Brittany (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breezeshadow) wrote2012-12-09 10:29 am
breezeshadow) wrote2012-12-09 10:29 am
On the Hunt
Title: On the Hunt (Pending)
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Viorica's Clan
Status: Complete, roughly spellchecked
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 if you're squeamish about hunting and injuries
Summary: While humans build their cities, demons stalk the caves and control the night.
Prompt:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cottoncandy_bingo Carressing/Petting/Stroking
Author's Notes: This ended up a bit less happy cheerful than probably is wanted for the prompt, but meh.
Bats took wing above their heads as they moved, claws scraping against rock and dirt. The scent of ground led them on their journey where their eyes couldn’t, and they could feel the air becoming fresher, and the cold approaching to greet them. In their tunnels they had their blankets and each other for warmth, but the outside had only the grasses to protect them, and that was nothing against such winds.
Soon they could see the cave opening up, and the smells of aboveground came to them – ground walkers primarily, though in ages past that was not the case, or so the stories said. They heard the tales from their Queen, who heard it from her Queen, and the Queen before – that ground walkers were once an animal among animals, harmless and easy prey for the weak and sick, or for cubs to practice. But that was then, and this was now, and the ground walkers had strange deadly weapons, and big sprawling homes, and still they encroached.
A few had explored their cave; whatever they were looking for, they had been driven off pretty easily. They kept a patrol out now, though, just in case they returned, for the clanless brought stories of humans bringing tools to dig up the earth and steal it. At that moment, however, patrolling was not their job. They were on the hunt.
There was one thing humans had done that was highly convenient to them: caging animals. The clan kept a small pack of cave rats, but they were only good food in emergencies, and were much preferred as trained scouts or guards, with their good sense of small and ferocious bite. Humans, however, kept their food in pens, stationary for ages, and with often no more protection at night than a single dog.
Not all clans hunted human food, and various clanless reported of clans being caught and attacked in retaliation. So they constantly adapted, and eventually came up with the perfect way to handle it. If they could find no natural prey, then they would go to the humans, but only then.
That night was looking to be a raid night. The smells of zebra and ostrich were old, and all they could find for scavenging were bones. Ionela grabbed a femur and crunched it happily, but it was merely a snack she enjoyed, not a meal to sustain. They moved on after sucking the remains dry of marrow. Following the scent trails, they weaved through the grasses, hearing the sharp cry of one of the ground walkers’ great metal beasts they used to move around their world. Demons more versed in the aboveground said they were called locomotives, but they were ugly and weird, whatever they were.
In the end, the prey was too sneaky for them, and the scavenging meager. So they moved forward until they found the path of the locomotives, and followed it, keeping among the thick grasses so anyone who came by would not see them. And then, they found a farm.
It was small, and the options were limited there too, but it was still better than nothing. Four ostriches slept inside the cage, but it was all they could smell. What ground walker would leave his food unprotected?
They circled the parameter, sniffing carefully, until Ionela found the traps and carefully set them off with her long front claws; it broke them and hurt horribly, but they would grow back better than her whole foot would. She backed away and sat down to work as a scout; without her claws, she would be awkward in the hunt, but still able to sound the alarm.
Next they found the gate. Some were easier to open than others, depending on how the ground walkers closed them. This one had a locking mechanism, but careful inspection proved that it was not so high, and furthermore, had gaps in between the boards. Magda hooked her claws through one of the gaps, and within a few moments had hoisted herself over the fence with barely a sound, though she left grooves in the wood. Only one other followed after her; the rest of them focused on the gate. Strong though they were, it would be difficult, slow, and noisy to lift the ostrich up over the fence. Surely there was a way to open it.
The ostriches had stirred at the rustling, and so Magda and Narcisa moved fast. They had ripped the throat out of the closest ostrich before it even had time to make a noise, but that only caused the other ones to let out alarm cries, the closest one landing a hard kick that send Magda sprawling. Narcisa roared, placing herself between the kill, Magda, and the bird, dancing away from its kicks and becoming part of its deadly dance. Meanwhile, the rest of them rammed the gate, digging their claws into the grooved wood. Victoria clambered up over the fence and attacked the ostrich, driving it away from their injured clanmate, who whined in distress and tried to get her wobbly legs under her.
