On silent haunches, peering out in diverse terrain, Fallen knew what he wanted and he was putting it in action. He was told you had to catch a mountain goat. Did he get the right information? Or was he possibly making a fool of himself? The observer had faith and that's all that mattered. The male was getting thinner and thinner by each day and it was causing him to get terribly weak. A pack was what he needed, especially since he was prepared for any possible question the leader could ask. Well, not exactly.
<i>Are you experienced?</i> Yes and no. I have been the heir to a pack, but then we were forced to leave.
He ran the questions in his mind, but as the time became possibly closer, butterflies attacked his insides. Suddenly, to his left, a flash of white and a stomp of hooves, drew his attention. He jumped down from the outcrop silently and inched forward towards the goat. Its short tuft of a beard flew, directing Fallen the direction of the wind. Almost there, and a quick bite to the neck was landed. Blood smeared around his lips, and his tongue hanging out, Fallen was satisfied. The horns was now in possession, and that's what he needed.
Tidying up, and waiting, Fallen was eager more than ever. And why was he tidying up? Of course, he needed to look presentable.
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