The old Tyrantrum slowly lowered himself to sit within the ice cold water and nearly failed to stifle an undignified groan as it soothed his swollen ankles. The descent from the mountain-side had gone about as well as he could have hoped. It had taken him a little less than 30 minutes to make it to the base with much huffing and puffing and a few unintentional slides down some loose rocks. The slides in particular were unpleasant not only on his ankles but that it set his teeth on edge to skate across the bare rock with his claws digging into bare rock. It was then a small stroke of luck that the diminutive river he was now situated in was only just obscured by the treeline at the base of the mountain.
The temperature at first shocked him when he first dipped in his prodigious toes, all bodies of water from his home being cool but at least temperate, but he found that extra cold water provided sharp relief to his throbbing old joints. He found himself sinking deeper into the soothing liquid until he was sitting on his haunches, causing water to rise up and over the sandy banks as it accommodated his considerable size.
He allowed himself a moment of repose, the water finding new paths around his bulk on the banks as he took up more than a third of the width of the river by sitting dead in its centre. Just listening to the rhythm of his new kingdom for now. The river was flowing at a leisurely place which allowed and was clear enough to see all the way to the bottom, which seemed to be almost entirely sand and some sparse green and wavy plant life that could make its home in these frigid waters. In the water he also gazed at his kingly reflection and let out a huff of discontent that disturbed the water.
His royal blue feathers were beginning to tend towards grey than blue especially about the edges of his snout, and the shocking white of his mane and beard also were edging towards losing their lustre. The scar that had taken his arm and eye that he had thought made him look quite fearsome and weathered in his youth now that he actually was fearsome and weathered now looked only unsightly and puckered. H
The only thing that hadn't changed was the hardened steely crest of bone atop his head that made up his 'crown', untouched and un-toppled, a symbol of his absolute reign. The result of much preening and care even while fighting. He had confidence that even if a Rampardos had met it head to head that his crown would come out without so much as a blemish but he had not yet had to put that notion to the proof. In his younger years he had once foolishly wished his whole body was made of the same material. The irony was not lost to him that at least his colouring was beginning to grant that wish.
So lost was he in his reminiscing that it took until the creature moved slightly that he realised behind his reflection was a trembling creature. A small blue crustacean lay quivering in his shadow, no doubt since he had sat down. The only characteristic the old king could discern was that one foreclaw was significantly larger than the other before it must have surmised that he had finally been noticed and with a powerful jet of water shot off downstream in a trail of bubbles. The sudden movement caused the Tyrantrum to recoil in surprise slightly but he kept his eye on the path the little crustacean took upstream.
It made it about four of the king's strides away before it seemed to have run out of steam and found refuge behind thin underwater weeds to hide. A somewhat comical effort as its engorged right claw made hiding fruitless. The water was clear enough for the king to get a better look at the little creature.
It had an elongated and segmented shell coloured a sort of a light blue that, were the water not so clear, might have aided him in his camouflage. It was a diminutive creature, only about the length of one of his remaining hand claws. It's own right claw was relatively fearsome looking
Kabuto from his home kingdom was the closest comparison he could draw, humble scavengers that wore a small brownish shell and rarely stepped out of the caves of their birth. They never caused trouble and were easily pleased, if these creatures were cousins to those humble shellfish then they would make ideal subjects.
Looking closer now he could see several of the self same shellfish either sifting through sand for morsels or combing through the sparse plant life for small water borne insects clinging to the leaves. They all had some small differences to differentiate them but upon seeing a larger sample size the old king noticed they all shared the same sort of sickly look. Colour wasn't as evenly distributed across their shells and while some looked better than others most had a sort of hollow look to them, as if they weren't fully filling out their shells.
The Tyrantrum lowered his snout into the water and sniffed it twice. It smelled normal enough to him… He lashed out with his tongue for a sampling and held the water in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. It tasted normal enough as well. He doubted it was a sickness in the water though it was worth considering. The claunchers appeared to be sporting no parasites that he could see either, but it was upon this further observation the answer revealed itself.
One of the crustaceans had found some larger particle in the sand, barely larger than the sand itself but large enough to nibble on. The moment the particle was unearthed half a dozen of the closest claunchers descended upon the speck with a ferocity undeserving of such a small prize. The founder of the morsel began shooting what looked like jets of bubbles at the others of his kind while stuffing the particle into his mouth.
They are starving, the old king deduced, having seen enough. Famine he had dealt with before. It was an easy enough fix. Even in times of scarcity, someone has food. It was just a matter of finding that someone and distributing resources accordingly. Of course with him being king that duty fell to him. Weak subjects meant a weak king, and no subjects would starve while under his rule.
The Tyrantrum's stomach rumbled thunderously. And a weak king meant a weak kingdom, he would also have to nourish himself lest he lose his strength and be deposed by any weakling that tried their luck. The king put his head on a swivel and really took in his new kingdom. There were the mountains towering in the distance of course but other than perhaps high up caves there was no signs of sustaining life he could see, and he was not eager to climb those slopes again.