Then one more slam, and some more clawing, and the gate splintered. They moved in, taking the dead ostrich and dragging it out, while two of them pulled out Magda. Narcisa and Victoria backed out carefully, roaring at the ostriches to scare them back; then a shot rang out and barely missed their heads.
They were lucky that time, though; in the confusion of them spreading out, and the ostriches fleeing out of the cage in a panic, the ground walkers were not able to make a clear shot. They shouted and gestured and fired warningly, and they all knew they would not be able to target this farm again; but for that night, they had food.
~~~
Viorica agreed about the farm, and one of the clanless who had spent the day with them agreed to spread the message to the other clans. The males plucked the ostrich, saving the feathers for beds, and took the feet to boil them for a soft paste for sick members. The fire burned so low one could barely see it glimmering among the dark rocks; normally it would need constant maintenance, but Viorica’s fire magic allowed them to let it alone for ages before needing to fuel it.
Fire was a rare site in their clans, though they could make it easily enough. Fire rocks were easy to find, some of them still smoldering from fires long past. Fire iron was equally common, and they carried around a few perfectly adapted to fit into their mouth so they could better strike out sparks. But too much fire hurt their eyes, and could attract rival clans or humans, and so it was best to limit the use of fires and travel in the comforting darkness.
Viorica curled up with Magda, licking at the gashes on the demon’s head. Narcisa and Victoria joined her, and then Victoria’s cubs spotted the cuddling and bounded over, tugging at their tails and generally being little pests. Narcisa snorted and nudged one cub over, getting disgruntled grunts in response. Magda simply made a low, throaty purring noise, similar but distinctly different from the plains cats they often competed with for food. Upon hearing it, the cubs crowded in close, Victoria wrapped her leg around them.
“She will live?” Narcisa’s voice was gruff and growling; supposedly she could speak the human tongues as well, but there were so incredibly different from their own that many of them often wondered how.
“Brain hit. She will need rest.” Viorica looked up as Ionela approached, touching noses and then nuzzling each other before she joined the group. “Your claws took a trap.”
“Many traps.” For all of the pain she may be in, Ionela sounded incredibly pleased. Narcisa began licking one of her cubs, much to his aggravation.
“Well done.” Viorica rubbed her front paws carefully through Magda’s fur, looking for other wounds or bruises. “Any other trouble? No shots?”
“None. Hunter’s luck.” Ionela reached out a paw and began stroking Magda’s fur gently; the injured demon had begun whimpering as Viorica applied pressure, trying to find all of the wounds. “She will live?”
“Brain hit. Maybe internal bleeding. I will need to shave to check.” At the words, Narcisa nudged a cub, who dashed off; within a few months, she returned with a thin, sharp piece of rock in between her teeth. Viorica took it in between her own, and carefully cut it along Magda’s skin, shearing some of the fur off to reveal swelling black skin. Viorica sniffed it, putting her nose up against it; and then she cut a straight incision, and blood flowed out. She licked at it carefully.
The wound clotted after a few moments, and a male came over with the boiled feet, smashed up but still having enough form to carry. The pile scattered, then, to eat from the main meal, and leave room for Magda to eat. Viorica stayed with her, though, placing a gentle paw on the female’s side, nuzzling her for encouragement until and while the hunter ate. Then the injured demon snuggled up against Viorica, and fell into a deep sleep.
And so she stayed for a few days, while they went through their duties of hunting, mending, teaching, babysitting. Then she woke up, groggy at first, but clearer each day, stronger, until they trusted her with actual meat.
Only then did Viorica give out the call to move on. They gathered up their beds and blankets, tools and coal, and those too young to walk safely on their own. Then they moved down through the caverns, digging where they had to, and listening for rival clans or ground dwellers.
