05-09-2010, 12:55 AM
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(601.)
He could barely remember what he had been doing this day. The usual—walking around the broad packlands of Dahlia de Mai with little to do or think about. Ever since his father had disappeared, King had felt lost when it came to such things. He didn't really know what to do; he didn't really talk to others (as there wasn't really anyone his own age, and adults generally did not want to waste their time with being around such a young kid) so he usually had to go about entertaining himself. His mother allowed him to go off as long as he stayed within pack territory and if he was home at certain times of the day to check in. He was getting closer to that point of the day now, as the day was growing old and dark. He didn't want to go home yet, though.
King was slinking through the tangled vineyard, on the scent trail of something. Mouse, maybe—he didn't really know how to tell them apart. The lessening light was working to his advantage; the rodent would not know he was coming visually, and he knew that he was downwind. He inched closer and closer until he could see it through the dappled light, scurrying about in the undergrowth for food—just as the young wolf was doing, on a greater scale.
He was not very trained in hunting, but his instincts told him to stay in the shadows and remain quiet. The mouse remained oblivious of his presence until, the puppy lurching forward as quickly as he could, he was caught. King had caught the mouse under his paw, pinning its tail and hindquarters. The rodent squealed, trying to slip away and otherwise kicking and scratching and biting. King frowned as he felt the nips and scratches draw blood on his paw, angry at the little indignant thing. He pressed down harder onto his paw, transferring his weight until he could feel muscles strain and bones crack. Yet the creature continued to lash out at him despite pauses of pain. With a growl he snapped one of those scrabbling arms between two lines of sharp teeth before ripping it away. He could taste its blood in his mouth, salty and sweet and intoxicating. Then he lunged for the last time, ending the small creature's life roughly by tearing out its throat. It finally stopped its squirming and scratching and biting, and the smell and taste of blood was everywhere. King licked his bloodied lips, pleased with what he had done.
Through the red haze he could hear something above the general ambiance—loud impacts of what sounded like footsteps, but so much bigger than any he'd ever heard. Taking his bleeding and torn prize in mouth, King crept through the vineyards to investigate. When he had come to the edge of one of the thickets he saw the source, a wolf in his two-legged form on a massive four-legged creature that King did not have a word for. He looked in awe as the wolf guided it to a fenced area, getting off and then brushing the creature off.
Usually he would leave—he was not social enough to go about asking just anyone what was going on. But this was something that King had never seen before, and his occasional curiosity was brimming. So the boy continued to walk forward, mouse still dangling from his jaws, feeling small in comparison to the man and his tall steed. He didn't say anything, but his wide blue gaze was questioning enough or anyone to notice.