He then looked to the trees hemming in the river on both sides. While they were not tightly packed their many layers obscured vision beyond a few strides, and wandering aimless through the forest while hungry hoping for the best was a surefire way to end up both lost and starved to death. He would have to map out the leafy expanse later when he was full and at his leisure.
Finally he cast a side eye to the shellfish in the river who had seemed to have given him a berth but had mostly forgotten him in their never ending quest for scraps. Their large right claws did seem to be quite a choice piece of flesh; he banished the idea as quickly as it came. Feasting on the starving may help in the short term with fewer mouths to feed, however these creatures did not seem particularly numerous and he was just as likely to exterminate them with his appetite which he was wise enough to know could have disastrous consequences.
The old king stood from where he sat, allowing the water that was pushed to the banks to rush back in, sending the crustaceans jetting in odd directions in confusion. He shook his whole body to rid himself of lingering droplets before stomping out of the river to the bank, shaking each great foot individually as they left the water before laying on his stomach in the warmer sand his large head balanced upright with his good eye facing upstream towards the claunchers and the mountains.
It was a desperate situation the king found himself in, hungry in a land that was strange to him, but panicking would do him no good. Water was something everyone needed eventually and anything could wash downstream, so right now he determined the best course of action was to wait and see who came to take a drink while preserving his energy. If it came to life and death the unfortunate water scavengers were right there.
-
The old king dozed for some time, long enough for the sun to move directly above him which suited him just fine. He only had to adjust his position once, when the sun cast a rippling glare on his eye from the river. Otherwise he was content to lay and warm under the sun for now. With no subjects his responsibilities strayed little outside of meeting his own needs and he welcomed the respite of the mind more than anything else.
Despite his lax position his senses were razor sharp. Many a would be regicide had tried to overthrow him while laying thus and focused too much on his one good eye. His hearing was attuned to the rhythm of his surroundings by now and if it were disrupted he would catch it immediately down to the slightest off tune song bird warble, but his strongest sensory asset was his jaw. Despite the signature toughness of his species jaw it was an incredibly sensitive instrument. With it laid on the ground as it was now, he could sense vibrations in the earth up to 20 strides away and had been the death of many an assassin both in its sensory applications as well as its obvious ones.
The shadows of the trees had just begun to grow long when he picked up a vibration, much larger than the rustling of stray tree needles in the wind to which he had become used to. Instantly he was fully alert but remained lying as he was. The vibration was a distant tapping in the rhythm of a quadruped at walking speed. There must have been a great deal of them not attempting to be stealthy as he picked them up from beyond his normal range at 40 strides on the side of his bad eye coming towards the river. It would put a crick in his neck before long but he slowly adjusted his head so it would be able to see them as they approached from downstream.
At 20 paces he could hear whatever they were, conversing with high bleats to one another in a carefree fashion and from what he could feel only loosely staying in a group. The attitude of a pokemon that was not in the habit of being stalked by a predator. A picture of the shellfish scavenger's situation began to form in his mind but he would observe what he could before he came to any conclusion. From what he could feel they would emerge from the treeline roughly ten paces downstream from him. Because he had moved his head he'd see them but if they were as large a group as he suspected he would be discovered out in no time. He had hoped if something did come for a drink they would come from the opposite bank, from deeper within the forest, but these pokemon had to be coming down from the mountains. Perhaps there was more life in those peaks than he suspected. He just had to find out what he could while he could before he himself was found out.
It didn't take much longer for the first of the group to come prancing from the brush to the open area of the river bank. A quadruped like he had deduced that came up to about his shin and covered in a particularly odd shaggy brown and green coat of fur. The green fur looked almost exactly like the leaves of a shrub and he swore he saw them adjust to better soak in the light. It sported a pair of non threatening horns that were barely more than nubs and even had a small tuft of white hair on its chin.
This particular creature pranced and kicked and jumped in a sprightly manner, stopping briefly to look expectantly back into the brush wagging its tail before returning to its excited leaps. If the king had to guess, this was an infant. This suspicion was soon confirmed as it took only a few more seconds for another figure to emerge, more than twice the size of the first and almost certainly the adult form of the first. The adult was not only larger, coming up to the top of the king's knee, but had a more mature air about them with long and dangerous backswept horns to back up that feeling.
They even let the children ahead of the herd! The old king noted in surprise. They truly were carefree.
The horns and muscles bunched at the neck and shoulders of the adult instantly reminded the old king of Rampardos from his homeland. An aggressive Pokemon from his home with a head as hard as stone that was more than capable of shattering bone. Making the tyrantrum instantly cautious of underestimating the creature even though it barely came up to his knees. It was exactly his knees that he was worried about. A successful hunt at the cost of a broken leg meant a slow and painful death.
The adult nuzzled what was assumed to be its offspring and the young one took off for the river while its parent trotted patiently behind.
More and more of the creatures emerged from the brush. A handful of the children of varying sizes and many more of the adults came streaming out. Braying to one another in cheerful calls and generally milling about in the general direction of the river, spreading along the bank.
