Tesbel was a guard. He was no prowler. He was no lowly hunter as a choice of merely getting by and catching others food for them. He probably could be the best hunter in the pride, but he chose to be a guard instead. He thought of himself as being a pretty good guard too. He was by no means excellent, and he was by no means superior to some of the more dedicated of the force. But he was good, and good was good enough. He had no reason, no passion to strive any further then he had. Tesbel was content to remain as was in the eyes of the pride. He wouldn't have minded being a noble or anything of the sort, but being a prowler was out of the question. As was most of the pride's rankings...The evening stole the sun from the sky and replaced it with the galaxies blue. A night of no clouds the stars shone brilliantly from their hold in air and the wind was calm enough that any water from which it reflected off of made the sky seem like a picture.
A still, emotionless picture.
Here, down at the bottom of the mountain, nearest to the rival pride territory Tesbel trudged through the woods with caution. He thanked his counted blessings that his pelt made it impossible to see him and that he blended so fairly not a soul could tell where he stood. His eyes were like glowing red daggers, and a thirst for blood dawned on the guard half way through the night as he slept. The sole reason he was here to begin with was for that desire and that desire alone. He couldn't let it rest. It taunted him, it bullied him and it demanded of him he once at least once more. The feeling itself... It wasn't a sudden emotion or surge of duty. The feeling had begun was... Something of more of a sense. A lingering. He ignored it at first, thinking himself silly. No figure that begged of him to end something was near. Yet now, he was hunting. At perhaps one of the most dangerous times. Beautiful, but dangerous.
Tesbel was odd though. He felt no fear, he felt no remorse for what he planned to do. He felt nothing. Not even anger.
At most he felt... Lifeless, perhaps.
Well, he was targeting small game. The woods had provided for him and Tesbel licked his lips free from the blood of his first catch that evening. It was a bird of some kind, an owl he believed. Thing had swooped a little too low but was beast of royal pain in his rear to take down. In the end he only had a few shredded bits of pelt capable of being used, but it was better then nothing. His second prey had been slightly more successful, a snake. It slithered through the woods unsuspecting of Tesbel tailing it. However, a snake was also a small catch and once skinned he imagined it would be next to useless to have.
So when he stumbled upon his final prey that night. The final creature to sedate his illness of wanting to hunt, Tesbel had stopped to grin to himself of such good luck.
A jackal was scavenging the area. Ooh, what fun. Pesky buggers, Tesbel had caught more then enough of them for the pelt festival as was. But having one more was all the more good wasn't it? His claws extended as he eyed his prey.
Silent as a mouse Tesbel lightly circled the canine. Then, he chose to strike.
Stupid beastie...
609 words
rolls:
3: Small, torn and barely useable. Worth 1 point.
3: Small, torn and barely useable. Worth 1 point.
6: A fair quality jackal pelt. Worth 2 points.