Post by artistiicanarchy on Sept 1, 2014 18:38:48 GMT -6
Besides the large pool of discolored liquid which holds vibrant yet lost hues like that of an oily spill rolling over the dank swollen waters, a shallow hole is carved into the dirt where a smallish rise made itself apparent; twice as wide as it was deep it could hold at least a couple of massive dogs, or a couple more smaller creatures. Just between the two landmarks you might find your eyes attracted to some suspicious colored patches splayed amongst the grassy dirt, accompanied possibly by various lumps of meat, bodies some who's origins are no longer recognizable. Between the maggot ridden feast and an overwhelming scent of self-proclaimed ownership, one might get the sense somebody lives here.
[Insert Den Image Here]
Current Prey Stock : Overstocked
1x Bull Elk 3x Young Fawn 5x Unidentified Small Prey 2x Racoon Want-to-bes 1/2x Fox-Like
Post by artistiicanarchy on Sept 1, 2014 18:41:40 GMT -6
A shift in the wind tugged at Pigeon's rough fur, matted terribly from a string of consecutive hunts. He was aware that he shouldn't hunt more food than he could eat, that there would come a time where he wouldn't have enough to hunt, especially with the packs hogging the best of it, but left in his boredom with the new lack of companionship he had little else to do but wallow in regret. He would wind up blaming himself for his mentor's death if he sat still too long, besides, the massive amount of food he would gather before he'd fall out of the faze would do him well if hard times came any time soon. He wouldn't mind it if the packs wound up starving because he'd take the best of the prey. That would be a reverse of roles he'd quite like, actually. At least he could keep trespassers out of his own territory, they deserved any losses for not being careful, just as he'd deserved his.
Even at his age he was a large dog, one who could clearly defend himself, even with his leg still not in it's best shape, so he had little actual fear of trespassers, especially considering his location, surely no one was stupid enough to go near the strangewater, let alone drink from it, Coax had explained to him with a mocking tone. He had wondered at the time why, then, would they? Sooner or later he understood the importance of it, not just to live near the strangewater but to actually drink from it- It was all about image, convenience was just a plus. They'd been two dogs, no, strays two very mutated strays taking the packs prey, and drinking from the water they disgust so much, scorning the masters with each word of speech- they were defiance, dogs of iconoclast. He was living inside Coax's hatred without knowing it for most of his life.
Pigeon made his way to his sacred water, dipping his lips to the cool surface and lapped at it, it tasted as strange as the name ensured, though he was used to it by now, an acquired taste, per say. After drinking his fill he moved woozily over to an already gutted young elk, and proceeded to rip gluttonously at it's innards. With a now distended stomach the mix-breed stray completed the circle, dropping to his weight through the entrance of the low-headed dirt den his partner had dug out for the both of them to stay; once a tight and uncomfortable squeeze the area seemed large, and intimidating. A lack of something shown in his eyes, and despite the unlikeliness he let his glare towards the water dare the demonic pack dog's masters to send some poor curs his way to prove a solution to his boredom.