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Username: phoenix kiss
Kin: Longstride
Prefs: peacock, hawk
Response:

"This is," said Longstride, "More about patience than skill." So even you can do it, he thought. Eventually.

He and some of the newest colts and fillies -- there seemed to always be some on the beach -- stood at the shoreline, where the cool sand gave way underneath their feet, the water grey and churned up by the beginnings of an approaching storm. It meant that visibility was not as clear as it should have been: on clear days one could see the small silvery fish dart about at the tide change, and, further out, shadows of approaching grouper and sharks. Today the water was mainly just murk.

It was not an ideal day to show the little ones how to hunt, but he had been all but herded to the shore in front of their endless bleating about it. Jasper had ignored it with the ease with which he ignored everything. Flint had made himself scarce -- a wise choice, Longstride was now seeing. Bitterleaf was probably somewhere laughing at him. Now the foals stood in a rough semicircle about him, looking expectantly up at him. He sighed.

One spoke in a piping voice, "Are you going to show us a fish?" Another, braver than the rest, dipped a hoof in the water and then shrieked when another wave splashed over his chest and legs, icy-cold. At this the entire group erupted in shrieks and giggles. Longstride shook his head, "You have to be silent. Otherwise the fish are scared away. Now hush," he admonished, but not ungently -- and the foals crowded more tightly together in a cluster of huge ears and long limbs, and kept their mouths shut.

Longstride stepped into the surf with his forelegs, peering intently down into the grey water. Nothing but minnows here, too used to the crash of the waves and the conversation of the Tidewalkers to do more than flit out of his way and reform in a silvery cloud elsewhere. "The first thing you have to do," he said, looking over his shoulder as the cluster of young ones watched, "is be silent. The second thing," he said, returning his gaze to the water, "is to keep your eyes on the water. The third thing--"

As he spoke -- and he would later attribute this good fortune to the many and varied blessings legendaries called from the swamp -- a shadow had drifted closer to the shoreline. A grouper, of middling size; not something that would cause a stir among the Tidewalkers, but still big enough to impress a filly. Tossing his hair out of his face, Longstride smiled with a feral sort of glee and then struck: lunging forward into the water in a spray of white foam to strike the big fish over the spine with his hooves. He could feel the fish absorb the shock, not unlike stepping on a spongy patch of moss.

A moment later, to the gasps and shrieks of the assemblage behind him, the grouper floated up to the surface, eyes staring sightlessly upwards. "--is to be quick."

And the foals and fillies, as one, nodded.

Username: Ruriska
Kin: The Killing Moon
Prefs: Peacock, Hawk
Response:

The Killing Moon hunted alone. It was a moment of perfect solitude in which he could stretch his body to its maximum. He hunted for joy, but the fruits of his labour were never wasted. They were given as gifts to his siblings, carried carefully in the jaws of his obedient Eaglehound. Even on the hunt he asked Echo to remain behind. He knew she followed, her swift silent steps carrying her close enough to watch him but not enough to intrude. She understood.

If asked The Killing Moon would say, without a hint of arrogance, that he had been taught by the best. He moved with an easy grace; never once breaking stride despite the obstacles the swamp had put in his way.

He was not hunting anything in particular this day. Killing Moon never went out with something in mind. No, he took what came his way. On some days he found nothing, but that was all part of the game. When he did engage, his strike was swift and deadly. It happened with no thought other than what was necessary. His body was his weapon and he used it well.

Hair streaming out behind him, he followed the curve of the river. His blue gaze seemed almost lazy in the way it shifted across the scenery. But it didn’t miss a thing. Not the twitch of a reed or the shuffle of leaves… or…

To an onlooker it would have been easy to miss, over in the blink of an eye. A snake, disturbed by the buck’s passage, struck. But Killing Moon was faster. He shifted at the first flicker of movement, brought one leg up and then down. It caught the snake in its forward momentum and he crushed its head beneath his hoof, not a hint of emotion on his handsome face. He stood watching as the last flicker of life bled out of it.

Casually he moved to the stream, washed his hoof in the water and whistled.

Echo emerged from the underbrush and padded quietly over, picking up the dead snake in her jaws. She stood watching Killing Moon with an inquiring gaze.

Killing Moon stared back at her, musing quietly. “Best.”

With an imperceptible nod, the Eaglehound slipped away. As he watched after her, a pleased smile bloomed on his face and then dropped away leaving a serene look in his eyes. The hunt was always enjoyable.

