05-03-2018, 11:02 PM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt;"]Dragging a doe, even an adolescent one, all the way back to Snowbound's tunnels requires an unbelievable amount of strength and energy. Luckily for Melantha, her biological adaption to carrying prey greater or equal to her weight plus her experience living and hunting on her own allows her increased mobility. It does not take as long for her to return home from the loner lands, where more unaware prey roam, back to the comfort of the tundra. The only downside of dragging a large kill all the way back home is the fact that she loses her stealthiness. There is nothing silent about lugging a carcass through the dirt. But these lands are safe enough that she does not have to worry too much about potential food thieves. Melantha still is not fond of it, though, as she prefers traveling undetected.
Crimson blood stains her blood, spilling out from beneath powerful jaws clamped around the neck of the doe and down the young female's chin. Aside from the killing wound, Mel took down the animal quickly and cleanly. In the beginning, when she was first learning how to hunt, it was not rare for her to return home with bruises and welts from powerful kicks than any prey at all. Those were starving times, but she is stronger now. Powerful muscles ripple beneath a sleek pelt of tempered gold, Melantha's lithe frame tense as she drags the doe along with short strides, ever careful not to trip over a rogue leg. At first she is far too focused on reaching her destination to notice the presence of the silent stranger. No, it is not until the wind shifts, bringing Jacob's herbal scent along with it, that she becomes aware of others in her vicinity. Obeying her natural predatory instincts, Melantha is quick to store her kill within the relative safety of a close-growing copse of trees, covering the carcass with pine droppings and leaves to prevent its detection. Only once she is assured of her kill's safety does she depart to investigate the newcomer.
Melantha arrives just as Jacob begins his line of questioning. A subtle frown tugs at the corners of black lips. He is far too nice to strangers. The young female is of the type to assume the worst of everyone until they can prove themselves otherwise. She is not judgmental, just suspicious. The world has taught to never let her guard down. It does not help to comfort Mel that the stranger possesses a pair of soulless black eyes. Superstition is apart of life when living in isolation. And it is safe to say that Melantha's backwoods upbringing contributes to her instantaneous assumption that the savannah cat at the border must be of demonic nature. All she knows of demons is that they are evil and bad (that's what the bedtimes stories told her), so she was very much inclined to distrust this stranger. The cougar maintains a neutral, albeit cold, expression as she takes a position beside Jacob. It is clear that it is a defense stance, as if preparing to defend the husky should things take a turn for the worse.
Crimson blood stains her blood, spilling out from beneath powerful jaws clamped around the neck of the doe and down the young female's chin. Aside from the killing wound, Mel took down the animal quickly and cleanly. In the beginning, when she was first learning how to hunt, it was not rare for her to return home with bruises and welts from powerful kicks than any prey at all. Those were starving times, but she is stronger now. Powerful muscles ripple beneath a sleek pelt of tempered gold, Melantha's lithe frame tense as she drags the doe along with short strides, ever careful not to trip over a rogue leg. At first she is far too focused on reaching her destination to notice the presence of the silent stranger. No, it is not until the wind shifts, bringing Jacob's herbal scent along with it, that she becomes aware of others in her vicinity. Obeying her natural predatory instincts, Melantha is quick to store her kill within the relative safety of a close-growing copse of trees, covering the carcass with pine droppings and leaves to prevent its detection. Only once she is assured of her kill's safety does she depart to investigate the newcomer.
Melantha arrives just as Jacob begins his line of questioning. A subtle frown tugs at the corners of black lips. He is far too nice to strangers. The young female is of the type to assume the worst of everyone until they can prove themselves otherwise. She is not judgmental, just suspicious. The world has taught to never let her guard down. It does not help to comfort Mel that the stranger possesses a pair of soulless black eyes. Superstition is apart of life when living in isolation. And it is safe to say that Melantha's backwoods upbringing contributes to her instantaneous assumption that the savannah cat at the border must be of demonic nature. All she knows of demons is that they are evil and bad (that's what the bedtimes stories told her), so she was very much inclined to distrust this stranger. The cougar maintains a neutral, albeit cold, expression as she takes a position beside Jacob. It is clear that it is a defense stance, as if preparing to defend the husky should things take a turn for the worse.