[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/2keADeR.png[/img][/center] [hr] [i]’Down by the river in a flowing cerulean stream, come and see the beastfolk and their wandering dream.’[/i] The daffotales sang amidst the cool breeze of a fading sun. Peace reigned despite the odd assortments of beastfolk gathered. Beasts, birds and reptiles, living in harmony as they traveled. The days of the desert were well past, Salvation had come and new life was blooming. Children played with pearling laughs and elders talked about the times. Some fished, some slept, while others watched. For not all beastfolk were so inclined to the ways of peace and easy living. Well, as easy as life could be in that time and age. Survival was a constant. One wrong decision cost lives. One violent Wildblood would kill them all. So it was, for there were no heroes. Not yet. And so it would be. “Must go must go mussst go!” A snake hissed to the others as it slithered across the small dune that sat overlooking the river. He kept looking back, even while his vision became obscured, black scaled arms pumping with every motion of his powerful lower-half. That small camp next to the riverbank jostled at once and then blew into a full blown panic. Beastfolk of all sorts bolted, flew and swam in every direction. Grabbing children, helping elders and securing supplies. On land, water and into the sky, everywhere except the way the snakeman came from. A pride of lions stood their ground however, as the snake, nearly out of breath stopped before them. His own flame cowering but not because of those beasts. His forked tongue flicked forth, tasting the air. “Not afraid?” he panted, clutching his sides. The largest of them, standing a foot taller with a thick black mane growled, “We are strong! Not weak! Not afraid! Stand and fight!” He pounded his chest once. The snake shook his arrow like head, amber eyes unblinking. “Won’t fight. Can’t fight. Goodluck.” The snake began to slither off, taking his chances with the water it seemed. The lion roared, “Coward!” but the snake didn’t look back. The lions looked up at the dune, brandishing makeshift clubs. The inner flames were that of warriors, of fighting the only battle that mattered. Between life and death. Bravado, strength, pride and loyalty. No finer traits there could be had and yet, as the Wildblood crested the hill and paused to look down at them with its hungry eyes, they felt fear. A demon in beastly disguise. Jaws opening wide to showcase sharp, salivating teeth. The Mongoose, even from top of the hill, was large. Almost as big as the tallest of them, their leader, Black Mane. He knew who the killer that had come for them was. Every beast folk knew the names of their terrorizers. The ones who could not see reason, whose inner flames had burned with nothing but hate and violence. Oh he knew. He remembered his own village being ripped apart. The memories like lightning in his mind. His eyes narrowed and he pointed the club at the Maw Who Slew In Salvation. In challenge to the death. Now the fear came, clinging to the air like mist. He let out a low growl at his unsteady pride mates. The Maw let out a low snicker as it began a slow descent down the hill. Large claws dragging in the sand, sending the grains down the hill like small waves. The demon sniffed the air with slow head bobs, the brown fur on his back beginning to bristle with a killer’s thrill. Black Mane shuffled slightly. “Steady.” he growled, “Steady.” As the Maw approached, the lions stood their ground. The great beast began to circle them, sniffing the air and chattering with his teeth. Sounds of excitement, turned ghastly in the twilight. The pride was beginning to falter, Black Mane could feel it. He glanced to either side of him. Walking with Bristles was wide eyed and shaking. Scratches the Sand looked like he was going to be sick. He dare not look back to see how Running Grass and Creak Listener fared. As long as he led them, they would survive. They had to. “Fear…” The Maw said in a low, animalistic voice. “Sweet…” he cooed, the word harsher than it had any right to be. Someone whimpered behind him and Black Mane cursed. The Maw sprang at them, the burst of speed almost blindingly fast. Black Mane braced himself, ready to swing but the damn demon had bluffed charged them and he watched as the Maw jumped back, the demon’s eyes snapping past him and he smiled. It was too late. Someone had bolted and the Maw sprang again. Black Mane swung his club as it ran past them but the Maw jumped out of the way and in an instant, had Creak Listener by the back of the head. Black Mane watched as the wildblood and his pridemate hit the ground and there was no time to act as the Maw began to shake Creak Listener’s head. There was a sickening sound of bones cracking and squeezing and then a loud pop as a gush of blood poured from the Maw’s mouth. “RUN!” Scratches the Sand screamed and his pride mates bolted, leaving Black Mane to stare down the beast by himself. “COWARDS!” Black Mane roared at them, before he charged the Maw. He swung his club once more, only able to see red but the Maw ducked low and he hit air. Next thing he knew something had slammed into him and he was sent flying. With a thud he landed in the sand, the air knocked out of him. But he steeled himself, he wouldn’t die on the ground like a coward and so he got back up and readied himself. The Maw looked at him now with a smile that could only bear bloody teeth. He began to walk towards Black Mane, assured victory in every step but then the Maw stopped. He cocked an ear to the side and his heckles lowered. He sniffed once, twice and then he backed up, plucking Creak Listener’s corpse before he made a swift retreat. This left Black Mane confused, until he heard the rush of mighty wings blow past him. He scanned the darkened sky but saw nothing. Then he looked around the now quiet camp and realized his pride mates had run over the hill, while the Maw had left in the opposite direction. His ribs hurt but that wasn’t going to stop him from catching up. Damn the Maw, that coward! And damn his pride mates, he’d teach them to stand and fight. Then the sky over the hill lit up briefly, followed by a terrible screaming. Black Mane’s eyes widened. Had the Maw doubled back? He ran faster, half climbing, half falling as he crested the hill to see… His inner flame dulled. Two bodies lay smoldering below, the smell of charred corpse filtering into his nose even then. Someone was struggling but the light was not great enough to where he could see until he saw a flickering light that illuminated a kicking and screaming lion. Once more, helpless, he watched as that light became a roaring inferno that washed over the screaming lion. And Black Mane could see, his now silent pride mate had been lifted aloft, held by a creature he had wished was only rumor. As the fire smoldered about his friend, the dark settled in again, two gleaming red eyes turned to look at him and the Black Mane at once felt true fear. Primal in intensity. There would be no fight, only flight, yet his legs would not listen. He saw the body drop and he heard the unmistakable sound of a bird taking flight. Yet that had been no bird. No. It had been… A wall of fire sprang forth. [i]’Down by the river in a flowing cerulean stream, come and see where the beastfolk scream.’[/i] [hider=Summary] The Maw attacks some beastfolk but scrambles when a bigger animal shows up. [hider=There's Always A Bigger Fish] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/66vXDYa.png[/img][/center] [/hider] [/hider]