<blockquote>The claws had left long, thin gouges down the bridge of his muzzle and into the black flesh of his nose. He had been cut in a number of other minor places, but the fur covered it up, and he would heal easy enough. He only bled from the worst wounds, his nose among them. He was aware of the wounds, but didn't truly feel them. Pain had never affected him like it did other creatures, but that was not all. The thrill of victory was a sweet, sweet tonic.
Sides heaving as he panted, he dropped the bobcat to the ground, its throat and chest a bloody wreck, its teeth bared and eyes wide with anger and fright even in death. It fell with a dull thud, now no more than dead weight, and he sniffed idly at it, poking it with his bleeding nose as though they had not just been engaged in vicious battle moments before. Whether or not he would eat it remained undecided. It was not entirely customary to eat another predator, for the flavour was unpleasant, and there was something altogether unsatisfying about them as compared to a good ungulate. But the cold was coming - the snow which lay all around them was testament to that, its pristine coating ruined by their fight - and being picky was not conducive to survival. Perhaps he would eat it. For now, he simply wanted to enjoy the moment.
Raising his lip at the corpse and growling softly at it, jeering its loss, he peered about and licked at his lips, half-heartedly cleaning the blood there - his own as well as the bobcat's, for it had bitten and tugged at his jowl as well. Ever since having to step into the vacuum left behind by Indru, he had been tense, more tense than usual, though he tried to hide it. It would not do to have an uncomfortable leader; who would respect him then, and, by extension, Corinna? He absolutely would not allow his situation to encourage discord or unrest against her. If his taking on the male leadership was what she wanted, what she needed, then he simply had to put up with it.
It's partly why he didn't simply chase the cat away when he found it slinking by his lands a little too brazenly. The pups were not old enough to defend themselves, but their safety was only part of why he antagonised the bobcat and grabbed it by the leg and didn't let go, forcing it to fight for its life. He had needed the rush, the <i>release</i>. It had been therapeutic to efficiently destroy a rival creature, because it was a danger, but also because he <i>could</i>. If nothing else, he would not be a leader to let Swift River be easily threatened, not so long as he breathed. Diplomacy, wisdom, charisma, Corinna could have those. Marsh was not an inspiring leader, not in that sense. But he would devour their enemies and put out their eyes, and he would do it eagerly.
Turning to the river, his home and territory just on the other side, he dipped his head and drank, letting the water flow carry the fresh blood away. The rest would clot and mat or come away in the rain, or would easily be lost each time he waded through the river. For now he would let the marks be, and take pride in them.</blockquote>
(This post was last modified: Nov 15, 2012, 10:14 PM by Marsh.)