((Entry for Lostandtold's gryphon contest, but seeing as its a significant event in Edge's life I'm putting it up as a solo. The result was her winning a gryphon hatchling, Savager))
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?”