It wasn't too long before his suspicions were confirmed. The shaggy hooved creatures were indeed drinking from the river but they also were grazing upon fronds growing on the bank and wading in up to their necks to chew on the sparse river weeds. From the delighted look on their faces it seemed to be quite the delicacy.
The claunchers that were combing for whatever morsels they could find had already meekly retreated into the deepest parts of the river or onto the opposite bank. Staring blankly as what little they were fighting over as it disappeared into gnashing mouths.
By the time it had it appeared that the last of the shaggy creatures had emerged from the treeline and the old king could sense no more coming his final count of the herd was fourty. A rather large herd by his reckoning.
It was now clear exactly what was out of balance in the old king's kingdom. A predator had been removed from the ecosystem. Its primary prey animal had grown unchecked which resulted in it overeating its plant of choice. Which also happened to be beneficial to the river crustacean population as local insects used these plants to lay their eggs which the claunchers eat and the plants also catch stray food particles that flow down the river which they no longer do. While the shaggy creatures were thriving now, they too would soon face a crisis once they ran out of river plants to eat, and who knows what the decline in shellfish affects. On and on the dominoes fall. This could not be left alone or the ecosystem of his kingdom may become irreparably damaged if it had not been already.
For the time being he would take up the role of this area's predator, this would at least serve his hunger for the time being until he could find out what happened to the original. As long as he was clever the shaggy creatures would not pose much threat to him as he began his hunt. All that was left was to find out how best to be clever.
They were neglecting to keep their young in the centre of their herd and were allowing them to play and roam as they pleased, and while he could take advantage of this complacency a stray hatchling would make less than a mouthful. He also had no-idea whether they would scatter and cut their losses or or attempt to strike at him in retribution.
The old king resisted the urge to snort in frustration. He was used to knowing everything about his subjects' habits and patterns and having to relearn these basics of basics like a princling was vexing.
None of the adults appeared particularly vulnerable or infirm, but without predators surely some were past their prime?
His piercing gaze slowly flicked from one adult to another, and while none were obviously aged he did notice that one or two were breathing harder than the rest once they had finished their trek to the river and took great long draughts of the water to make up for this extra effort. He took particular interest in the one closest to him whose horned turned outwards more than the others and had a young one that seemed extra keen to wonder.
The plan in his mind was already made, he just needed to wait for the right moment.
-
The young skiddy, Maple, was hopping in delight from one river rock to another, the sweet taste of river weed still lingering on her tongue. She didn't know how any of the adults could stay still after such a delicious and bouncy meal!
Her herd had made their daily move from the mountain shelves they called home to Star River and as per usual it was a lovely trek. The kids leapt as high as they could when they could and springboarded off of any object they could reach, laughing and playing. While the older kids and young adults gossiped amongst each other about whatever boring thing had happened the other day. Be it which boy had the most handsome horns or which girl was the prettiest, Maple didn't understand adults.
They only had a few old goats and they kept to themselves, all complaining and grumbling and chewing hard-plant all day. But even they were downright sociable compared to her grandpa. He was easily the oldest but he chewed and complained and grumbled more than all of them combined!
Everyday for the three years Maple had been alive they had come down from the mountains to drink at the cool clear waters of Star River, and everyday grandpa brayed out over the herd that 'These peaceful day's won't last' and 'To keep your eyes open! Teeth and fire leap from the brush!' and everyday the old goats would nod and mumble their agreement and the young adults would roll their eyes and laugh. In all that time neither fire nor teeth had leapt out of the brush, whatever those were, and the warnings had lost their bite.
Still, even if he was the biggest grump of them all, Maple loved her grandfather. He always let her lay on him while they were sleeping even though he belly-ached everytime that she was 'Getting too big for such coddling!' and even though she was too short to go in the deep parts of the river for the sweetest weeds, he always 'picked too much' and let her have the juiciest leaves. He was sitting on his haunches in the shallows now having already fed her her share of weed, slightly away from the rest of the herd still combing the river for treats. His distinguished grey beard was still tidy and unmatted at his age and his long horns still shone a brilliant ebony, slightly turning outwards from at the ends.
She had noticed he sat down a lot recently. She hoped he was getting enough to eat. Everyone had to search twice as long for half as many weeds as they used to, no matter how far down the river they travelled. Grandpa always managed to find her enough to eat but she worried he wasn't leaving enough for himself. Adults are so silly! She decided she'd go further upstream where the adults hadn't searched yet today and see if she could find some in the shallower parts and surprise her grandpa. Maybe he'd be in a good enough mood to tell her stories tonight! With dreams of moonlit tales of brave and clever children defeating clumsy predators to fuel her adventurous spirit, she tiptoed as quietly as a rattata, upstream and away from her playmates and the chatty adults.
With as patient steps as she could bear she scanned the clear waters for the shimmering green strands she was looking for, with only a small skip every 10 steps or so. Grandpa had said when he was young the river bed was green with weeds and you had to root for hours to see the sandy bottom. He also said they had to fight the little claunchers that lived in the water for every inch as well and they had been nothing but skittish as far as she had ever seen so she wasn't sure she believed either very much.
