There is only the faintest rustling of grass as Daedra drops to the earth. The thick pads of her clawed feet absorb the weight of the lioness as she lands, and she flicks her black-tipped tail against the wispy bark of the juniper she had just been resting in as her golden eyes take in the wide meadow ahead of her.
This is a good season for hunting.
Young prey is just starting to venture from their mother's sides, emboldened by the good weather and their growing strength. Their strength is nothing to hers, of course, and taking down a wobbly fawn is an easy afternoon's work.
Not this afternoon, though. The deer have become wary of this corner of the Meadow, where Daedra and her pride have made the land unsafe for creatures lower on the food chain. There are still plenty of rabbits and birds, but it takes far more of those to fill her belly.
In the distance she can see a herd of horses grazing. A few foals play on the outskirts of the circle of mares, but the whiskered lioness has never considered the equines potential prey. Her mother has argued otherwise - what difference is there between these solid horses and the striped tsebra - but that hasn't changed Daedra's adverse reaction to the thought of eating them.
A sound rustles behind her and Daedra turns, glancing over one tawny shoulder for the source of the noise.
@[Kristin]
This is a good season for hunting.
Young prey is just starting to venture from their mother's sides, emboldened by the good weather and their growing strength. Their strength is nothing to hers, of course, and taking down a wobbly fawn is an easy afternoon's work.
Not this afternoon, though. The deer have become wary of this corner of the Meadow, where Daedra and her pride have made the land unsafe for creatures lower on the food chain. There are still plenty of rabbits and birds, but it takes far more of those to fill her belly.
In the distance she can see a herd of horses grazing. A few foals play on the outskirts of the circle of mares, but the whiskered lioness has never considered the equines potential prey. Her mother has argued otherwise - what difference is there between these solid horses and the striped tsebra - but that hasn't changed Daedra's adverse reaction to the thought of eating them.
A sound rustles behind her and Daedra turns, glancing over one tawny shoulder for the source of the noise.
@[Kristin]