The golden light had barely begun to rise above the horizon, yet the rust coloured lioness was already on the prowl for her first meal of the day. It wasn't necessarily that she was hungry, but she loved the feeling and the skill that went into hunting. It was fast becoming her first thing, more than something that needed to be done. She knew that there were many different roles within the pride, her mother was a soldier, her father a messenger, but Machwa was a natural-born huntress, it was what she was made of. Supposedly others would think it was strange that she chose to hunt in solitude. Machwa wasn't adverse to hunting as a unit, quite the contrary. She loved the rush and the bustle of hunting with her fellow lionesses, but felt the need to some quiet, too.
She loved the peace, the quiet. She loved that you could hear a twig snap in the silence, that all the air seemed to hang gently awaiting movement, and she could take her time. Her thoughts both came alive and quietened when she was hunting and it was difficult to explain exactly how it made her feel. Machwa was becoming quite good at it too.
As she made her way carefully across the dry grasses, the sun peeked over the horizon to wash the land with it's golden glow. Before she continued, she sat for a moment upon the ground. She always watched the sunset, but never seemed to take the time to watch it rise, she was always on her way to hunt, or to do something. It wasn't always a guarantee that she'd see the sun rise, either. Some days she slept later than others, enjoying the quiet and some she was up and moving as soon as possible with all the motivation in the world. Her sister, Lizzi, would often grumble at being disturbed by her pawsteps in the early hours. It seemed to happen no matter how lightly Machwa tried to tread.
Moving upwards over a jetting rock she surveyed today's possibilities. There were some waterbuck grazing quietly near the waterhole, some gazelle moving slowly underneath the impending shade of a large tree. Springing off with all the might of an aggravated buffalo, she landed softly in the long grasses beneath and started her journey towards the gazelle. There were a few small stragglers a the back of the herd. They would be easy to pick off. The golden glow of the sunrise looked as if it had extended into the grasses. Machwa was the exact shade of the setting and rising sun, something she had been happily named after. It was no surprise that she seemed to do well during these times. The lioness had a habit of almost holding her breath, waiting patitently as she approached her prey. Learning young, she knew that one false move would scatter the herd quicker than you could attempt to pounce, and that would be wasted time and lost opportunity. She had already considered her angle, the movement and her next move. They had all been carefully planned in the second in which she'd leapt down to take her stalking position.
The ears of the gazelle she'd hooked her gaze on flicked lazily. It was small, but not sickly looking. It possessed a slight plumpness that suggested it was well-fed but not yet fully grown. Machwa crept gently, the grass brushing her legs, her paws making sturdy, sandy imprints against the ground between the blades. Silence filled the air, with the exception of a few early rising birds practising their sweet song. Amber eyes widened as she pressed forward with all the stealth of a newly formed cloud.
Suddenly she struck. She had managed to stay hidden for the most part, and a few yards before she reached the herd she erupted with the glory of the blazing sun. Scattering, the herds hooves began clicking against the dry ground in an disorganised, atonal symphony. Letting out a small roar, the adolescent pounded forward, jaws snapping at her target, quickening until her teeth clipped it's hind leg and it fell underneath her. There was a mess of paws and fragile legs for a moment, her jaw reaching for it's neck. Clamping down she secured her prey and ended it's life quickly. Minimal pain, minimal suffering, the animal fell limp. The rest of the herd was long gone now, and the slow young gazelle had been picked off as if it were a ripe piece of fruit hanging on a low branch. Blood stained the lionesses maw, and it was the paint of victory. A relatively easy hunt, she was now faced with the issue of bringing it back to the pride. A solitary hunt meant bringing something back whole, and that could take time and effort to drag back to her family, especially as she had enjoyed her morning stroll and gone out a little further than she had intended. Eyeing up the ledge from which she sprung, Machwa decided to follow the dry path back that encircled it, for she was surely unable to leap with a gazelle dangling from her jaws. Heaving it slowly, she padded back towards where she assumed her family would be. Patches of the animal's short fur were worn by it's ungraceful journey across the ground. She mused if anyone would be awake yet. Climbing higher into the sky, the sun was a beacon, calling those who still slept to start their day and to awaken. She'd take this back for her mother, she supposed. Alili was always up early to see to her family and then to practise sparring for her role as a soldier. Her mother was proud that she was under the guidance of a young but strong lioness whom she had taken under her wing as a sort of apprentice. It was funny how the young and driven could overtake those who were older, but Nondo seemed to have no immediate interest in raising a family, whereas Alili did. Machwa would present the gazelle to her family, and then set out with the other lionesses to complete a hunt for the rest of the pride she supposed. It was always worth getting some practice in.
WC: 1047