Username: Vesperiie
Kin: Precipice (Edge)
Prefs: Hawk, Peacock
Response:

A demonstration of skill, they had said, and Edge had nearly scoffed at the request. ‘Come along next time I hunt, then, if you’re so keen to see, and try to keep up,’ oh how the words had been at the tip of her tongue, yet a sharp piercing cry had silenced her before they were spoken. Her amber eyes had locked upon another pair, that of a bird-cat with a sharp beak and even sharper claws, and it was then that she knew why no hound or cat had ever appealed to her as a companion.

“Come then,” she had said, golden eyes gleaming, “I will show you I am worthy of a hatchling,” and she led them to the start of the wetmarshes, where a murky expanse of water swallowed the mangrove roots and hid dastardly things in its depths.

Now they stood at the marshbank, the judges a safe distance away yet close enough to observe, and Edge had started walking slowly through the reeds, not yet approaching the water, seeming to be looking for something. It wasn’t long before her hooftreads stirred up a rustling at her feet, and suddenly her muzzle shot downwards, whipping back up with a watersnake’s neck in her jowls. The snake writhed to and fro trying to escape, but she brought her jaws shut with a crunch and the serpent fell still, its long vine-like body dangling from her muzzle. An impressive display of speed, perhaps, but a shake of her head in the judges direction indicated she was not done.

Dropping her first kill to the ground, she bit and tore at its neck, crimson pooling slowly from the ripped flesh. Deliberately messy, something she normally would have frowned upon, but there was a purpose to this preparation which would soon become evident. For now, Edge took the end of the snake’s tail in her jaws and approached water’s edge, stopping just a tail-length away, eyes darting over the water’s surface, her body limber yet clearly on alert. With a flip of her head, she whipped the length of the snake into the air, bloodscent reeking from the snake’s neck. She did this a few times more, as if waiting for some response from the water, and at the fourth whip suddenly the smooth murky surface shattered.

In a shower of marshspray, a crocodile, one of the only creatures a kimeti should fear, burst from the water, enticed by the scent of blood, its jowls snapping closed with a fearsome smack. Yet those fatal fangs closed on empty air, for Edge was already several lengths away, her bait still whole in her jaws and her eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt. She sized up her true prey, a gator of a fair size, no behemoth of the swamp, but certainly no young thing barely fully grown. Her task was not impossible, but it would not be easy. She hadn’t wanted it to be easy.

They stood facing off, Edge with the snake in her mouth, the crocodile its jaws hanging open, and the marshbank fell silent, unaware of who precisely was hunting whom. Slowly, so very very slowly, Edge began to creep forwards, closing the distance she had put between them. The croc held its position, ever the ambush predator, waiting for her to get close enough, but just as she entered its range she flipped her neck again, the snake whipping forward even as she leapt backwards, and the baited crocodile lunged at air.

Silence fell once more, but Edge was already repeating her trick, slinking forwards under the wary eyes of her prey. She didn’t get as close as last time before whipping the snake carcass again, but she didn’t need to. The sudden motion alone was enough to send the crocodile into another explosive lunge forward, but she evaded yet again by skirting to the side, hooves pounding into the ground propelling her back and away, as if predicting the crocodile’s pursuing snap, which would have caught her had she remained where she stood. It was clear that she must have spent long hours observing the behavior of her prey, perhaps even provoked a few to study their attacks. It was a life-threatening perhaps bullheaded way to pass her time, but that was how she lived, at the edge of life, dangling her head over the abyss of death, because that was what exhilarated her.

She circled back to face off again, alert and still light on her hooves. Her prey wasn’t nearly so energetic, the croc’s jaws hung open, panting slightly, its three lunges and failed pursuit having cut its endurance sharply. Had it been in the water, attacking a crane or what not, by now it would have given up and returned to masquerading as driftwood, recovering its strength. But Edge had lured it far from its favored environment, and she had no intentions of letting it return. She sprung forward again, snake whipping out, and though her evasive behavior was just as quick as before, this time the croc’s responding snap was obviously slower, its lunge more of a quick step forward. She wasted no time in springing yet again, this time the snake’s head whacking the croc’s jaw before it reacted with a halfhearted snap, exhausted.

Now Edge, the advantage hers, dropped the snake and went on the offensive, starting to circle around the crocodile. It shuffled tiredly to face her, jaws open, and she circled the other way, slowly drawing closer. As she drew farther around to the croc’s rear, and the beast’s shuffling hitched, it was her turn to lunge, hooves striking scales, the fangs of her lower jaw sinking into the crocodile’s left eye. The croc writhed in pain, jaws snapping towards its now blind side, but Edge merely slipped off to the right, panting slightly from her own exertion. She circled in again however, coming in from the back, going for the right eye. This time, when she connected, she stayed where she was, crouched over the crocodile’s back, her hooves on either side, her fangs digging into the croc’s eye, refusing to be shaken off by the its now feeble efforts.

