Malik
10-31-2021, 11:46 AM
Though he arrived on the broad dark wings of an eagle, Malik soon traded the avian shape for one more adept at stealth. He becomes a leopard, pelt as black as a midnight. The glowing, iridescent feathers around his neck and shoulders disappear into his black fur, and he slips into the darkness of the forest.
Malik had seen the herd of deer from overhead, and he follows them now using his sense of smell instead. They have finished their browsing and now are heading back to where they will rest for the day. It would be better to wait and ambush them, but his stomach growls loudly as if to encourage the riskier - but faster - alternative. The leopard picks up its speed, moving through the grass that would have reached over his shoulders were he wearing his equine shape.
The wind is in his favor, and he sees the flicking tail of the lagging doe disappear into the grass ahead. Licking his lips, Malik grows taller and broader, exchanging his quick-footed shape for one with more brute force. As a large black bear, the shape-shifter thunders forward toward his prey.
Even though the herd bolts the moment they hear him, Malik still manages to leap onto the straggler. His forefeet slam into the deer’s side, knocking the doe to the ground. His muddy left foot pins its head and his right is just behind the shoulder. It thrashes and frees its off foreleg to batter at his sides, but Malik hardly feels it. Instead, he is ripping her open by the throat, feeling the warm spray of blood, and watching as the inevitability of her death blossoms in her brown eyes.
The doe is bleeding out in front of him, and he feels his stomach growling, unsatisfied by a few warm swallows of blood. Malik rips open the white belly of the deer to better reach the organs. Those he tears free and swallows hungrily, staining the length of his white blaze to instead a brilliantly crimson red, and adding a ruddy glaze to the rest of his dark face.
When the best of the deer is consumed he pulls away, licking his lips. He’s not full, but the raging of his hunger no longer clouds his thoughts entirely. He blinks his bicolored eyes, glancing into the waving grass around him, and slowly begins to make his way toward where he can hear the low murmur of the river above the whispering autumn wind. Once there, he means to wash most of the blood away, and seek out his next meal.
Malik can hear the sound of his mother’s voice as he rolls in the shallow water, feeling the rough gravel and the cold liquid wash away the blood. ‘We should only do it when we’re hungry or when it’s absolutely necessary’. Should he go back and finish the rest of the meat of the doe? Or hunt something new, something warm and fleeing? Malik frowns, and wades out of the water. As he shakes himself dry, he shifts back to his equine shape - tall, dark, with a pair of glowing horns and a deep frown.
Malik had seen the herd of deer from overhead, and he follows them now using his sense of smell instead. They have finished their browsing and now are heading back to where they will rest for the day. It would be better to wait and ambush them, but his stomach growls loudly as if to encourage the riskier - but faster - alternative. The leopard picks up its speed, moving through the grass that would have reached over his shoulders were he wearing his equine shape.
The wind is in his favor, and he sees the flicking tail of the lagging doe disappear into the grass ahead. Licking his lips, Malik grows taller and broader, exchanging his quick-footed shape for one with more brute force. As a large black bear, the shape-shifter thunders forward toward his prey.
Even though the herd bolts the moment they hear him, Malik still manages to leap onto the straggler. His forefeet slam into the deer’s side, knocking the doe to the ground. His muddy left foot pins its head and his right is just behind the shoulder. It thrashes and frees its off foreleg to batter at his sides, but Malik hardly feels it. Instead, he is ripping her open by the throat, feeling the warm spray of blood, and watching as the inevitability of her death blossoms in her brown eyes.
The doe is bleeding out in front of him, and he feels his stomach growling, unsatisfied by a few warm swallows of blood. Malik rips open the white belly of the deer to better reach the organs. Those he tears free and swallows hungrily, staining the length of his white blaze to instead a brilliantly crimson red, and adding a ruddy glaze to the rest of his dark face.
When the best of the deer is consumed he pulls away, licking his lips. He’s not full, but the raging of his hunger no longer clouds his thoughts entirely. He blinks his bicolored eyes, glancing into the waving grass around him, and slowly begins to make his way toward where he can hear the low murmur of the river above the whispering autumn wind. Once there, he means to wash most of the blood away, and seek out his next meal.
Malik can hear the sound of his mother’s voice as he rolls in the shallow water, feeling the rough gravel and the cold liquid wash away the blood. ‘We should only do it when we’re hungry or when it’s absolutely necessary’. Should he go back and finish the rest of the meat of the doe? Or hunt something new, something warm and fleeing? Malik frowns, and wades out of the water. As he shakes himself dry, he shifts back to his equine shape - tall, dark, with a pair of glowing horns and a deep frown.
