Scythe heads out into the forest for some prey.
She sniffs around for some prey, but for what feels like forever, she finds none.
Just when she thought it was a lost cause, she smells a scent.
Mmm, sweet scent.
She remains downwind of the scent she has found, and when she finds what prey it is, she realizes that it is a deer.
A Buck in particular. 8 point antlers. She better not get on the wrong side of it, and take it down swiftly.
She starts stalking it, making sure to stay downwind, and to stay out of its eyesight.
She closes in, lurking in the tall grass, just barely tall enough to conceal her.
She leaps for it, and lands on its back. Immediately it tries to leap and she just about misses trying to grab its neck.
She remains on it, her claws digging into its sides. It starts bucking, trying to throw her off.
She tries to grab its neck again, and misses. It rears its head back and nearly smacks her.
I can't lose this one. It's too good to let go.
She dodges its antlers again, and realizes that if she doesn't take it out soon, it will injure her, and might even kill her.
Her grip weakens and the Buck feels it, it bucks another burst and sends her flying.
It stares at her, angrily, and lines up its antlers at her.
She gets up and prepares to dodge.
It charges, and she dodges. She tries to climb onto its side but it spins around and smacks her good in her side.
She is weak, and starving. She needs food soon. This buck would be more than enough, but it's becoming too much to handle alone.
And she is very much alone.
She turns and runs. The buck eyes her until it cannot see her anymore, then runs in the other direction.
She wanders once more, sniffing for any other prey scents. She is injured, but needs to eat.
It nears high sun, and she has not had a successful hunt yet. Most of the prey has escaped her.
She scents another prey, and stalks yet again. This time, maybe, she will succeed.
She stalks up to get a view of her prey. Rabbits. Nice rabbits. If she could just get one, she will be fine.
She stalks close, in the tall grass, and manages to sneak really close to one, closer than she's ever tried before.
So close that if she breathes, it may feel her breath.
She swiftly snatches it and pulls it into the grass, and kills it instantly and silently.
A few nearby scamper a little distance away, and look towards where their clan mate just disappeared, but calm thinking their buddy hopped into the grass.
She leaves it there for now, hoping to catch some more. She stalks in the grass a while longer, and one does indeed move close.
She grabs it too, but it let out a squeal and the rest scampered into their burrows.
Two's better than one at least, which is still better than none.
She has her fill from them and once she's licked the bones clean, she heads back to her camp.
Many moons pass with similar occurrences daily. And the occasional nightmare.