Prey, Siblings, and Confusing Life{Crete}

[Raowolf]

Sheer's ears were back. He was perfectly still, and faintly quivering as though fully charged - he was. Brown eyes stared out, unmoving like the rest of his perfectly proportioned body, as he watched with a strange blank expression on his long face. 100% concentration. Nothing beats it. This was the expression of the hunting dog.
One paw was raised expertly above the ground, and his bony back was straight and narrow, the gleaming black tip of his nose twitching with constant scents and sounds; when you were like this, you had to take in everything.
From which way the wind was blowing, to how the trees rustled, to the very twitching of the prey's tail, it was all vital. Any factor could change it. Any factor could alter it. Any factor could mean life or death.

Very, very slowly, in a practically infinitesimal movement, he put down his raised white paw and lowered his head, eyes still fixed doggedly on the Doe. He knew he would be here for a long while; naturally hunting wolves were brought up much differently than he, who had been dragged away from his mother and thrown into the harsh racing industry. He was used to immediately dashing out after a hare or rabbit. This was different; you had to smell out the deer, you couldn't just look for it. You couldn't just sprint at the deer, you had to stalk it. Watch it. Feel it.

You had to watch for days, hunt it down slowly and carefully until it was far from its herd and tired and lonely and practically welcome death! Only then could you do it.
Only then could you kill it.

[crete]

((sorry so late ^^))

Blackwater walked through the forest, coming upon a group of deer. She breathed in deeply, taking in the scents around her. She noticed there was a slight dog smell, but quickly pushed the thought away. Many dogs probably came through here on their way to the city.

The blue brindle greyhound crouched down, inching towards the doe that was separated from the rest. She bunched her muscles, preparing to jump at the prey. She had a flashback, right before she pounced.

It was her, as a little pup being taken from her siblings and mother. The flashback faded and another appeared, this one later in life. The life she ever so hated. Racing. Even though she loved to run, she hated being forced to. She hated being starved if she lost. She hated not having a normal life. Most of all, she hated her second owner, the one who beat and starved her. She admitted slightly to herself that she liked when she won, but quickly pushed the thought away.

Flashback number two faded, bringing yet another to her. It was her first hunt, when she failed trying to chase her prey. In retrospect, with all the expirience she gained, chasing was not how to hunt. The idea was foolishly thrust into her head from all the racing. See hare, chase hare, eat hare. All wrong. She had to learn how to survive, and as she did so, she had gotten closer and closer to Diamond Ridge.

The flashback faded. Back to the hunt. Blackwater squinted, then seen a slight, very slight, movement out of the corner of her eye. Another dog, no, another greyhound, like her. Hunting the same prey as her. The female bared her teeth ever so lightly, still trying not to spook the doe. In her haste, she pounced, missing the doe. She now growled and scraped the ground with her foot. It was the other dog's fault, if it hadn't been there, she would have had a good dinner. "Show yourself, dog." she growled, still pissed she had missed the dinner of the week.

[Raowolf]

OOC: I don't mind ^^ As long as we can keep posting we might be able to help a little =) }}

IC:

Sheer's paw lowered slowly to the ground, his brown eyes still locked on the deer, his whole body tense and quivering. And then, with a startled kick, it was gone; he snapped from his trance in an instant, sprinting forward after it like a bullet, no time to even think, let alone wonder why it had fled - it didn't seem to be him that it had spotted - but he was still too late; he guessed he would have needed another 10 feet to have a chance. Slowing and then stopping, the Greyhound bared his fangs at the ground and swatted an unfortunate fern half-heartedly, but he wasn't focusing much anymore. His stomach gave a tantalising rumble, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from spitting on the ground. Outbursts wouldn't help.

It was then that he heard a voice - it seemed familiar for a half second, like a sister from birth many years later, though of course it couldn't be. It sounded frustrated, and he winced as he looked up, releasing his own tongue from his teeth's deadly grip and glancing warily through the trees, listening with a keen, careful glimmer in his brown eyes.
The Blue fur on the back of his neck raised.
He took a slow step forward, obeying the barked command, though he said nothing.
He had been known as SkienTale in the racing industry - it meant 'dog of sharp tongue'; he could make up a story where he stood and get himself out of trouble. Some of the older dogs said his mother had been like that, though he had never met her, since that awful night...