To The Scavenger Goes The Spoils

Scavenging was part and parcel of a young Cryolophosaurus' life, and Brook considered himself an expert on it at this point. In his few weeks alive he had successfully studied the hunting patterns of the creatures around him, knowing not to chase the wolves for their scraps, those were far away and belonged to the rooks and ravens. When the bears emerged in spring to fill their bellies their eyes were sometimes bigger than their stomachs and all he had to do was lie in wait for them to finish and decide the carcass wasn't worth guarding. If he was lucky, something else would come to challenge them for the meal and the distraction would allow him to run in and gulp a few mouthfuls of fresh meat. He had been living on leftovers since he was born, one of his earliest memories had been mother dropping a Parasaurolophus into the nest and letting her clutch of hatchlings tear away at it. He remembered the lukewarm blood, the stiff muscle of a creature who had died in fear. It had changed something in him, his first meal that wasn't raiding the innards of his own egg. He had hunted prey since, a few rats here and there that had run themselves into dead ends instead of burrows, but something was intoxicating about having your meal caught for you. Like being spoiled by an unwitting or unwilling benefactor, he found a thrill in smash and grab thefts of meals or even lying in wait for hours waiting for a prize to be abandoned. It suited him, it brought him joy, and he wasn’t particularly fond of working hard so scavenging simply was his natural choice. 

To start his day, Brook often wandered the border between the grasslands and the forest, looking for grazing herds that would provide a good few targets. After a couple of hours of waiting, he would either witness a hunt or move on with his day and wait somewhere else. If he was hungry enough he would reluctantly trudge off to hunt his own little critters around and hopefully fill his belly enough to wait for another chance to scavenge. If he was really unlucky, the hunter would be something like an Acro that swallowed its smaller prey whole and would leave nothing for a young Cryo to pick over. That was an even bigger waste of time than trying to hunt something himself and getting kicked in the head by a deer or something. Today he was considerably luckier, he had both witnessed the hunt and had been able to find a neat vantage point to watch the hunter with its kill.

The bear in front of him was jealously guarding the elk it had managed to drag to the ground. It was pacing, circling the carcass and sniffing the air for anything waiting to swoop in on its treasure, but Brook had thought ahead. He was crouched in a thicket of berry bushes, bereft of berries but laden with their spring blooms instead. He was downwind of the bear, and the wretched ticklish flowers were doing a good job at masking his scent too. He kept still, his eyes locked on the bear and observing its every movement. It tossed its head back once again, a final deep inhale of the air around it, before it settled down to tear into its prize. Brook watched with a watering mouth as the flesh tore and the blood oozed up through the gashes. It welled up slowly, the gradual inevitable movement of liquid instead of the active bleeding of a live creature. The young cryo shuffled in place and hunkered down for the long haul, still watching the bear keenly.

Night fell before the bear even considered moving from its kill. Brook watched with renewed interest as he saw the large mammal stalk back and forth. It tried to grab a hold of the carcass and drag it across the clearing into the tree line. Brook was tempted to move and keep an eye on it, but he feared breaking from cover and getting caught. Instead, he shut his eyes and strained his ears to try and figure out what the bear was doing. The sound of grass as the elk was dragged through it, the heavy footfalls of the bear, the loud grunt as it dropped the elk. It let out a huff that turned into a half-growl. If Brook had to guess, it was getting frustrated and was now thinking hard about if it wanted to make the effort to drag this dead weight up a tree to save for later. For his sake he hoped this bear had a short temper, though he supposed that could go sideways in a different scenario. Maybe he would hope for a bear with a normal temper but no patience instead and that would be a nice compromise. The bear continued to pace around a little, before the footfalls resumed and began to grow fainter and fainter. When he was convinced it was a good distance away after roughly fifteen minutes of waiting, Brook darted from his bush and made for the elk.

His nose guided him through the long grass and he zeroed in on the feast with ease. He skidded to a halt in front of it and with one last sniff for any trace of the bear he dove into the carcass. He tore thin strips of the meat still stuck to the bone and swallowed it whole. The bear was enormous but even it couldn’t fit an entire elk in its stomach, leaving plenty for Brook to fill himself. The high tier organ meat had already been taken but there were still lengths of juicy entrails left behind. Brook’s mouth watered as he kept digging into the elk, feeling a joyful rush as the pleasant smell and taste filled his senses. Suddenly very aware of how much he was smelling the carcass, his head shot up to scan the trees again. He tilted his head side to side, holding his breath as he listened to the noises of the woods. With nothing stirring other than crickets, he continued gorging himself until he was finally full.

Brook felt accomplished with his day’s work, licking his claws clean and trotting off to a pond he knew was nearby to clean himself. Hygiene was another important aspect of scavenging, one he had learned the hard way after letting offal rot under his claws for a little while. He could barely remember that week through the nasty stomach bug he had contracted from it and he still shuddered at the sight of older carcasses. He shouldn’t have much to worry about with this one, he had literally seen that elk die and it was nearly fresh enough to still be warm. Still, he sat next to the pond and dipped his face and arms into the water to wash them clean. He admired his bright orange crest in his reflection and preened for a moment until he was sufficiently dry enough to head to bed, wherever his bed would be that night, they were harder to steal than a meal was.