They met no one, by hunter’s luck no doubt. And so Viorica’s clan snaked their way through the caverns of Welen – hunting, loving, and living.
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Viorica's Clan
Status: Complete, roughly spellchecked
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 if you're squeamish about hunting and injuries
Summary: While humans build their cities, demons stalk the caves and control the night.
Prompt:
cottoncandy_bingo Carressing/Petting/StrokingAuthor's Notes: This ended up a bit less happy cheerful than probably is wanted for the prompt, but meh.
Bats took wing above their heads as they moved, claws scraping against rock and dirt. The scent of ground led them on their journey where their eyes couldn’t, and they could feel the air becoming fresher, and the cold approaching to greet them. In their tunnels they had their blankets and each other for warmth, but the outside had only the grasses to protect them, and that was nothing against such winds.
Soon they could see the cave opening up, and the smells of aboveground came to them – ground walkers primarily, though in ages past that was not the case, or so the stories said. They heard the tales from their Queen, who heard it from her Queen, and the Queen before – that ground walkers were once an animal among animals, harmless and easy prey for the weak and sick, or for cubs to practice. But that was then, and this was now, and the ground walkers had strange deadly weapons, and big sprawling homes, and still they encroached.
A few had explored their cave; whatever they were looking for, they had been driven off pretty easily. They kept a patrol out now, though, just in case they returned, for the clanless brought stories of humans bringing tools to dig up the earth and steal it. At that moment, however, patrolling was not their job. They were on the hunt.
There was one thing humans had done that was highly convenient to them: caging animals. The clan kept a small pack of cave rats, but they were only good food in emergencies, and were much preferred as trained scouts or guards, with their good sense of small and ferocious bite. Humans, however, kept their food in pens, stationary for ages, and with often no more protection at night than a single dog.
Not all clans hunted human food, and various clanless reported of clans being caught and attacked in retaliation. So they constantly adapted, and eventually came up with the perfect way to handle it. If they could find no natural prey, then they would go to the humans, but only then.
That night was looking to be a raid night. The smells of zebra and ostrich were old, and all they could find for scavenging were bones. Ionela grabbed a femur and crunched it happily, but it was merely a snack she enjoyed, not a meal to sustain. They moved on after sucking the remains dry of marrow. Following the scent trails, they weaved through the grasses, hearing the sharp cry of one of the ground walkers’ great metal beasts they used to move around their world. Demons more versed in the aboveground said they were called locomotives, but they were ugly and weird, whatever they were.
In the end, the prey was too sneaky for them, and the scavenging meager. So they moved forward until they found the path of the locomotives, and followed it, keeping among the thick grasses so anyone who came by would not see them. And then, they found a farm.
It was small, and the options were limited there too, but it was still better than nothing. Four ostriches slept inside the cage, but it was all they could smell. What ground walker would leave his food unprotected?
They circled the parameter, sniffing carefully, until Ionela found the traps and carefully set them off with her long front claws; it broke them and hurt horribly, but they would grow back better than her whole foot would. She backed away and sat down to work as a scout; without her claws, she would be awkward in the hunt, but still able to sound the alarm.
Next they found the gate. Some were easier to open than others, depending on how the ground walkers closed them. This one had a locking mechanism, but careful inspection proved that it was not so high, and furthermore, had gaps in between the boards. Magda hooked her claws through one of the gaps, and within a few moments had hoisted herself over the fence with barely a sound, though she left grooves in the wood. Only one other followed after her; the rest of them focused on the gate. Strong though they were, it would be difficult, slow, and noisy to lift the ostrich up over the fence. Surely there was a way to open it.
The ostriches had stirred at the rustling, and so Magda and Narcisa moved fast. They had ripped the throat out of the closest ostrich before it even had time to make a noise, but that only caused the other ones to let out alarm cries, the closest one landing a hard kick that send Magda sprawling. Narcisa roared, placing herself between the kill, Magda, and the bird, dancing away from its kicks and becoming part of its deadly dance. Meanwhile, the rest of them rammed the gate, digging their claws into the grooved wood. Victoria clambered up over the fence and attacked the ostrich, driving it away from their injured clanmate, who whined in distress and tried to get her wobbly legs under her.