There she remained, mercilessly ripping at its eye socket, waiting until she felt it shift beneath her once more, its tail swinging around. She quickly stepped aside as its body started to spin, rearing up, and at the moment the lighter skin of its belly was exposed she leapt up, coming down with all her weight on her forehooves, striking right at the soft junction between body and neck. Flesh and bone crushed under the force of her strike, cutting the crocodile’s roll short, its hiss dying in its throat, but Edge didn’t ease up for even a moment. She reared back and struck again and again until she had exhausted all her strength, and only then did she step back, blood on her hooves, deep gashes in the neck of the crocodile that now laid belly up and lifeless before her.

It was then that she remembered she was being watched, and turned back to the judges, panting hard but a satisfied gleam in her eye.

“Well then,” she said slowly between gasps, “Shall we dig in?”

((Sorry this is so long Lost @_@ I had to figure out a viable way for a kimeti to kill a croc, and this was what I thought up after hours of reading about crocs and watching footage of their attacks.))

Username: Amorpheous
Kin: Treacherous Snow
Prefs: Hawk, Peacock
Response:Treacherous Snow prowled silently over the tangled roots that created an uneven path beneath her hooves. She searched for prey, her smooth movements carrying her over the swamp like a slipping sliding shadow. Cornice’s amber eyes roved restlessly as she moved continuously without a single pause. The sudden sound of another create moving for a short moment stopped her immediately and Cornice froze, consciously still the same way that she kept her body in motion during the search as to never be in the same space for a few short moments. But now, now she had a victim. In the ensuing silence, the swamp conspicuously still as if it held its breath waiting for her to strike, Cornice held her body aloft, ready to move the moment she knew exactly how to approach her target.

She held her mouth open slightly, breathing in sharply in quick succession to test the air for scent, and she bared her fangs slightly. It only took a few seconds for her to pinpoint her prey. Cornice turned her head minutely towards the direction of the scent. She crouched low, hackles high and head low. She took one deep, shuddering breath, tasting the scent of the impending kill already, before stilling her breathing to only the shallowest breathes. Measured steps carried Cornice forward, each hoof step bringing her closer and closer to her prey.

Cornice sidestepped smoothly, circling around the spot she knew held her prey. It was too still, it was too late for it. Treacherous Snow, indeed dangerous, bared her fangs now at full, her eyes alight with the hunt. She hungered for the taste of blood and every circling move took her towards the penultimate moment of the kill.

Steeling her thoughts and quieting her mind, silencing the voice within that screamed for blood, Cornice’s hearts slowed to a crawl as her prey came into sight. Perfect.

It was never any fun to hunt the hunted. No, it was fun to hunt the hunters. Before her was a great snake, half submerged in water, a killer in a swamp filled with other killers. Cornice shifted forward slowly, belly low to the ground, to get as close to the pool as she dared without alerting her soon to be kill. Her leg muscles coiled and tensed and between one heart beat and the next, she leapt forward, catching the snake along its back, crushing down. It was fast though, in its element. That was the way Cornice like it. She wanted to kill in the most challenging way possible, drag out the fun just a little bit. Never go for the kill right away when she knew she could win otherwise. She pulled away when it slithered quick and deadly through the water, trying to get around her to squeeze the life out of her.

Killer to killer, they stared each other in the eye before Cornice went on the offensive again. This time she struck its tail with her hoof and snapped her head forward to close her jaws around its back just hard and long enough to get her first taste of blood. The metallic taste sent her senses wild. Again she danced out of reach just as the snake was about to close around her. She could continue this game forever, the weaving in and out, just the smallest amounts of blood to egg her on.

Cornice lunged forward and took the base of its head in her mouth, closing down her fangs around its neck. It writhed and shook, the rest of its long, dangerous body beginning to wind its way around her body. The danger caused her heart to race. A second before the snake’s hold became too tight, Cornice lurched forward, hoofs sending up a spray of pool water and brought her head whipping up then down. She slashed the snake forward, pulled some of its coils loose from around her body then slammed her side against a tree, catching the rest of the loops between her body and the trunk. She dragged downwards, breaking through a skin of scales through sheer force and the ever sharpening scent of blood hit the air in a renewed wave. Dropping the head of the snake, Cornice shook herself forcibly free of the snake and stepped away to survey her work. It was still alive but it didn’t move to try and kill her.

Cornice found herself disappointed. There was no point in a killer who would not kill. Darting in, Cornice took up the snake’s neck in her jaws and crushed down through scale and bone for the kill, blood flooding her mouth. Exhilarated for the taste and feeling, Cornice was able to walk away satisfied, the large snake trailing in her wake from her jaws.