Heartleaf Creek to the [thief] go the spoils

<blockquote>As hesitant as Marsh was to steal from a days-old corpse that reeked of cougar, he could not say that he was being impetuous. It had been two days ago now that he had discovered the partially-eaten body, and as tempted as he had been to enjoy the spoils of a nice find, it had been too early. The owner's scent wasn't old enough as to suggest it was abandoned, but far from new enough to imply a recent visit. The risk and the reward weighed heavily against each other, and, on that first day, the number of unknown factors were too great. Marsh would not stake his life on this just for an easy meal.

His only interaction with the body had been to improve its coverings; whoever had killed it had done a poor job of stashing it away in the thick undergrowth.

Two days later, having previously put the discovery from his mind, Marsh found himself wandering near the creek early in the morning. A few familiar landmarks quickly brought about the realisation of what was hidden nearby, and, having been so involved in improving its concealment, relocating it was simple. A perfunctory investigation of it and the surrounding area showed that it had been untouched, and the cougar had not since made a visit. Believing himself to have taken necessary precaution, Marsh finally allowed himself to settle down and enjoy himself.

Always keeping one eye open and one ear on his surroundings, just in case the original owner made an untimely appearance, he tugged the ruined carcass from its dirty, earthy hiding place with decisive, powerful movements. It may have been half-eaten, but the body (some large ungulate, Marsh did not much care to identify it properly) was still heavy, and the matter was only made easier when some remaining belly flesh snagged on something and ripped open, allowing some of its pink innards to fall free. Once happy that food was properly laid on the table, Marsh sat next to it and tucked in, the only thing preventing proper enjoyment being his paranoia of being interrupted.

The idea of howling and drawing attention to this free meal did cross his mind, but he considered that it was not worth the risk of the cougar showing up; if enough remained of the body to make it worthwhile, he might be inclined to take it back to Swift River himself. Other than that, since he had put the effort into stealing it, he did not feel badly for worrying about his belly most of all.</blockquote>

<blockquote><ul>sorry for the wait. still don't have muse, but oh well. JUST GO WITH IT. xD</li></ul>

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Of all the new smells Kiche had become acquainted with in the past few weeks, the scent of a rotting corpse was the worst. Most things, of course, Kiche refused to tolerate. His stomach was a volatile, temperamental, and whimsical to put it mildly. So when he happened to stumble upon a mutilated body that reeked of death and paganism, it came as almost a surprise when he managed to force his stomach into submission. Nothing succeeded in climbing up his throat, although he did very well near scream. At the very least, he reeled backwards in the air, falling backwards on the ground with a whoosh punctuated with a hollow thud. Exclamation point.

Snarling and simpering, he had hauled himself to his feet and took great care in removing himself from the mess of tangled undergrowth he had fallen into, realizing he was completely off of whatever path he had followed getting here. Then again, he had never been good at following them in the first place. He put some distance between himself and the rotting flesh, and went back to tackling the underbrush while his stomach groaned and complained about the terrors it had been forced to witness. All of his senses now, it seemed, were in revolt. His eyes were stinging with the image of a torn and bloody feral corpse that had been carved into them, and his nose grieved bitterly, still haunted.

But then there was a rustle.

The great ginger saint stopped dead in his tracks, his heart pounding so loudly that he could hear little else through the frantic cacophony. Somehow, without realizing it, he had managed to shift his way back into the cover of some trees. It was from there, behind his veil of leaves and bush branches that his heart was staved by the appearance of a heathen. His heart thrashed wildly in it's cage, taking up the afflicted and agonized cries of his senses. It was not just any heathen.

It was that heathen.

The devil-magicker. The one who had put that curse on him and goaded him into fighting. He hadn't spoken any words but that spell. That evil, evil monster. Kiche had almost felt that he had conquered his fear of heathens, but no, it was back, and in full force. His skin rippled with seizures of ice cold trepidation. What is he doing here? Oh, Pangur, oh Pangur, oh Pangur. What was he going to do? Kiche was unsure of whether or not the pagan had seen him, but now, as it picked its way through the foliage, assaulting the forest, it appeared he had not. Instead of rounding on him and cursing him some more, the monster continually tugged at.... at. His stomach pitched threateningly. The demon was eating the corpse.

His scarred muzzle tore through the guts dispassionately, a scarlet stain trickling through his fur. Some of these demons didn't seem to understand what was so vile about their lifestyle, and well: this just proved it. It was this, this, senseless slaughter of living creatures, this nonchalantly sickening diet... the way they just devoured rotting flesh. It was the very picture and definition of filth and godlessness.

At this point, there was no holding his stomach back.</blockquote>

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<blockquote>The sound of retching brought the scavenger to attention. Immediately wondering if his scouting hadn't been as good as he had thought - <i>impossible</i> - his meal was abandoned as Marsh quickly stood up, stale blood spotted on his muzzle, and cautiously surveyed the direction in which the sound had come from.