Concentrating as hard as she ever had in her life she kept her eyes fixed on the water and soon she was rewarded with a tiny flash of green. Her ears perked up at her success but drooped slightly as she realised it was a little deeper than she could normally manage. The adults could go up to their shoulders and merely dip their heads down to the bottom to graze but the kids had to dive to even get to the shallow ones. Her feet tapped restlessly on the mossy stones having put in too much playtime into this endeavour to give it up now.
Without so much as a plan in her head the skiddo began to take one step after another into the water, simply hoping that the weed would get closer than she thought it was. But as her chin approached the water it appeared she had surmised correctly and it was nearly as far out of her reach now as it was on the shore. Keeping her head up and out of the water she bleated in frustration and was about to turn around back to shore when her little hoof hit something hard. When she looked down she could see the blurry outline of a squiggly brown object that felt sturdy on her hooves. She took a breath, and dipped her head beneath the surface and beheld an overzealous root that had poked through the sand and silt to lay coiled on the riverbed.
She surfaced with a gasp and felt around for the root once more and found she could plant all four hooves in a comfortable grip on the wood. At once she had an idea. She could jump higher than any of the other kids her age, surely she could jump… farther? Having no adults around to tell her no she slipped beneath the waves once more and lined up her body with the now clear river weed straight ahead while tensing her body like a spring.
Using her powerful legs and the root like a base, she leapt towards the little weed with all her might. She came up shorter than she would have liked but with a few frantic paddles she was able to just barely nab the weed with her teeth and leap off the river bed to the surface. Holding the meagre strands of plant matter in her mouth triumphantly and breathing hard through her nose she doggy paddled laboriously back to shore.
Once her hooves were back on the slippery shore where they belonged she took a moment to catch her breath and shake herself to rid her fur of clinging moisture, still clutching the weed in her teeth. She made it nearly five breaths before she could contain herself no longer and leapt up in the and kicked her legs. She had gotten weeds from the deep parts like the adults! Grandpa would be so proud!
Quite pleased with herself she began to prance back towards the herd with her head held high when a hot wind hit the back of her head, drying her fur and freezing her blood.
She was frozen in place, her eye's stuck to the ground. When another hot wind played through her fur from behind, a chill travelled all the way from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet, lingering in her stomach. She had never felt this before but her instincts were tearing at her nerves to run and her fear was rooting her hooves to the spot, the contradiction causing her legs to shake.
With a slowness attributed to her consuming dread, she turned her head and looked over her shoulder, hoping beyond hope to see nothing. When she saw teeth nearly as long as she was tall the weed fell forgotten from her slack jaw.
Her gaze kept moving up and up and up and found more and more horror to witness. The imposing teeth were adjoined to a massive head and jaw adorned in a sort of white fur. A beard more grand than even legends of the most important goats she had ever heard of. Behind and around the beard were thick and compact scales the colour of red clay, and whatever scales peaked through were themselves covered in blue feathers so fine that were she not so terrifyingly close she would have mistaken them also for a coat of fur.
Its great head lie upon the sand and slick rocks of the river beach, its even greater body of immense muscle and tearing claws lay sprawled behind, at least 10 of her grandpa's laid head to tail in length.
Up her eyes travelled until they met another eye housed within a heavy scaled brow and focused entirely upon her trembling form, its twin having been completely overtaken by gnarled scar tissue. She froze on that eye, searching desperately for an emotion or intent she could latch onto, its saurian visage alien and unreadable. How could she have not seen it? How long had he laid there in wait watching her?
With a deliberateness and silence that almost made the little Skiddo believe she was in a nightmare the monster rose onto its feet leaving her to stare dumbly at its crushing foot claws that effortlessly dug into the rock like mud with its weight. She felt her fur sucked up into the sky along with the breath from her lungs as the beast inhaled deeply above her for what seemed to be minutes before lowering it's jaws to her eye level and letting out an ear shattering roar that nearly knocked her off her feet and jump started her sedated motor skills. With a start her hooves hit the sand harder than they ever had before and she took off in a stumbling sprint as she felt a thundering clap as mighty jaws closed over her head.
The ground quaked as the monster stomped after her, each step nearly lifting her off the ground. Tears streamed down her face and she brayed pitifully for her grandfather in between breaths. The herd, which now seemed so far away, was in complete chaos. Most of the goats fled in indiscriminate directions into the forest, dragging screaming kids behind them or just following whoever was in front. Some, mostly children, were frozen in complete terror and disbelief and were bumped or trampled or pulled into sobriety by the more practically scared pokemon who ran as soon as they heard that monstrous roar. Two or three unfortunates that had been still diving for sweet weeds were floundering their way back to shore. In their panic and in hers with death nipping at her heels, Maple was unable to spot her grandfather amid the rabble.
