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Author: Subject: [Writing prompt] word for 2007.07.07
sylvrilyn
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[*] posted on 7-7-2007 at 11:03 AM
[Writing prompt] word for 2007.07.07


Today's word is hungry.



"A painting is never finished. It simply stops in interesting places." -- Paul Gardner

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Irish_Blush
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[*] posted on 7-7-2007 at 06:23 PM
re: hungry


Rabbit. Not cooked and prepared, but fresh, living rabbit. I pulled the scent deeper into my lungs, letting it wrap itself around my senses. Mason came up behind me and pushed me in the direction of the receding rabbit trail.
Go, his eyes said.

I went.

I trotted toward the trail left by the rabbit, picking up the scent on the ground and trying to mask my apprehension. Hunting was an integral part of a wolf’s make-up. I shouldn’t have to think about it, it should just happen naturally.

Indeed, the stronger the scent grew, the quieter my human brain’s objections became. My speed increased, and soon I could see the white puff of fur ahead of me. My blood pounded in my ears; this was it.

The rabbit was fast, but I was faster. Darting between trees and around bushes, I was inches away from the kill before I realized the ground beneath me had changed from soft grass to rocky terrain.

I tripped, lost my balance, and did the most spectacularly undignified somersault, ending with my nose knocked up against a rock and the rabbit bounding away to safety. Even before I had finished landing, Mason ran past me and continued after the rabbit.

I was still mentally licking my wounds when he returned with the bloodied rabbit between his jaws. He set it down next to my face, but I wasn’t feeling all that grateful. Truth be told, I was feeling sorry for myself, and stupid to boot. Some werewolf I was, defeated by a rabbit.

Mason pushed the rabbit closer to me, his eyes focused and clear. Your hunt, your food, they said. My stomach won out in the end and I tore a chunk off, swallowing the deliciously fresh meat whole. I was sure I’d look back on this moment with disgust when I was back to being a logical human, but for the moment I was pure wolf and purely happy.

Satisfied that I would continue my meal, Mason trotted off back into the thick of the park. He returned minutes later with a rabbit of his own and settled down to eat. It was a quiet moment, interrupted by the occasional sound of tooth on bone or ripping rabbit muscle.

I was still hungry when I finished off the rabbit, the hunger in my belly merely teased by the small creature’s death. My belly growled and I heard Mason make a coughing sound that certainly would have resembled a laugh, were he in human form.

As Mason finished his meal, he crawled on his belly to my side and licked the blood off of my muzzle. The roughness of his tongue felt good, particularly where I’d cut myself on the rocks during my fall.

He continued to lick me, moving among my legs and paws, cleaning every drop of blood—mine and the rabbit’s—from my fur. When he had completed his task, I took my turn, enjoying the task of blood on his fur.




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