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The lambs would be foals soon and she was restless. It had been an easy thing to request time away; Only Broken Bones was only too glad to be an attentive, present father. Children safe she had wandered off, half intent to merely stretch her legs. It had not taken long from her stomach to begin rumbling and she had found her way to a rabbit burrow.

She knelt, curling down on the ground, before it. She had never flushed rabbits from a den; it seemed a difficult task compared to tracking them through snow or mud. And she was relatively puzzled on how to go about it.

Fish would be easier but now that she had the thought of rabbit in her head, the scent in her nose, she was not inclined to catch anything so scaly. She would merely have to find a way to send the rabbits scurrying.

He got separated from his herd again. It shouldn't have surprised him at this point, throughout the perilous journey from the high mountains of bitter cold to this strange new land, he would always find himself either moving too quickly or lagging behind to inspect and investigate these strange new sights and smells. Perhaps, if he allowed himself to truly dwell on it, there was reason why he was always winding up on his own.

But that time was not now as his continued trek to stay downwind alerted him to yet even more unfamiliar scents. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate as the buck knew rabbit when he scented one and he also knew another totoma was present. He simply did not know who they were. Were they hunting the rabbit? Had they already caught their prey? The thought sent his stomach rumbling and was reminded he himself had yet eaten. Carefully, Roar Out began to make his way towards the source, perhaps there would be more rabbits available or some would be headed his way.

A stick had proved useless, pronged branches jabbing into the hole's dirt sides, and she had nothing with which to pour water down the hole. She did not want to spook the rabbits or force them out another exit. Indeed it was in her best interest to avoid making her presence known. She turned; if she was careful she may be able to adapt some of the willow's pliable branches into loose snares. A mongoose, or foxbun, even a hawk would have been more adept at it. But it was the best she could think of.

It took her ages to fix them up; a mere three snares that she placed in front of the rabbit hole. A loud ruckus was the sound her hooves and bellows made as she stood back, hoping to startle the prey out. It took longer than she would have expected as a flurry of white, tawny, black, red fur rushed out. And even in the flood, only two snares triggered. One snapped around the hind leg while the other tangled around a neck. A small success. And yet not nearly enough for two.

Even upon hearing the ruckus being caused elsewhere Roar Out had kept his silence. He prepared himself to rear back, hind legs poised to lift up his front quarters at a moment's notice. When the rustling that approached him were low, suggesting something small was making a mad dash for him, Roar deftly side-stepped out of the flood of rabbit's way.

His movement was not so great that distance prevented him from making the most of the situation. Swift and precise, the totoma buck brought down his powerful legs. Rabbit bones crunched under solid hooves and while a majority of his prey had escaped, Roar Out now had in his possession two morsels.

The lips to his snout pulled back into a smile; he was pleased with his catch. Lifting limp bodies by the scruffs of broken necks, Roar proceeded forward on his trek. This certainly answered the question of rabbits, but there was still the matter of the unknown doe.

The victory was short lived when she heard the crack of bones. Do-or-Die's head shot up and she cursed under her breath. The last thing she wanted now was company, someone to share her fallen prey with. She took roost over the rabbit hole, carefully tearing the carcasses from the snares, and then lowered her head. If the rabbit-killer emerged in a threatening manner, she would be ready to take him down. And there was nothing it would be able to do to stop her if she charged. Not that she wanted to charge, not without knowing who or what it was. She was not a fool; she did not rush into things she could not win.

Roar emerged slowly, carefully, through the underbrush. His stance was calm but alert, and when he spotted the doe, he stopped his advance and stood in place. The dead rabbits by the doe was a clear indication that she'd been the cause of the sudden rush of rabbits. But her demeanour suggested it would be wise of him to not come any closer. With his own catch still dangling from his maw, Roar gave her a slight nod, ears flicking unconsciously.

Another totoma was not what she had expected and she, tentatively, relaxed. The rabbits he held mirrored her own and she nodded back in acknowledgement. If he had his own catch then he would not insist on hers. She lifted her head; there was no reason to charge. "Good catch." Quite a bit more mangled than hers.

The praise was well met and gave rise to his blossoming pride. In response he leaned forward, lower this time, eyes never breaking from the doe’s and he tipped his snout down until the edge of his horn touched the ground in his herd’s form of a salute. Roar was not one to deny credit where it was due. It was an acknowledgment to the doe that he may very well not have gotten his catch had she not been there. And all the while never letting go of the two rabbits he held between his teeth. Why he had not simply chosen to say this is words, well, even a hardy totoma was granted their own eccentricities. He only spoke when necessary and judging from the diffused tension, there was no immediate need for him to speak.