In as long as strides as she could manage Maple bounded forward. Leaps once practised for fun were now the only thing between her and a mouth she could get lost in. So focused was she on looking for her grandfather and on the hot breath on her back that seemed to get no farther no matter how fast she ran, she failed to focus on her footing and managed to plant one of her front hooves directly in the alcove between two rocks and stuck fast.
The momentum of her body carried her into somersault that landed her on her back and knocked the wind out of her. Her leg wasn't broken but was still stuck and after gasping air back into her lungs she pulled on it frantically until she felt hot breath envelop her once more, and when she looked up she found herself looking into a toothy void descending to swallow her whole. Running for her life had been her only option and stuck as she was there was nothing more she could do to save herself.
From seemingly nowhere a familiar shaggy coat stood above and infront of her, between her and her death, and when it did, that fleshy portal where countless lives had been consumed halted. Near delirious as she was, it took Maple a moment longer than it should have to recognize the greying coat of her grandfather, standing firm and defiant in the face of the monster. Legs braced and head lowered he looked up and into the eye's behind the toothy death which were still inscrutable deep within the scaly brow..
The monster slowly closed its massive maw and drew itself back up to its full height. It looked down on her grandfather scanning his face only to then snort once and relax. This gesture must have had some meaning as Maple's grandfather gradually raised his head and relaxed as well before unbelievably to Maple, turning his back on the monster to look at her. Maple made to protest, she didn't want him to fight or run to leave her, but to turn away from such a monstrosity seemed foolish even to her. But the monster didn't move to attack and the look in her grandfather's eyes trapped the words in her throat.
He looked at her with a gentleness she had only seen once. He looked at her like her mother had just died once more and that he was about to tell her that he would take care of her now and that she had nothing to worry about. He lowered his head and gently manoeuvred her trapped hoove with his mouth from between the two rocks so that she was free once more. He then hooked her under her belly with his horns and lifted her to stand and gently nudged her away with his snout.
Maple took a few dumbfounded steps away towards the tree line before stopping and looking back, trying to make sense of the situation. Her grandfather was still there watching her go with that odd expression. He nodded and gestured with his head to keep going. She took a few more steps before stopping again and at once her grandfather as she knew him returned. A scowl darkened his face and he stomped once on a rock that produced a clap of noise just like he would when she ran too far ahead of the herd or climbed too high. She jumped slightly and galloped with a start until she was well within the embrace of the forest before she couldn't help herself and looked back once more.
Her grandfather was nearly obscured by the foliage but she could make out that he had turned back to face the monster. He wasn't braced as he was when he stood between her and the beast, his stance was relaxed and his eyes were closed. He looked as serene as he was every morning during his morning soak, the one time of day he didn't grouse every 30 minutes. And then, striking as fast as a Seviper, the monster brought the bottom of his jaw and struck her grandfather on the top of his head. Her grandfather fell and lay still.
Maple cried out loud enough to cause her throat to go hoarse and made to run to her grandfather without a thought in her head as the monster lowered its head, mouth agape, to his prone form. But a sudden flurry of razor sharp leaves struck out from somewhere obscured from maples view and embedded themselves in the creature's hide along its right leg. The monster reared back roaring in rage and pain and maple froze once more in her tracks.
—-
Idiots!
Foolish children!
The old king admonished the two young Gogoats that had finally managed to drag themselves from the river and seemingly found their courage at the same time. No more than a pair of half drowned Raticates that were too young and stupid to be afraid.
He used the edge of his jaw to brush the stinging leaves from the hide of his leg. They did little more than ruffle his feathers and stick in his hide but he knew from experience that to see that your attacks were a wasted effort could deal as mortal a blow as any bite.
He had been surprised by the old goat's dignity. The king had expected to draw him out by chasing the clever little one who dived for weeds, trading a mouse for a meal so to speak. He did not expect however the little one to be quite as swift as she turned out to be. While he could have killed her at the onset it ended up being all he could do just keeping up with her. It was good fortune she had tumbled when she did otherwise he would have had to quickly adjust his was a good death for the old goat and it would seem the goat had agreed.
A light breakfast and some terror for the herd to slow the herd's advance on the river was all he had hoped to achieve but these young bucks were eager it seemed to make things more difficult than they needed to be. It was distasteful and wasteful to slaughter the young, but a service to kill the stupid, and the only sentence for striking at the king is death.
The bucks in question had taken up a position 5 strides away from him and 2 strides away from each other, heads lowered and pawing at the ground with their hooves as menacing as they could muster. Long vine-like tendrils had sprouted from their manes of leafy fur and undulated with threatening intent in the air. With a jerk of their heads that same mane shook free and became formidable leafy projectiles rocketing now at the Tyrantrums head.
These techniques were at last familiar to the old king, his subjects in his homeland employed much the same tactics. The king made a slight turn of his head to shield his eye and the razor edges of the leaves bounced harmlessly off the steel-like exterior of his jaws. He knew if he gave chase that he would succeed only in tiring himself out, so he instead would play the brute prey always took him for and see what their plan was.