Then one more slam, and some more clawing, and the gate splintered. They moved in, taking the dead ostrich and dragging it out, while two of them pulled out Magda. Narcisa and Victoria backed out carefully, roaring at the ostriches to scare them back; then a shot rang out and barely missed their heads.
They were lucky that time, though; in the confusion of them spreading out, and the ostriches fleeing out of the cage in a panic, the ground walkers were not able to make a clear shot. They shouted and gestured and fired warningly, and they all knew they would not be able to target this farm again; but for that night, they had food.
~~~
Viorica agreed about the farm, and one of the clanless who had spent the day with them agreed to spread the message to the other clans. The males plucked the ostrich, saving the feathers for beds, and took the feet to boil them for a soft paste for sick members. The fire burned so low one could barely see it glimmering among the dark rocks; normally it would need constant maintenance, but Viorica’s fire magic allowed them to let it alone for ages before needing to fuel it.
Fire was a rare site in their clans, though they could make it easily enough. Fire rocks were easy to find, some of them still smoldering from fires long past. Fire iron was equally common, and they carried around a few perfectly adapted to fit into their mouth so they could better strike out sparks. But too much fire hurt their eyes, and could attract rival clans or humans, and so it was best to limit the use of fires and travel in the comforting darkness.
Viorica curled up with Magda, licking at the gashes on the demon’s head. Narcisa and Victoria joined her, and then Victoria’s cubs spotted the cuddling and bounded over, tugging at their tails and generally being little pests. Narcisa snorted and nudged one cub over, getting disgruntled grunts in response. Magda simply made a low, throaty purring noise, similar but distinctly different from the plains cats they often competed with for food. Upon hearing it, the cubs crowded in close, Victoria wrapped her leg around them.
“She will live?” Narcisa’s voice was gruff and growling; supposedly she could speak the human tongues as well, but there were so incredibly different from their own that many of them often wondered how.
“Brain hit. She will need rest.” Viorica looked up as Ionela approached, touching noses and then nuzzling each other before she joined the group. “Your claws took a trap.”
“Many traps.” For all of the pain she may be in, Ionela sounded incredibly pleased. Narcisa began licking one of her cubs, much to his aggravation.
“Well done.” Viorica rubbed her front paws carefully through Magda’s fur, looking for other wounds or bruises. “Any other trouble? No shots?”
“None. Hunter’s luck.” Ionela reached out a paw and began stroking Magda’s fur gently; the injured demon had begun whimpering as Viorica applied pressure, trying to find all of the wounds. “She will live?”
“Brain hit. Maybe internal bleeding. I will need to shave to check.” At the words, Narcisa nudged a cub, who dashed off; within a few months, she returned with a thin, sharp piece of rock in between her teeth. Viorica took it in between her own, and carefully cut it along Magda’s skin, shearing some of the fur off to reveal swelling black skin. Viorica sniffed it, putting her nose up against it; and then she cut a straight incision, and blood flowed out. She licked at it carefully.
The wound clotted after a few moments, and a male came over with the boiled feet, smashed up but still having enough form to carry. The pile scattered, then, to eat from the main meal, and leave room for Magda to eat. Viorica stayed with her, though, placing a gentle paw on the female’s side, nuzzling her for encouragement until and while the hunter ate. Then the injured demon snuggled up against Viorica, and fell into a deep sleep.
And so she stayed for a few days, while they went through their duties of hunting, mending, teaching, babysitting. Then she woke up, groggy at first, but clearer each day, stronger, until they trusted her with actual meat.
Only then did Viorica give out the call to move on. They gathered up their beds and blankets, tools and coal, and those too young to walk safely on their own. Then they moved down through the caverns, digging where they had to, and listening for rival clans or ground dwellers.
They met no one, by hunter’s luck no doubt. And so Viorica’s clan snaked their way through the caverns of Welen – hunting, loving, and living.