thunder and without the associated burst of lightning – no, this sound was something he rarely heard, and the crash that followed alerted him to the exact origin of the commotion. A tree had become loosened by the wind and thrown over in the gale, but more to Goliath’s interest, the whine of pain that shrilled beneath the storm’s raucous din was an undeniable sign of an injured creature. His ears perked and his head lowered in concentration, heading towards the cries to assess whether there was any luck to be reaped from this misfortunate storm.
It didn’t take him long to find the poor creature – a moose hobbled fitfully away from him, her disordered gait likely due to a broken leg crushed by the weight of the fallen tree. His oversized paws lifted him over the thick, aged trunk, the tree probably too old to hold up its own size against the force of the storm – in plain sight, predator and prey locked eyes, and for some time, neither of them moved a muscle. Goliath watched the creature, surprised to see game of such size so deep into the thick of the forest, yet it was not so unlikely that it was implausible– the Nyjoro Hills were not far from here, and were home to ungulates of formidable size, including bison and other heavy beasts. This moose was no bull, thankfully, as telegraphed by her lack of antlers, but she was still large and strong enough to put up a troublesome fight, even in her injured state.
His tongue lolled from his open mouth, his stare sharpening. If he’d had another wolf at his side, he would not have hesitated – but he was alone and weighing up whether the risk was worth it. Had he been a wolf of a stable mind, he would have allowed the pitiful beast to live for fear of enduring injuries of his own, but he was no wolf of sensibility. One day his madness might lead to his downfall – but not this day.
Reeling into action, he closed the distance between them before the cow could limp another step away, and as expected, he met with forbidding resistance. Panicking, the moose whirled in a frenzy, her powerful hind leg – the one without injury – bucking against his chest, and the force of her sharp kick was so powerful it split through his skin and knocked him onto his side. He clambered away from underneath her weight as she collapsed and made an adrenalin-fuelled attempt to lunge for her throat. He didn’t manage to puncture her jugular, his teeth closing over the side of her neck instead of directly underneath, but the sheer power of his jaws against the supple flesh of her neck would soon render her without breath. She thrashed wildly, her throat vibrating with suffocation, but without being able to find her footing, there was nothing she could do but slowly die. If she had been a smaller creature, Goliath would have been able to break her neck and end the struggle, but her neck was too robust, and the wait for her to expire seemed infinite.
When he released her, the rain had stopped. Night was quick to take its place in the storm-battered sky. His mind had been so overcome by her anticipated death that his other senses – sight and sound – had become clouded with distraction. Even the pain at his chest had been dulled, now throbbing with clarity as his own blood trailed down his chest and to the damp fur of his stomach. The storm was over, the steady mist of rain the only evidence of its departure. His breath steamed with hot craving as he tore the creature’s stomach open, careful not to cause too much mess and waste blood. Below her ribs, the muscle was tough and sinuous, the pliant diaphragm guarding the treasures that were burrowed deep within her. He fed from her all of his favourite parts – the liver and stomach tender and bursting with heated ripeness, and as he pulled his head up to breath and lick his jowls, his whole snout was coated in slick blood, giving him a rather monstrous appearance.
When he’d had more than his fill, he did not abandon the half-eaten kill – if Datura was going to return, he wanted to have some form of leverage over her, and he anticipated that she would not have been able to hunt alone in her wearied state. Perhaps she would even grovel, besmirched by her failed attempt to be free of him, the tasty thought bringing a lewd smirk to his bloodied maw.
--
He woke to the roar of thunder and the absence of Datura – both of which riled a displeased growl from him. He loathed storms and their accompanying downpour, as well as the abject misery that overcame the sky; adding to his irritation, he beset himself over allowing the female’s escape, disappointed that she had managed to creep past him when his sheer enormity blocked off most of the cavern’s entrance. Such a sly, wretched little thing she was…
He lifted himself to stand, neither rushing nor fretting over her departure – having no idea how long she had been gone, he had no hope of catching up to her now, so he merely stepped out from the narrow cave at an unhurried pace, emerging on the Rarizu Overhang with dark grimness written clearly in his stoic expression. Perhaps she would return to him when she realised that her bid for freedom would be without fruition, yet if Datura had no intention of returning, then she should pray dearly that they would never cross paths again. He was not worried – she, however, should have been.
