Huntress
She watches the prey with large, dark eyes, oddly innocent in spite of her joy in killing. And it is a joy, she makes no secret of it, and no apology. The risks makes it more of a pleasure, more enjoyable.
She is, after all, very young.
The small herd - wild game, strictly seasonal and even then increasingly rare - pause and look around, chittering in their odd, scratchy voices. She remains totally still until they relax and turn away; she knows better than to move too fast, frighten them off before she can kill. Her mouth waters a little, recalling the taste, rich, delicious, slightly fatty and all the better for it... though it isn't just for the taste, for their value as fresh meat, that she hunts them. She loves the hunt, the fighting, the personal feel of using her skills and knowledge to bring them down and kill them quickly, cleanly... humanely.
And - to be honest - she loves the slight, pricking thrill of danger if they turn and fight back. The prey are wild, after all - they can kill as well.
She edges around, still watching them. They bunch together, as if aware of the danger - separating out one or two will be more difficult than last time, when the larger herd panicked and ran. She managed to kill four of the beasts that time... and could have killed more, but that would have been greedy. Wasteful. She might enjoy killing for food, but she always remembers that it is for food, and to leave enough game for next time.
This time there are only five of them. And she is lucky - they seem to be breaking up, going in different directions.
Just take a couple this time, she tells herself, the younger ones. Take out the strongest and leave the rest of the tiny herd for later. It's more dangerous, but she's always said that with no danger, there's no pleasure...
Slowly, silently flexing her strong and shapely legs - all eight of them - the arachnoid Briiihann watches her bright-plumaged prey, her next few meals, with flat, crystal-faceted eyes, and prepares to go hunting.
-the end-