A quick inhalation told him that the wind would be no help. Ears flickering back with mild anxiety, and eyes narrowed, he stepped over the corpse's leg and towards the hidden observer. Was it the cougar? Body tensed, ready for flight, he stiffly moved on, not wanting to waste the opportunity if it had been nothing more than a small, fellow scavenger or some other ill creature. Vomiting wasn't exactly a sign of immediate health, after all, and that gave Marsh confidence. His lip lifting over his teeth, he issued a general warning growl, daring whoever was there to make themselves known - or make themselves scarce. Either worked for him. The sooner he knew what he was dealing with, the sooner he could carry on with his day.</blockquote>

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Horror flickered in the hidden amber eyes as the heathen picked up his head to look around. It was a gruesome visage to behold, scarred and scarlet, that threw suspicious glances about the clearing. Yet, for some reason, Kiche's presence, while detected, remained undiscovered. It was a small victory, however, and nothing to celebrate when Kiche realized that he was in some deep shit. If he moved, the heathen, with his magically-altered senses, would hear him without a doubt. And if he didn't move, then he was stuck here. With the heathen, with the decaying carcass.

He was thoroughly screwed.

A threatening growl ripped the air, which heightened Kiche's sense of doom. When he last encountered this particular savage, he had barely escaped with his soul. Surely he would not be as lucky this time, and he could only guess at what sort of horrors now awaited him, lurking a mere five feet in front of him. Unable to keep a lid on his frantic sorrow, Kiche let out a whine. "<b>Don't hurt me,</b>" he whispered, although it was not directed at anyone in particular. Such desires had been completely ignored last time, after all.

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<blockquote>A soft, pathetic sound was the response, but it was not accompanied by any noises of general retreat. Whatever was there was still there, and by now Marsh had it pegged as a wolf. Wary in case his meal was being challenged, Marsh took another few steps forwards, peering through the undergrowth for the culprit, and in one sudden moment his eyes alighted on a horribly familiar ginger figure, looking sorry and sick and no less demented than it had been last time.

Memories of embarrassment and wasted efforts and utter bewilderment flashed through his mind, which was outwardly matched by an expression of open surprise. The hostility fell away from his body only because he hardly registered this creature as a threat. He vaguely remembered that the strange wolf had been watching him eat, but the thing may as well have been a rabbit. If nothing else, Marsh was relieved it wasn't the cougar. This was a better situation, though he would have nearer called it the lesser of two evils.

Now, the only question was whether it was alone. Marsh was more than happy to continue his meal in the presence of his creature, but was he safe from other threats? Still wondering how the wolf had gotten past his scoping - perhaps it was more tricksy than he had first thought - Marsh nevertheless concluded that he could sense no other being in the area. It was just them. He had been staring at the large ginger male, and now broke his focus with a dismissive snort; the stupid thing could shout and carry on all it liked, but it was not going to disrupt his meal. He had waited too long and put too much effort into its theft to abandon it like this. Turning his rear to the ginger creature with insulting carelessness, Marsh duly plopped down beside the corpse to resume his meal.</blockquote>

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And now it appeared that he had given himself away. Inwardly, Kiche cursed himself and his mouth and his luck. The bloody muzzle plunged through the foliage, smearing blood on branches, and was followed by that wicked countenance. Mad with fear, Kiche pushed himself back, but was met with a firm wall of forest. His only defense at this point was to duck his head underneath a leg and hide his eyes. <i>You will not have my soul, fiend!</i>

When the twigs crackled warningly before him, Kiche was sure the deathblow was coming. The remainder of his life, a collection of several seconds, was used partly in prayer and partly in steeling himself for his impending doom. Except it never came. Wired with curiosity, Kiche cracked open an eye, and was confronted with a very odd situation. That ugly auburn demon had turned back to his meal. Although such a sight should have been a gift to his eyes, Kiche felt something other than relief, something strange. Disgust was part of it, confusion too... but there was something else. Was he perhaps a bit offended by the way the demon suddenly disregarded him, as if <i>God</i> was something that could be avoided and disregarded?

Yes, perhaps that was it.

As Kiche's moods were but ephemeral, it seemed, the indignant rumblings in his chest emboldened him. His episodes were severe and dangerous, but always short-lived. Drunk with notions of God, Kiche sauntered out of the brush, coming up behind the barbarian. He cleared his throat loudly to make his presence known. "<b>I demand to know by what heretic beliefs you feel like you can just ignore me! You tried to curse me, before, and nearly killed me and stole my soul, too! You are feasting on</b> <i>rotting flesh</i><b> and here I am, the</b> <i>only</i> <b>possible savior for miles around, and you</b> <i>ignore</i> <b>me</b>."
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<blockquote>Having expected that to be it, Marsh was genuinely surprised when he heard steps behind him.

In any other situation, he may have felt apprehensive and reacted accordingly, but there was just <i>something</i> about this particular wolf which sent off all the wrong signals. It may have been a great number of negative things, but it was not dangerous. As such, Marsh allowed the beast to stalk right up to him, clear his throat, and begin babbling.