Shaking his head free of lingering leaves the Tyrantrum let loose a furious roar and charged at the closest of the goats, mouth low and agape to snap him in half. The goat turned and kept just out of reach of his snapping maw, its tendrils delivering a parting smack on his snout for good measure. Meanwhile its compatriot positioned themselves behind the giant predator and showered the backs of his legs with razor leaves as he gave chase. The snout smacks hurt his pride more than his flesh but the leaves from behind found themselves embedded in the joints of his knee and where his thigh met his hip which certainly stung and did not help his speed disadvantage. He turned to snap at his pursuer but it was like his companion just out of reach and the king found himself in the same situation with vines whipping his nose and leaves being shot from behind into the scales on his legs.
He backed himself into the river, not willing to suffer more of this pincer punishment and once more had to use his jaw as a shield as his opponents pummeled him with projectiles from the front. The two goats looked like they were only just getting warmed up while the old king was already taking deep breaths, having chased one sprightly kid already today. They were clever whelps he would give them that. They would drag this contest into a battle of attrition, a battle he would eventually lose given their superior speed and youthful constitution. He had to end this fight quickly, a job for which he had certainly had the tools. They would have to outsmart him a hundred times before achieving victory through a thousand cuts or exhaustion overcame him. He only had to outsmart them once.
Young ones always think of one good plan and think they have everything figured out. They always think they are the first to try it too. He would not give them the opportunity to learn from this folly of challenging an older, wiser and stronger opponent.
Once more, he lunged at the closest of the two Gogoats with a snarl, feet stomping the rocks into gravel and mouth low and open to snap the pokemon up. Once more he tasted only air, feeling whips on his face and stings on his back. He whipped around once more in this lethal game of keep away and the goat behind him pranced away, just a stride out of reach. So low was his head to the ground in his vain attempts to bite at them that his jaw scraped the ground like bulldozer a few seconds each rotation, kicking up sand and, utilising it's geophonic properties, granting him a clear picture of the assailant strafing him from behind.
This continued for 8 more rotations. The king made a show of wheezing and slowing his stride between turns, countless leaves jutted from his sides and legs, contrasting rather nicely with his cerulean feathers. Still he waited. Waited for one of them to tail him a hair too closely.
The time came on the 9th rotation. The king prolonged his chase on the lead Gogoat and the goat pincushioning his legs had risked being a step and a half closer to more effectively pepper the backs of his knee's as it seemed (accurately) to affect the ancient dinosaur the most. A step and a half that would kill them both.
As soon as the king sensed this slight change in distance he dug his claws into the earth to stop faster than he ever had during this confrontation, closing the distance between the rear goat and himself further as it attempted to halt as well in surprise. Not wasting time turning the Tyrantrum needed only to cock his hips to wind up and with a crack crash his muscular tail into the poor hooved pokemon who sailed, dazed and hurt, into the deepest part of the alongside river.
Everyone always focused so much on his deadly jaws they always forgot about the tail. The king thought smugly, relishing the crack of bone beneath his strike.
The gogoat surfaced as quickly as it could, gasping in pain and in desperation for air. The water softened its landing but having the wind knocked out of you then being dunked in water was a debilitating combination and it floundered in a panic. A panic it did not have time for as the tyrantrum had not even waited for the mammal to hit the water to follow after, and in a few long steps, too large to be slowed by the relatively meagre depth, the old king was on him. With a great clawed foot he stomped the goat into the river bed, and a bloom of red water blossomed beneath his talons to flower on the surface.
The remaining Gogoat and hod not remained idle for this brief exchange, wading in after the tyrant pokemon, whipping at its legs and back in a vain attempt to distract or dissuade the monster in the midst of killing its friend. Waded deep enough that, mired as it was in water, it was too slow to evade as the old king turned and brought it's jaws down onto it's mid section, lifting it bleating into the air before two jerks of it's massive head broke the creatures neck and it bleat nevermore.
With that the fight was done. Tasting sour wool in his mouth, he listened carefully and scanned the treeline surrounding the river for any more foolish prey vying to try their luck now that he had been worn down. His eye met anothers in the underbrush closest to him and recognized the child he had chased to draw out the old goat. She stood stock still and horrified. She blended in so well with her surroundings that the only reason he saw her at all was that she was shaking with some strong emotion. When his eye settled on her form her shaking stopped and from the look of it so did her breathing. The king had no desire or need to harm her and he knew he couldn't catch her if he wanted to. He made a mock step towards that splashed menacingly in the water and she bolted out of sight. He hoped she would bring news of what she saw back to the herd and that they would avoid such pointless confrontations in the future.
The limp corpse of the foolish Gogoat still hanging from its jaws, the king heaved a deep sigh through his nostrils before turning back to the river to scoop the remains of the equally foolhardy companion from the water into his mouth as well. Glistening with almost a new coat of green razor sharp feathers to complement his blue ones he made no haste to stomp his way back to the body of the old goat, laying the ruined flesh of the young bucks beside him. With that he finally lowered himself to sit, having planned on putting minimal effort into a snack and now having put considerable effort into a meal. Sitting is what he would have done had it not introduced a sharp pain in his hindquarters causing him to shoot back up with a snarl.
