[Comm (RB)] A Real Hunt

Cryolophosauruses had a particular hunting style. They didn’t have the stamina of the larger theropods on the island, nor the powerful pounces of the raptors; they couldn’t chase their prey until it tired or heckle it in a large pack, peppering it with wounds until it collapsed. But they had speed and a swift bite, and they had to use that to their advantage. One strong bite to the back of the neck to end things quickly was the ideal way for a hunt to go.

Knot stalked his prey, keeping himself low to the ground and concealed by tall, yellowing grass. Finch was “grazing” several meters ahead of him. Every now and then, her head would snap up and swivel around, like a deer on the lookout for predators, and Knot had to stop dead in his tracks so he wouldn’t be spotted. And there was the wind to worry about, too. It could be very fickle in these higher elevations, and if it changed when he wasn’t ready for it, it would bring his scent right to her.

Luckily, patience came easily to him, and his slow, cautious approach brought him to just a tail-length behind her.

Unluckily, she caught his eye while she pretended to eat grass.

The ridiculous squawk she made nearly distracted him enough that he forgot to pounce, but he did. He bunched up his legs and sprang out of the grass, and gave her rump a hard knock with his shoulders. Finch, more for show than actually being hurt, collapsed to the ground, making more strange noises.

“What are those sounds you’re making?” Knot asked, laughing.

“I’m braying! Like deer do!”

“That is not braying. You sound like a dying tapejara.”

Finch stood up and huffed. “Like you would sound any better. Now run away, it’s my turn to practice stalking!”

Trying to hide his smile, he dutifully ran off to the other side of the hill, so his cousin could practice hunting him.

#

Just a few days later, the pair was sent loose by their pack into the plains. Their mission: to make a kill and bring it (or part of it, at least) back for their family to see. It would prove they had truly grown from the bumbling hatchlings they once were, and were ready to provide for the next generation, be it their own children or younger siblings and cousins.

“Finch, look.”

She looked over to where Knot was facing. In a strange twist of fate, crows were circling a few meters away. As tempting as it was to steal a snack from them, the meat in her belly would only slow her down. “Too bad they said we have to kill it ourselves.”

“I bet the crows didn’t.”

Finch was about to call them lazy, but thought better of it. Both of them knew crows could be very determined when they wanted to be.

“Let’s keep moving,” she said instead.

Knot nodded and followed her lead.

#

“Smell anything?”

Knot grimaced. “Nothing.”

“Maybe it’s too hot today?” The seasons were in an unpredictable transition period, where every day was a gamble between the mild warmth of springtime and the harsh rays of summer. It didn’t help that there was barely any wind at all to blow the scents around. “What lousy luck.”

“They might come out when the sun is going down. Maybe we could find a deer or something then.”

#

As the sun sank lower, they did catch the scent of something.

“Knot. Freeze.”

Instantly, Knot halted, just as his cousin did.

“That is not a deer,” he remarked in a whisper, seeing the animal ahead of them.

“A horse, right?”

Neither of them had ever seen a horse before, but they’d heard of them. Like a deer, but with more muscle, much taller, and a flowing mane and tail… Yes, it was definitely a horse.

“I think so,” Knot said. “Look! There’s the rest of the herd over the hill.” Half a dozen horses milled about, grazing and grooming each other. “This one must be… not a fawn, but a yearling, maybe. Look how small it is compared to the others.”

Finch nodded her agreement. “You know what that means, right?”

Wordlessly, Knot began to inch forwards. They had their target.

Finch made a wide circle around the horse, trying to block its path back to the herd. If it heard Knot, maybe she could cut off its escape. With no wind to worry about, she put all her focus into moving quietly and invisibly, not concerned about where her scent was blowing.

She tried to keep an eye on what Knot was doing, but she couldn’t even see him through the grass. Which was a good thing, but it made her nervous. This was it. Their big moment.

And she was so focused on the yearling she forgot that the rest of the herd was keeping watch.

With a shrill whinny, one of the mares reared up and bolted away, and the other horses soon followed. Including the one they’d been stalking.

Cursing under her breath, she ran after it, with Knot not far behind. She was still between it and the herd, but it was slowly but surely gaining on her, and she couldn’t be able to keep up in a prolonged chase. Already, her lungs were burning with the strain. And if it got back to the herd, it would be impossible to pick it out again, even if they could keep pace with it.

An idea popped into Finch’s head, and the acted on it without a second thought.

“Squawk!”

Finch started squawking like crazy, pushing through the burn in her lungs to be as loud and ear-grating as possible. And her strange noises were enough to spook the horse, and it slowed for just a moment—which was long enough for Knot to catch up and sink his teeth into its shoulder.

The horse bucked and cried, but Knot didn’t let go, and Finch bolted over and dragged its head down to the earth.

Soon the air was filled with the scent of fresh, hot blood, and the horse was unmoving. The herd was visible only by the clouds of dust they were kicking up in the distance.

Knot lifted his head, licking his reddened lips. “I can’t believe you basically annoyed it to death.”

“Please,” Finch scoffed. “I annoyed it so much it would rather die. There’s a difference.”

They laughed, and dug into their well-earned meal before the scavengers would find it.

Once they had eaten their fill, Knot and Finch carried one of the horse’s legs back home, to finally earn their place as adults in the pack.