More GMing

Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the southwest at 8 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.15 and rising, and the relative humidity is 74 percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)

It's been over a year since Wildfire first claimed this section of the woods, and Blackriver's been patrolling it ever since. So when the time comes, she knows a place where a rabbit built its den this spring. She approaches downwind in homid, figuring a human scent is better than a wolf's for keeping the rabbits calm. Then she leans back against a tree with a clear view of the den opening, a hole just under a bush, and waits, watching. Watching, waiting, she can do this a very long time, and soon falls into a sort of trance, mind free of everything but what she takes in from her surroundings.
Katya has the gun held carefully in her hands as well, its muzzle pointed at the ground.

Time passes, and as they always do, small sounds get amplified into large sounds. The wind through the trees forms a constant background susurrus. A few birds flap from tree to tree. It's too cloudy and overcast for much joyous singing today. For what seems like forever, the only constants are the wind and the sound of Katya's own heartbeat.
Eventually, though, some action. A tiny brown nose pokes out of the hole that markes the entrance to the rabbit burrow. It twitches, sniffing the air inquisitively.

Katya tenses, and slowly begins to move the gun up to point at the burrow, inch by inch. Other than that, she doesn't move.

The rabbit remains within the burrow's entrance for a long time. Slowly...slowly...she puts her head out. Large brown eyes that look almost watery nervously survey the area outside her home. Her ears swivel constantly, analysing the sounds of the forest.

Katya's jaw drops open in a lupus grin that manages to just look stupid on a human face, not that anyone's around to notice. She keeps the gun trained on the rabbit and stays still, trusting the doe's ears and nose to outranks its eyes.

In a flash, the decision is made, and the rabbit is moving, out of her burrow and down the slope towards the low scrub about ten yards away. Her line of movement means that she'll pass about eight yards from where Katya is standing.

Katya moves to gun to follow the rabbit along, aiming at the base of her neck. She moves her arms slowly and smoothly, just fast enough to keep her aim. When the doe's about the reach its closest point to her, the lupus cringes and fires the gun, eyes squeezing shut at the last second in anticipation of the sound.

The shot seems unbelievably loud, echoing off the trees, sounding almost like a massive clap of thunder. There's a moment's silence, and then a loud sqwacking and flapping as birds take flight. When Katya opens her eyes, there's an entire lack of dead rabbit on the ground. No sign of it at all.

Katya flattens herself against the tree, letting the gun drop to the ground and cowering against the bark. It's several minutes before she opens her eyes again, and she just stares at the ground where she expected the rabbit to be. Then she drops into lupus and begins to sniff around, trying to figure out where the rabbit went.

Once in lupus, the smell of gunpowder is instantly almost overwhelming. However, once away from the immediate area, the scent of rabbit is certainly detectable. It's all over this slope, up to the burrow entry, but it seems freshest and strongest over the other side from where the gun now lies, and uphill rather than down.

Blackriver sneezes at the smell of gunpowder, circling around the burrow and then heading uphill after the scent. She stalks crouched down, ears pricked forward and nose twitching.

The scent gets stronger as Blackriver nears the edge of the sort of mini-clearing that houses the burrow entrance. Here, the ground runs away again, into a little crease overgrown with nettle, bramble and general foliage. As the wolf silent plods nearer, the rabbit scent gets stronger, and the smallest spot of brown can be scene, crouching behind the base of a small sapling, obscured by leaves.

Blackriver's mouth drops open and her tail wags once. She turns and heads back to grab the gun, creeping up the hill again in homid. Her surroundings seem changed in the different perspective, and it takes her a while to locate the rabbit again by sight.

Well, there it is, crouching behind moderate cover, holding itself very still. At least this time it isn't moving. Surely it must be easier to hit?

Katya crouches down on her knees and brings the gun up to point at the rabbit. Her hands are shaking in fear of the sound that's about to made, and it takes a moment for her to calm herself so that she can aim properly. Still, she's cringing and cowering (although at least this time she doesn't close her eyes) as she fires.

Again, it seems unbelievably loud, and the gun bucks in her hands, feeling almost like she's been hit by a truck. With her eyes open, she can see the rabbit take off again, disappearing into a hidden hole, perhaps five yards away from its previous hiding place.

This time, Blackriver drops the gun and falls down into lupus, racing away from the sound of her own weapon. It's a while before she dares to come back, not really surprised to see the lack of dead rabbit. It's the gun she's more interested in, and she circles around it and sniffd it several times, peelinh back her lips in disgust. Disdainfully, she picks it up in her mouth and trots off to another place in the forest where there's a small creek. Once there, she shifts to homid and settles down to wait, looking for signs of anything large enough to shoot with a gun.

Nothing for a very long time, until the sun starts to get low in the sky, and the light starts to fade into a soft dusk. Then, creeping down to the creek for a drink, comes a pair of white-tailed deer. One, a doe, is significantly larger than the other, who's really still a fawn, though one past the first ungainly flush of youth.

Katya watches the deer walk by with a bored look on her face, deer being really too big for one wolf to bring down. It isn't until they're actually drinking at the creek that she realizes that she's in homid, with a gun. She raises up the gun and shoots, flinching in anticipation.

The shot seems less loud this time. Strange. This time, despite the inexpertness of the shooter, the bullet finds its mark. Well, nearly. The shot strikes the larger deer in the belly region, spraying blood down onto the floor. Both take flight, the unharmed fawn leading the doe away from the clearing, but the blood trail is so clear a child could follow it.

Katya drops the gun and, again, goes down into lupus to follow the fleeing deer, tail lashing back and forth in excitement.

It's not far before she comes upon the two deer, the trail leading into a small thicket, where the doe is lying on her side, blood still flowing relatively freely. The fawn stands over her, licking at her face. As soon as Blackriver gets close, though, the fawn turns and flees, leaving the stricken doe, who tries futiley to scramble to her feet. She's too weak, though, and she falls back to the ground, strength slowly draining from her.

Katya's nose twitches, taking in the sweet and sticky scent of blood, and she rushes towards the doe. She circles around it in a little dance, letting out a series of yips and yowls which, while not quite Prayer for the Prey, is pretty close.

The doe can't even lift her head, though the rise and fall of her chest indicates that she is - just - still alive.

Blackriver turns to face the deer, head tilting from left to right in momentary confusion before she digs in, biting into the doe's blood-spattered belly and starting to chow down.

Not with a cry or a whimper, but instead with the slow exhalation of a last breath, the doe dies. And Blackriver eats her guts.