While he had avoided leaves in areas that would cause any real or lasting damage, the sporadic aim of his late opponents had lodged them anywhere else you could imagine. Leaving him with the laborious task of removing them as best he could either gently with his teeth one by one or with what he could reach with his diminutive remaining arm. Disabled as he was, and hindered by just the body shape nature had granted him, he was mostly unsuccessful.
Having poorly extracted a leaf with his mouth leaving a jagged edge too small for him to remove with his teeth and too far from his short arm to reach he gave up with a huff and lay as awkwardly as was required with one leg stuck out at an odd angle to minimise the pain. His complaining stomach and the smell of fresh killed meat less than a stride away were also contributing factors to this impatience. He would just have to rub against a tree as best he could after he was finished eating and hope for the best, leaving the remains to be pushed out eventually by his body's natural processes.
Balanced on an elbow and a knee and not pleased in the slightest, he leaned down to sniff the fresh meat before him. He had never eaten a furred creature such as this before and despite the effort taken to acquire it he needed to be sure it was compatible. Another deep sniff confirmed he didn't much care for the smell of wet goat fur but the meat underneath did not smell wrong. Blood from the three bodies drained from their wounds downhill, joining as a single stream before mixing with the river. He tasted this crimson stream tentatively. It did not taste wrong, in fact it had a richness to it that made his mouth water. Ultimately he could see no reason why he should torment his stomach and shouldn't dig in. He would just avoid the odorous wool as best as he could.
As carefully as he could he peeled away a layer of skin and fur away from the inviting insides of the old goat, but before he could indulge he caught movement from the corner of his good eye. Teeth poised frustratingly over the first meal he would have in 100 million years, a large blue crustacean half in and half out of the river, shakily pointed an outrageously oversized claw at the tyrant kings head.
It looked to be the adult form of the crustaceans he had observed earlier. Its eyes were wild and scared and its colours lay pallid on its nearly transparent shell that was snug to his meagre flesh. Despite its clearly starving and desperate state, its enormous claw trembled not all from fear but also with barely restrained pressure as it appeared to be full nearly to bursting with water. Even having never seen it in action it radiated danger to the experienced old king and he slowly backed his head away from the carcass and sat back as best he could manage in dignity, eyeing the veritable cannon.
The Clawitzer carefully skittered towards the carcasses, keeping its eyes firmly on the large theropod and gesturing at the king with its shooting arm in a manner that made it clear it would shoot if he tried anything. The old king glared at the upstart but otherwise stayed obediently still for now. He was not in the mood for this.
Eventually the crustacean made it to the corpses laid bare on the beach and had to awkwardly reach with his smaller arm to the hooves of one of the goats with his smaller claw while keeping the large one pointed at the larger predator.
Ah. The old king thought. No longer content with scraps and with ready flesh so close the river folk would risk treason for a thieves meal. He would admire the steel it took to steal from as dangerous a foe as himself were he not so furious.
He could not keep down the growl that escaped his throat when the thief eventually got a hold of a hoove of his well earned meal which earned a warning shot into the beach next to his foot. A brief focused beam of water tore a hole through solid rock at his toes before the claw was aimed back at his face, the river-dwellers eyes were wilder than before, the claw pointed with more menace. The king had been right not to underestimate the crustaceans firepower, perhaps a gogoat could have avoided it with their speed but not even he would escape unscathed if he took a direct hit from that monstrous weapon. He remained silent and the Clawitzer went back to tugging on its prize.
It wasn't a quick effort. The Clawitzer had chosen the goat he had crushed against the river bed, and it's shredded body frequently caught on the riverside rocks forcing the crustacean to look away for a few moments at a time. The tyrantrum used those small opportunities to adjust his one outstretched legs inconspicuously, the opportunistic shellfish was more focused on his massive jaws anyway and these movements seemed to go unnoticed. He just needed the corpse to catch one more time but the corpse was nearly in the river at this point and a swarm of claunchers lay just below the surface watching the heist unfold anxiously with wide eyes focused on the meal.
As luck would have it, one of the antlers of the cadaver managed to catch itself on an exposed root and when two insistent tugs of the Clawitzer did not dislodge it its eyes were forced to wander to the snag.
The instant the crustaceans' eyes were off his own, the old king flicked his largest talon, sending a river rock that was small for him but relatively large for the thief directly at the large claw. The rock struck home, impacting the other shell of the appendage and its momentum caused its aim to veer wildly away and fire its contents up into the air, shearing off the tops of three trees at a sharp angle.
Much like with the Gogoat he sent flying earlier, the king didn't even wait for the rock to hit its mark before he was on his feet and on the surprised shellfish. His left foot came down on the Clawitzers firing arm, trapping it against the rock and sand and his right crashed down next to the it's head in a loud crack that sent gravel flying to tink off its shell. The Crustacean looked up at the imposing figure looming above it terrified, its body heaving in hyperventilated breaths and struggling in vain to break free of the predator's iron grip on its claw.
