03-25-2009, 12:53 AM
Word Count: 581
Yawning, Barix stretched as he felt the sun's warm touch creep across his body. "Morning already?" he groaned, turning over and hiding his face from the rising sun with a paw. After a few moments, it registered in his drowsy mind that he was in an unfamiliar area. Confused, he rolled to his feet and scanned the vicinity, noting a few scattered dens nearby and some early risers, wolves, exiting from a few of them. "Oh, yeah. I live here now." He sat back down with his back against the large oak tree he'd been sleeping under, allowing the strange, tangled mixture of feelings wash back over him: joy of joining this pack, sorrow at being forced to leave his old pack, nervousness at being around all these strangers, maybe even a little bit of fear. ”Well, while I’m up, I might as well do something,” the wolf-dog sighed, standing up and trotting down a path he discovered that led through the forest.
As he had only arrived yesterday, Barix was torn between continuing his exploration of his new home-which he enjoyed -and digging a den for the future rains that would inevitably come- which he knew needed to be done but in no way would enjoy. Perhaps he find and volunteer for some kind of duty, after all, he needed to start earning his keep. He slowed a little to a brisk walk as he noticed the fresh footprints of an adult snowshow hare, whose wide paws were unmistakable, especially to his trained eye, leading off the trail to his left. Feeling suddenly very hunger, he decided that this would be a great time to sharpen his hunting skills. Maybe soon he would have the opportunity to join a pack hunt. He hoped so.
As he crept forward and the sweet smell of fresh hare reached his nose, he couldn’t resist the urge to twitch his tail to and fro. Barix had always enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. Peering out of a bush, he spotted the white and brown rodent, obviously in the process of changing from his winter to his summer colors, nibbling on a twig several feet in front of him. Ha, it hadn’t noticed him yet. Inching forward more and more, the wolf-dog crouched down on his back legs under him, readying himself for the moment he would strike. Launching himself like a coiled spring, Barix launched himself at the hare but his bloodthirsty jaws closed around emptiness. A blur of white blazed through the bushes to his right, and he chased it, growling in frustration and unwilling to give up yet.
In a flash, the blur of white disappeared through a small, hollow log, and Barix tried to stop, but he hit a patch of mud left over from the last rainstorm and fell sprawling, head-first toward the log’s opening. Muttering a string of curses as he struggled to free his head, he watched helplessly as his prey escaped through the other side and disappeared. By wiggling he was able to pop his head back out, but he was extremely frustrated at his humiliating failure, glaring in the direction the hare had taken.
As he rubbed one of his bruised shoulders with his paw, he mumbled a phrase that he remembered his uncle using from time to time, “Sometimes you get the prey, sometimes the prey gets you….” It didn’t help. He glanced around to see if anyone was around to watch his embarrassing mishap.
Yawning, Barix stretched as he felt the sun's warm touch creep across his body. "Morning already?" he groaned, turning over and hiding his face from the rising sun with a paw. After a few moments, it registered in his drowsy mind that he was in an unfamiliar area. Confused, he rolled to his feet and scanned the vicinity, noting a few scattered dens nearby and some early risers, wolves, exiting from a few of them. "Oh, yeah. I live here now." He sat back down with his back against the large oak tree he'd been sleeping under, allowing the strange, tangled mixture of feelings wash back over him: joy of joining this pack, sorrow at being forced to leave his old pack, nervousness at being around all these strangers, maybe even a little bit of fear. ”Well, while I’m up, I might as well do something,” the wolf-dog sighed, standing up and trotting down a path he discovered that led through the forest.
As he had only arrived yesterday, Barix was torn between continuing his exploration of his new home-which he enjoyed -and digging a den for the future rains that would inevitably come- which he knew needed to be done but in no way would enjoy. Perhaps he find and volunteer for some kind of duty, after all, he needed to start earning his keep. He slowed a little to a brisk walk as he noticed the fresh footprints of an adult snowshow hare, whose wide paws were unmistakable, especially to his trained eye, leading off the trail to his left. Feeling suddenly very hunger, he decided that this would be a great time to sharpen his hunting skills. Maybe soon he would have the opportunity to join a pack hunt. He hoped so.
As he crept forward and the sweet smell of fresh hare reached his nose, he couldn’t resist the urge to twitch his tail to and fro. Barix had always enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. Peering out of a bush, he spotted the white and brown rodent, obviously in the process of changing from his winter to his summer colors, nibbling on a twig several feet in front of him. Ha, it hadn’t noticed him yet. Inching forward more and more, the wolf-dog crouched down on his back legs under him, readying himself for the moment he would strike. Launching himself like a coiled spring, Barix launched himself at the hare but his bloodthirsty jaws closed around emptiness. A blur of white blazed through the bushes to his right, and he chased it, growling in frustration and unwilling to give up yet.
In a flash, the blur of white disappeared through a small, hollow log, and Barix tried to stop, but he hit a patch of mud left over from the last rainstorm and fell sprawling, head-first toward the log’s opening. Muttering a string of curses as he struggled to free his head, he watched helplessly as his prey escaped through the other side and disappeared. By wiggling he was able to pop his head back out, but he was extremely frustrated at his humiliating failure, glaring in the direction the hare had taken.
As he rubbed one of his bruised shoulders with his paw, he mumbled a phrase that he remembered his uncle using from time to time, “Sometimes you get the prey, sometimes the prey gets you….” It didn’t help. He glanced around to see if anyone was around to watch his embarrassing mishap.