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It is the middle of the night, when most things should be asleep -- most kimeti, anyway, as it's the wee hours when the night is thickest and not even the mosquitos bite. In fact, the only things usually awake at this hour are crocodiles and alligators, who slither slowly through the marsh in search of sleeping foals, bird's nests, or careless and tired kimeti searching for a place to rest their heads.

It is an unlucky crocodile indeed that decides to make its way into the stretch of swamp that Moment's Notice calls her own.

The doe prefers more solid ground, disliking the splash and sludge of true swamp. The crocodile, sensing a doe near, took a chance, making its way up from the water's edge onto dry land, sensing the doe hadn't moved in a few minutes; maybe it is asleep or sick. It lunges.

The poor crocodile has just a second to become aware of the fact that the doe had been laying in wait for it. Not too long ago she'd come across a half-eaten corpse of a foal, and had decided to exact her revenge on the first crocodile she came across. The doe, her coat pattered in swirls of grey, brown and orange like a forest fire, drums her sharp forehooves on the attacking crocodile's head, dancing out of the way and coming back to attack again until it stops fighting -- stops moving entirely.

"There," she says, her voice a hoarse and angry alto, "You won't hurt anyone ever again. Picking on foals." She spits on the corpse of the crocodile and turns away, the silence of the night beginning to take over again.

Moment's head snaps around so quickly that it's a little spooky. Crocodiles don't talk, but with her nerves still jangling and adrenaline pumping from the kill, she's still twitchy, keenly aware of every noise, and ready to strike out again. She glances down at the crocodile for a split second before jerking her head back up to the buck.

The black kimeti [how long has he been watching] is regarded with narrowed, yellow eyes; the slim doe that stands before him has a haunting quality about her, intense and focused, and now it's all turned on him. She stands so still that it is obvious she's making a supreme effort not to lash out or lunge at him, perhaps just for interrupting her grisly task.

Moment speaks in her rough alto voice after looking him over somewhat unabashedly. "Did you just stand here and watch?"

"I suppose so," and while the reply isn't nasty, it's not friendly, either. She takes a couple of wandering steps toward him. Her posture isn't friendly, but now he has one thing over her: she's curious. Perhaps even a little [dare she say it?] apprehensive. In her limited dealings with other kimeti, she has never met anything like this dark-furred buck. She tips her head at him, attempts to follow his line of sight, sighs gutterally to herself and then asks, "What in the Swamp are you looking at? Why are you here? This is my territory. There's nothing here for you."

Somehow, this unnerves the doe -- she sniffs at Twilight's face as if he's on some sort of herb or plant, something that makes kimeti dreamy and disconnected, looks down to the trampled corpse of the crocodile, and then seems to sigh. So much for her usual anger; abruptly it's replaced with something like irritated resignation. There's just no winning with this one... and he's so strange, so beyond her ken, that she can't help but stick around.

"You don't hunt?" Her tone is puzzled; her ears are focused on him, though just for a second she tries his opposite-directions method of hearing and finds it makes her ears hurt. "What do you eat, then?"

"That? No." She shakes her head with such vehemence that it makes her ears flap, ruining the assumed dignity she carries herself with. She wheels in place, hooves crushing young spring grasses down into the mud she's trampled up. "It ate a foal. I won't eat it. I'd be eating that foal too. It deserves better." Some of her old nasty tone is back. Her next statement is vaguely accusing, simply because she really just doesn't know how to act around this buck. "What's your name?"

"Me?" She looks him up and down, lashing her tail against her flanks and standing a bit taller, stretching her neck out. When dealing with predators, prey normally tend to make themselves look bigger ... and it's instinct that drives Moment to do the same. Despite the fact he's thanking her, he's a little unnerving, and ... well, he's not all that bad. In fact, she doesn't mind being around him.

"I'm Moment's Notice." Which fits. Her coloring and the abrupt and decisive way in which she moves fit. "This is my territory... I try to protect all that's within it. I've never seen you before. Do you come from this section of the swamp?"

Moment considers this, and then flicks both of her ears back to the dark buck. She's never been called. Anything she's wanted done, she's done herself; her little swath of territory here on the edge of the swamp was her own undertaking. No mystical calling brought her here. "No... no. It's fine." She sighs at herself; her hard exterior is all cracked now. She's totally convinced he can see right through it. "Why don't you show me yours?"

Moment has an inkling of an idea -- something about the way that confidence has crept into his voice, or the way that he offers to show her his own tree without questioning her motives. It's both intriguing and enraging. The former because she's never really had such a nice conversation with anyone. The latter because, well... Moment's Notice has a short temper and a nearly boundless amount of pride.

She frowns at him, tips her head, and is on the very verge of insulting his tree and all it stands for. Stupid tree -- how could it be any better than what she's got here? It's just a tree. Irritably, she stomps a hoof into the ground and then relents, tone gruff, "Show me your tree."