The predator in question was content to let the terror stew in the small animal and slowly lowered his massive head to within a few centimetres of its face and bared his teeth. He knew all too well that facing teeth almost as long as you are tall puts your life in a new perspective.
He was half tempted to crush its shell and sup on the no doubt plentiful meat within such a large specimen, but he also knew what it was to be hungry and desperate, and while disrespect was shown, no challenge to his reign was made. This warning would suffice. Besides, helping these creatures through their famine had been his mission today anyhow.
He tilted his head fixing the crustacean with his solitary gaze, impressing upon it the significance of this exchange. The creature shrank back into itself as far as it could manage and inclined its head, myriad feelers drooping despondent, sufficiently cowed. The old king snorted, satisfied that proper deference had been shown before reaching up and over the pinned Clawitzer with his mouth to snag its prize and devour it. Bones, gristle and fur were shredded in an instant to slide into his gullet. The fur was as unpleasant as he had determined but ultimately thanks to his incredibly strong jaws and stomach he could digest anything and a point was being made.
Immediately he felt warmth spread throughout him as the meat entered his belly and strength suffused his limbs once more. The meat was lean despite its life of comfort and its light but sweet taste made him think of the mountains that they no doubt called home of sparse grass and occasional sweet weeds.
As he masticated he kept his eye on the Clawitzer who made no more move to struggle, eye's down-cast, defeated. He cast his gaze over the waterline as well and found that the swarm of Claunchers had either dispersed or stared forlornly at their captured warrior.
The Tyrantrum swallowed what remained of the Gogoat and found both his appetite and honour to be satisfied. He released the Clawitzer, much to it's surprise and stepped back to the corpse pile, prising the old goat from the beach with his jaws and with a jerk sent the cadaver flying into the centre of the river where it took on water and sank slowly to the bottom.
The roving Claunchers and stunned Clawitzer watched it sink and as one looked warily at the Tyrantrum who had already turned away to worry at the more tender bits of the remaining goat who he had shook to death previously.
A few claunchers immediately swam to the carcass and began to tear into the opulent feast with gusto. The more cautious of their brethren hung back to see how the old king would take it but they could see plain through the clear water that the tyrant lizard remained unbothered and so dove themselves into the feeding frenzy, churning the water with blood and stray flesh. The Clawitzer wasn't far behind, skittering as fast he could back into the water and taking what mouthfuls he could manage before using his claw to smash into the corpse so that his younger brethren could more easily access the goods inside. It was a veritable feeding frenzy after so long a period of famine and there was enough for all who were present.
The old king could hear the water churning behind him while he carefully peeled his meal of foul fur and was pleased they were pleased. He would balance imbalances but and feed himself but he was not cruel. The only thing he required was deference.
He leisurely picked though his meal for the choicest cuts of meat for the next hour and over that time the feeding frenzy quieted as the swarms' appetite was sated and the shellfish stomachs could hold no more. They instead busied themselves trying to stuff the largest pieces they could manage into whatever hidey hole they called home. A habit they gained from having so little for so long. Hopefully their fortunes were about to improve such that such practices would become obsolete now that the herd would be far more wary to approach the river for food and drink.
Having picked clean the now skeleton of the foolish goat he tossed the remaining hide and bones into the river for the inhabitants to scavenge for marrow. He tried his best to pick his teeth and wadded the wadded foul fur of his first meal with some success on the side with a functioning arm but had to resort to clumsily using his foot talons on the other. It was a meagre effort that left much to be desired so he rose and approached the river to dunk his fangs and hopefully dislodge the annoying clumps that cloyed his tongue.
A few dunks in and a couple of droughts of water proved not much better and so washed his beard and claws of blood and lay in the afternoon sun with his tail cooling in the river for a nap. Or he would have had the moment he had laid down a little Clauncher, its belly swollen with goat flesh, crouched hesitantly in front of his snout on the side his good eye resided.
His glare froze it for a moment but once it had noticed that he had noticed it put up its pincers in a show of what he could only guess was non aggression and slowly approached. He guessed its intent and allowed it to approach but did not let it leave his sight.
It carefully approached a step at a time until it seemed obvious that it was not in immediate danger and then skittered towards the old kings mouth, a place most creatures wanted to be as far away as possible from. It approached one of his largest teeth that had an encircling of wool at it's base that earlier he was unable to dislodge with his foot talons. The crustacean with his deft claws was able to snip the wool free from his tooth, casting it aside and nibbling some stray flesh that had stubbornly clung to the fur.
It wasn't long after it had moved from the next tooth he felt another pair of claws working on the teeth on his blind side, and then another tugging at some embedded leaf between his toes. Soon it seemed a thousand little hands were making their way over his body, tugging on sharp leaves and lapping at the blood or preening over loose feathers.
Their deft ministrations were quite relaxing for the old king and soon he found his eyelid drooped. Only a few minutes later he drifted to his kingdom of dreams and allowed his corporeal subjects to attend him.