Strange. Or not so much, really. They -- the totoma -- were often straight forward and it was the norm, rather than the exception, to be strong, silent. The other species may have flaunted words (kimeti who spoke and prayed to the Motherfather, the acha who sung in merry chorus, the zikwa who spoke in earnest to make up for their blindness -- or so she had heard) but they were of little value to the ones of strength and action. Words were not useless, simply measured. And she would not force him to speak.

"I'm glad to see you were successful. I was not inclined to share," she told him with a grin that ventured on teasing.

The buck nodded in agreement, taking in her words at their face value. Some degree of selfishness were required of them, if only so that some would survive rather than dooming everyone to eventual starvation from sharing insufficient amounts of food. It was less a hard-learned lesson up in the cold north, regarding more as common knowledge and common sense. But they were not in the cold north, were they? They weren't even in the arid desert where such game was precious few. They were here in the warmer swamps. Prey was not exactly plentiful but their numbers meant better chances to catch one.

Roar tilted his head while lightly pawing at the ground. He stood calmly, patiently, as if awaiting for her to give him permission to approach or dismiss him. He would have been fine with either, though he wouldn't object to learning just how far this doe's territory reached. He wouldn't want to encroach on her herd's land, at least not without good reason.

She regarded him with a gaze of steel -- he seemed strong, able, silent -- that softened as she considered. It was oft spoken in tribes that a tribe alone was all well and good but a tribe with allies was far better. In the swamp, she had built her own tribe of children (even as they left, even as these new ones would leave, they would always be hers) and allied herself in friendlier ways than she would have ever done in the cold north. She blamed the heat of the swamp; it shot straight to the head, made her far more malleable than winter air. (And her heart may have already begun to trace his markings and thought of how his colors would look against her own...)

"It might be nice to have another Totoma around," she spoke at least. If he wanted permission, well there it was. She wasn't going to chase him off. In any manner, she thought he wouldn't oppose her if she did decide he should leave. And she had sons and daughters, full grown -- eventually these new children would be grown, too -- beasts, that could stand beside her if he proved a nuisance. (And that was much more akin to how she would have thought in the mountains.)

The buck draped the caught game across his back, adjusting his stance to balance the rabbits and allow his spikes to catch on fur and allow him better mobility. As well as use of his mouth. He can no longer keep his silence with the doe, at least not without offending. When he turned his face back to her, he answered to assure her that "I won't linger for too long." His voice was soft but not weak, not one who cowered.

There, he'd given it: An answer open-ended enough that would allow him to stay within the doe's territory without compromising his position in his herd. Who knows, depending on how well they worked together, he might even consider staying longer.

"I am named Roar Out," he began, "I'm willing to give a demonstration, if necessary." The small grin on his face suggested that his soft-spoken tone belied a volume that better suited Totomas.

"Do-or-Die," she introduced herself in turn, a grin almost wicked smoothing over her mouth. "As much as I have enjoyed the peace, I think I might like to see how your name suits you." Although she figured she could use her name to anything; it didn't have to be a battle. Perhaps she might keep him around to help her tribe grow, just for awhile. And if he thought otherwise, well, she had the strength in this. Besides he wasn't quite snared, just encircled within the trap, but there would be time for that later.

The doe settled herself and waited; wanted to see what traits her future children might have in them besides what she had in herself. Of her children, two were closest to her, and neither was a warrior like she. Hope was a builder, a gardener. Eagles-Landing was a sentry. The possibilities for them, here, were endless. She was going to have to find a better fishing hole. The last one had not satisfied her craving for fish. That, too, could wait.

There were many totomas that buckled under pressure, but the harsh winters of their home meant that it was the totomas who thrived under pressure would survive. Roar was of the latter. He and his tribe needed to be. And so it was not false bravado that had his chest swelling, nor was it pride (although maybe it was but just a touch.)

Air filled his lungs as he breathed in deep, eyes studying their surroundings and the growth of the plants. When he opened his mouth, the sound that emerged held no words. It was low but sharp but not particularly loud. There came no echoes but that was to be expected as Roar's ears flicked and turned this way and that as he listened to his voice spread.

Satisfied with his understanding of the acoustics, his lungs expanded and this time, what came from his diaphragm and surged past his throat was a sound. It was no mere sound, however. It was a sensation, a force that did not so much as slip into the ear but pushed itself into the forefront of the listener's attention.

There were no words in the roar, but the resonance of the echoes spoke of looming danger. When he closed his mouth, he stared at the doe expectantly.

On instinct, ears flicked back and eyes widened. And as the sound thrummed out through the swamp, she felt the alarm ease out of her bones.

"Impressive," she admitted, "You'll do." The latter was to herself but curiosity could be a boon.