01-19-2008, 11:03 PM
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Oftentimes Phoenix found himself feeling inadequate during a situation, berating himself constantly for not knowing the perfect thing to do. Leadership and politics were a minefield that he struggled to navigate, the high stakes only seeming to distract him and make him stumble. Hunting, however, was more art than anything else, a primal dance of lives struggling to continue themselves. In this dance Phoenix was well-versed, and the stakes only helped him to focus. If he did not overcome, he and his would go hungry. It was both complex and simple. Phoenix froze as they came to the boundaries imposed by a line of brush. Intermingled amongst the woods were dear, thin from winter's ravages but still naturally large enough to satisfy the hunger of a pack for the night. It didn't take Phoenix long to pick out a target--an older female with a limp, obviously nearing the end of her days. Simple gestures were used to communicate with the pack member before Phoenix slunk away to the right, intending toboth flank the herd and scare them towards Tamerlane. |