I guess Ank the Tank will be a character for now.
Characters featured: E, Indoraptor, Ank the Tank.
Acceptance.
Or perhaps tolerance, twisted into the perception of acceptance.
That was what E viewed what the tolerance of the armored beast was.
Ank the Tank did not appear to care that the little raptor was following a bit ways behind him.
Trailing.
Like a chick following its hen.
Though the little raptor dared not get too close to the beast with a rock for a tail-she was always nearby.
Trailing behind the waddling beast, following the broken vegetation in Ank's wake.
After all, Ank was something that accepted her presence-if however tolerated and ignored.
And being accepted-even if twisted by fantasy from its reality-tolerance and indifference-was better than being alone.
Much better.
Because as much as E craved the companionship and socialization of her own kind-she was not welcome.
And her former packmates made that very clear.
They knew she was a weak link.
They knew something was wrong with her.
They knew something was different about her-something flawed-something wrong.
E held the scars riddled upon her scales-upon the back of her head, her flanks, her shoulders. There were scars that marred her scales from viscous teeth and slashing claws. There were dried scabs that itched and flaked and blended into her sanguine scales.
As much as E craved interaction-she could not stay.
It was too dangerous.
She was too different.
Simply because she could not call.
Could not communicate.
Could not socialize with barks and trills and hawk like shrieks.
Could not call for help.
Could not answer mating calls.
At least, not as her other packmates could.
When E attempted to involve herself in communication, in social involvement-the others reacted not in acceptance-in understanding.
They reacted in fear.
In start.
In confusion.
In aggression.
Because when E attempted to call-it was not clear.
It was hoarse, gnarled and twisted.
A parody of the bird like calls other raptors tended to make.
Her tone was not normal.
Her calls were not normal.
Her calls were not understood.
It was painful-being in a group, surrounded by others, yet remaining so isolated.
E's blue eyes flicked and observed every corner, every shadow whilst she followed behind the waddling tank. Her neck craned, head swiveling in a state of alert. Her killing claws flicked, and her clawed hands clenched and unclenched.
Tense.
On edge.
Even while alone, E did not entirely feel isolated.
Not when following Ank, the armored beast stopping in his waddling to lazily graze upon the edge of a field. The prey's little armored head turned to look upon E. Ank snorted, before releasing a grunt of a bellow.
A call directed towards E-at least, that is what the little predator thought-for her armored companion did not stomp his stubby legs in warning, nor did he showcase his tail.
The red raptor warbled her head, and released a hoarse rasp.
An attempt at communication.
An attempt to answer a call she did not understand.
Because it was at least something.
Ank's beady eyes remained locked on the little predator, great weight shifting and his head briefly bobbing as a low rumble escaped him.
E was ecstatic!
She was communicating!
Even though both did not understand what the other was saying!
It was still something.
Because something was better than nothing.
The water was still in her belly, and thus, starved off the raptor's hunger.
Thus, E felt comfortable enough to lay down, and begin to pick at her scabs.
Afterall, what better companion to ward off predators?
Being near such armored prey would give any hunter pause-even if they attempted to make E their meal. She could flee, and Ank would give them pause.
Because E knew that rock hit hard.
And she knew that that rock could kill.
As E preened her scales and picked upon her itchy scabs, she briefly refocused upon Ank. Her head warbled in thought, observation, and wonder.
She wondered if her armored companion attempted to communicate with her because he was lonely, too?
Knew the pains of isolation.
Knew the pains of being alone?
E knew that pain well.
And her new friend did not appear to care she was traveling with him.
Acceptance-or tolerance-indifference-E was unsure as to why her the large creature was allowing her to follow.
Whatever the case, E was content for now, for the first time in a long time.
The female raptor then returned back to her preening, and her nipping.
The biting.
The scratching.
To say that all the wounds upon her scales were caused by her former pack members would be a lie. Some of them-E had caused and done to herself.
It was a response to overwhelming stress.
A desperate attempt to cope with declining mental health.
A desperate attempt to cope with the crushing anxiety and depression of loneliness.
And in E's mind, Ank was the closest thing to a pack she had.
She had no intentions of leaving her armored friend.
Because if she left, it may as well have been the same thing as dying.
E's head snapped upon hearing something-the rustling of leaves-the quiet squeaking of tiny creatures-burrowing within the earth and rooting around in the grasses.
The red raptor rose to her feet, muscles tense and senses sharp.
She move-slowly, every so slowly and carefully. Pausing, then moving, slowly, gently, towards the noises. Her clawed fingers clenched, and then became poised, killing claws raised as her feet pressed flush to the earth, attempting to feel any movement within the ground.
Stillness.
Calculation.
And then a feline leap.
E sprung forth, and punched one of her killing claws into the earth-into one of the tunneling burrows.
Muscles rippling, her submerged leg was retracted from the damp earth and ruined grasses.
The small, twitching body of a rodent was impaled upon her talon.
A small kill, but a kill, none the less.
And a kill E was eager to snatch up within her jaws, and swallow whole.
Ank had been watching the small predator in curiosity, half chewed cud sticking out of his grinding mouth. The animal snorted, before resuming his grazing.
Indifferent.
Uncaring.
For the first time, in a long time, E was content.
Food was in her belly-no matter how small.
Companionship was had-no matter how tolerated.
Because something was better than nothing.
The Indoraptor remembered the blue one well.
She was there one second, and attacking the next.
As far as the onxy and gold hued beast was concerned, she was a threat.
Everything was a threat.
All of the measly, two legged creatures with their sticks that shocked and little objects that made loud noises and hurt his armored hide.
All of the beasts he had encountered-big and small-were a threat.
An animal created for death-and death-he was bringing.
Feral, savage energy from being locked away in a tiny cage manifested into mindless rage and violence.
A broken mind that was unfamiliar with mercy, and peace.
A broken mind that was only focused upon hunting, and killing.
A fearful mind, focused upon survival.
Because everything was a danger.
Everything was a threat.
And if everything was a threat, everything needed to die.
To be killed, before they hurt him.
His mind was broken, and twisted.
Because his mind carried scars that ran deeper than the scars of abuse upon his body.
The wounds upon his body could heal, and scar.
But the mind held invisible wounds.
And they ran deep.
The Indoraptor twisted himself out of the impaling path of the horns days ago.
It was luck that he landed between them, unharmed.
But now his broken mind was fixed upon one thing.
Hunting down the blue one.
Hunting down the threat.
Killing anything he ran across out of fear, for his did not understand what they were.
It was made worse that he did not even understand himself.
All their calls were different from his own.
They all meant nothing.
Bu their bodies said everything.
Every tense of the muscles, the resistance as he grappled and overpowered his prey. The postures of aggression, of threat.
They all needed to be destroyed before they hurt him.
But hunting down the threat-the grey and blue one-and attacking any unfortunate beast he met within his path, was tiring.
Exhausting.
His muscles were burning, and the blood upon his black and gold scales were drying, becoming uncomfortable, as if a second skin.
It came to the point where the Indoraptor was forced to rest-and vomited form the strain upon his body.
Still, even when resting, the Indoraptor could not bring himself to relax.
He was alone, in a foreign land with foreign creatures.
A broken mind, perverted and manifesting paranoid dangers.
Focusing to clean the blood from his black claws, golden eyes alert-he found solace in one thing.
He was alone.
Which meant that for now, he was safe.
Safe, and alone, outside of the monsters in the creeping, stalking shadows.
Because nothing was better than something.
Thank you for reading! I had fun writing the parallels between the two raptors and delving further into their minds.
Thank you for supporting!
I seem to be on a roll with this.
Hopefully it lasts.