For his part, Marsh did his best to follow. Having already given up on the idea of a peaceful meal, he intended to just sit up and stare the beast in the face, but he lingered just long enough to hear those words - <i>rotting flesh</i> - and by the tooth it sounded like the beast disapproved. That gave Marsh a beauty of an idea, just to relieve the berating that this creature was trying to give him. Grabbing a piece of particularly nasty flesh, he quickly tore it free and let it hang from his jaw as he turned, chewing casually on the small end in his mouth. Keeping his rump on the ground - there was no threat here, he did not need to waste effort standing - he took the final few words of indignant, pointless disgust with a perfectly straight face, his cool gaze unblinking and unwavering.

By the end, Marsh wasn't entirely sure what had been said - he thought there was a question in there somewhere, but couldn't for the life of him decipher it - and, in the end, hardly thought the creature worth the effort. He could remember, crystal clear, what had happened last time. He wouldn't be made into a fool twice.

Jerking his head slightly to toss the dangling strip of meat into his mouth, he chewed for a moment and quickly swallowed it down with an incredibly satisfied air. His eyes never left the vivid orange of the other's, and, as he sat there, he felt overcome by sick, bizarre amusement.

<b>"Hah,"</b> he laughed once, perfectly unperturbed by the beast's indignation.</blockquote>

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The only response from the savage was one more terrifyingly revolting than anything that could have been put to words. When the hellish visage swung back around, Kiche felt a momentary twinge of fear, and regret. But it held between it's teeth a gobbet flesh and chewed it before him in the most insulting manner. Disgusting. Literally choking at the sight, Kiche turned his head away briefly. <i>Why, I do believe this bastard is mocking me!</i> The notion only increased exasperation and fury that had overtaken Kiche.

"<i>Hah.</i>" He looked back just in time to see the monster swallow. Without thinking, Kiche lashed out with a paw, swiping at the jowls of the savage. "<b>No! Spit that out right now!</b>" For some reason, Kiche was now desperately concerned with the diet of this crazed fiend. "<b>You better spit that out right now! Rotting flesh! My Pangur, you drive me crazy, the lot of you!</b>" Profoundly repulsed, Kiche's face was twisted and contorted with righteous disgust that creased his muzzle deeply.
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<blockquote>The strike was far from expected, but it came far too late; the meat was already past the point of no return, and Marsh had no plans to empty his stomach in the manner that this beast seemed so fond of doing. In terms of the actual attack, well, Marsh took it with relative ease. At least, he didn't lash out in return, though his instincts did kick in for a moment to raise his hackles before he reminded himself that the beast wasn't a threat, not really, and it seemed like the only reason it had lashed out at all was in defiance of Marsh's eating habits.

To that end, he quickly returned to a cool, calm manner, chuckling darkly as the creature ranted and raved about insanity. It would know. Rather enjoying this turning of tables, Marsh licked his lips with deliberate slowness, 'mmm'ing quietly as he relished the lingering taste of flesh and stale blood caught in his fur. Delicious.

Still, the beast didn't want him to continue his meal, and though Marsh was well aware that it had no alternative in mind, he felt that he would pretend otherwise and provide one himself. Nodding in decisive agreement, Marsh raised himself up to stand before the other wolf, watching him calmly and expectantly. To make his point, he glanced at the corpse before returning his hungry, pleading gaze to the beast, and whined softly to drive home his aching need. <i>I'm hungry!</i> he silently but loudly declared, overdoing all the body language he could, just to see if the creature had a hope of understanding.

After all, his previous meal had been pronounced unfit for consumption, unless he had understood wrongly. Was the strange wolf not going to help provide a fresher alternative?</blockquote>

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It was sickeningly obvious that the bloody hellion was mocking him, now, <i>laughing</i>. Kiche followed his tongue with marked annoyance as it traced his crimson lips delicately. He acted as if he had just eaten a cake or something. "<b>No, stop that!</b>" Kiche barked again, although he knew it would do little good. Heathens were creatures of a very low intelligence, he couldn't really hope that they would actually <i>understand</i> anything, could he? A frustrated gale escaped his mouth, and his tawny amber shoulders slumped. <i>They're like idiot children. My Pangur.</i>

His stupidity was evident by the manner with which he tried to communicate with Kiche. Whining and pointing with his head, indicating the corpse with a nasty desire. "<b>No. You can't eat that garbage. It's bad for you. Bad for the soul.</b>" Kiche took a step forward and prodded the chest of the heathen with a hesitant fore-paw —inwardly he cringed. "<b>Soul,</b>" he reiterated poignantly, aware that the stupid brute probably was too stupid to know what a soul was. None of the ones he had met thus far seemed to know what Pangur was either, except for those few who lived in Grizzly Hollow. But they still had something wrong with them. Everyone had something wrong with them.

Looking around for some sort of alternative, Kiche spotted a bush with a measly offering of <a href='http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pokeweed' target='_blank'>dark berries</a>. As he trotted over to the plant, he was blissfully unaware that his discovery was actually deadly. "<b>Over here, you great oaf.</b>" He nosed at the berries to make his point a bit more clear, since apparently that was necessary. <i>Why am I even doing this?</i> he wondered with annoyance. But at that moment, his own stomach gurgled a response. <i>Well, then that's two birds with one stone.</i> With the hint of a smile on his face, Kiche reached out to pluck one of the berries.
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