He scaled the remainder of the cliff with ease, the century-old path a simple trail that sloped upwards and granted passage to the wall’s squally summit. A faint smattering of rain wetted the air and clung in dainty beads at the coarse tips of his fur; he glared heatedly at the forthcoming clouds, expecting the weather to worsen. A guttural growl emanated from him – this time, not from anger, but from his hungered stomach. His last meal was days ago, perhaps more, and his large size necessitated frequent meals to stop his frame from thinning. For now, Datura was gone from his mind, independence nothing new to the solitary brute. Goliath’s focus was intent on satisfying a more primal part of himself, and as his eyes scanned the surrounding trees and the open rolling landscape of the Nyjoro Hills, he decided to head towards a distant collection of trees that spread into an impenetrable forestry – after all, the oncoming storm would force most of the nearby game to dry shelter. He was hunting on his own, so the cover provided by the trees would aid in ambushing, especially when he hadn’t the numbers or sheer force of a hunting party to manoeuvre his prey towards him. Only in his youth did he have his brothers at his side to rally with him… and how simple hunting was, the likelihood of failure being so small that they could have merely stared their prey down and watched its terror yield for stiff legs and a quick death.
He wandered inaudibly through the trees, the heavy rain and intermittent thunder softening the sound of his approach, yet his size was still hideously obvious even at a far distance. Birds and measly stoats alike fled from his presence, the rustling high up in the treetops and low in the shrubbery foretelling of the escaping morsels. The razing wind snapped at his hide and bowed even the thick branches of trees, the rain managing to strain through the dense canopy and drip down his muzzle. Smells filled his nose, thrown astray by the rampant gusts and musk of rain, so finding a scent trail was next to impossible.
A deafening crack resounded ahead of him, unlike the churning boom of thunder and without the associated burst of lightning – no, this sound was something he rarely heard, and the crash that followed alerted him to the exact origin of the commotion. A tree had become loosened by the wind and thrown over in the gale, but more to Goliath’s interest, the whine of pain that shrilled beneath the storm’s raucous din was an undeniable sign of an injured creature. His ears perked and his head lowered in concentration, heading towards the cries to assess whether there was any luck to be reaped from this misfortunate storm.
It didn’t take him long to find the poor creature – a moose hobbled fitfully away from him, her disordered gait likely due to a broken leg crushed by the weight of the fallen tree. His oversized paws lifted him over the thick, aged trunk, the tree probably too old to hold up its own size against the force of the storm – in plain sight, predator and prey locked eyes, and for some time, neither of them moved a muscle. Goliath watched the creature, surprised to see game of such size so deep into the thick of the forest, yet it was not so unlikely that it was implausible– the Nyjoro Hills were not far from here, and were home to ungulates of formidable size, including bison and other heavy beasts. This moose was no bull, thankfully, as telegraphed by her lack of antlers, but she was still large and strong enough to put up a troublesome fight, even in her injured state.
His tongue lolled from his open mouth, his stare sharpening. If he’d had another wolf at his side, he would not have hesitated – but he was alone and weighing up whether the risk was worth it. Had he been a wolf of a stable mind, he would have allowed the pitiful beast to live for fear of enduring injuries of his own, but he was no wolf of sensibility. One day his madness might lead to his downfall – but not this day.
Reeling into action, he closed the distance between them before the cow could limp another step away, and as expected, he met with forbidding resistance. Panicking, the moose whirled in a frenzy, her powerful hind leg – the one without injury – bucking against his chest, and the force of her sharp kick was so powerful it split through his skin and knocked him onto his side. He clambered away from underneath her weight as she collapsed and made an adrenalin-fuelled attempt to lunge for her throat. He didn’t manage to puncture her jugular, his teeth closing over the side of her neck instead of directly underneath, but the sheer power of his jaws against the supple flesh of her neck would soon render her without breath. She thrashed wildly, her throat vibrating with suffocation, but without being able to find her footing, there was nothing she could do but slowly die. If she had been a smaller creature, Goliath would have been able to break her neck and end the struggle, but her neck was too robust, and the wait for her to expire seemed infinite.
When he released her, the rain had stopped. Night was quick to take its place in the storm-battered sky. His mind had been so overcome by her anticipated death that his other senses – sight and sound – had become clouded with distraction. Even the pain at his chest had been dulled, now throbbing with clarity as his own blood trailed down his chest and to the damp fur of his stomach. The storm was over, the steady mist of rain the only evidence of its departure. His breath steamed with hot craving as he tore the creature’s stomach open, careful not to cause too much mess and waste blood. Below her ribs, the muscle was tough and sinuous, the pliant diaphragm guarding the treasures that were burrowed deep within her. He fed from her all of his favourite parts – the liver and stomach tender and bursting with heated ripeness, and as he pulled his head up to breath and lick his jowls, his whole snout was coated in slick blood, giving him a rather monstrous appearance.
When he’d had more than his fill, he did not abandon the half-eaten kill – if Datura was going to return, he wanted to have some form of leverage over her, and he anticipated that she would not have been able to hunt alone in her wearied state. Perhaps she would even grovel, besmirched by her failed attempt to be free of him, the tasty thought bringing a lewd smirk to his bloodied maw.
WORDS: 1460 | MUSE: Above average | TAGGED: @datura