Triangular eyes crackle with eagerness. Agile toes move deftly, purposefully. Each articulation embraces the silent perfection of fur lined toes. He is a hunter from foreign lands, a tireless predator. Massive shoulders hunch forward as he crouches within a gangly overlay of leaves, twigs and vine. The forest is a perfect mate, it shelters and conceals his position. Off to the left, his objective is sprawled across the floor.  Four days he tracked...gaining ground when she dared to stop. Up till now, the mare had always been a step ahead.

The hunter feels his agitation and impatience double as their stumbling conversation continues...his elongated tail inches to flick irritably, but he forces it still. Waiting, motionless against the sod. Hindquarters rise expectantly -- excitement, raw and wild races in his blood. Singing with the promise of success.

Imagine the boon he'd received to recover not just one...but two. Two filthy sacks of meat. Pink lips draw back, unveiling a dangerous row of daggers. A savage smirk tickles the corner of his face...

Maybe just one...The pale length of his tongue slips out, teasing the canines below.

Once the stallion is dealt with, the mare would be easy to subdue. The echo of his task master bounces within that inner cavern, 'bring her back, don't harm her,'  the entitled prick had snarled, adding a threat to his demand. A savage smile, imagine that...a whore of a man making idle threats and pleas for the sake of a favored slave. It made his blood boil and made him all the more anxious to begin; today...her blood would spill upon the ground for his trouble.  

But first...almond sockets edge over, studying the stallion. Judging his size and weighing the risk. The brute is larger than his normal prey...But that unstained coat brings insight that the stag is possibly younger (or ill experienced) than the hunter who'd survived six, brutal winters. Momentos of battle litter his pelt, the mark of many fray won for the sake of his life and king. Honeyed irises fix upon the throbbing neck, nearly able to see the fragile pulse beneath that patchwork flesh.

A plan arose from the fumes of malice.

Subdue the stallion, break his wings. Eat the female to strengthen his body;  drive her new friend back home. 'To the king.' His heart purred, imagining the look upon that cur of a fool who dared order special treatment. He longed to see the fury in those entitled eyes as he spoke about of how she squirmed beneath him, her body wet with blood and tears. How it felt to bury his teeth into her soft skin. Taking whatever was desired and offering no mercy in exchange.

Opportunity beckons, without hesitation, the hunter pushes off from the ground; claws emerge to embrace the spongy earth beneath. Though branches and twigs scratch at him, their resistance is wholly ignored. Forefeet drive into action, plunging him beyond the thicket and into the air. He hits the ground and coils his hindquarters, a pressured snake eager to strike. Hindtoes unhitch, thrusting him forward in an open lunge; teeth gape apart, his ears flatten as a snarling sound rips free. Jaws aim for the head or neck of said prey beast; arms extend with their dangerous tips unmasked.  They reach for breast or the nearest shoulder; aiming to grapple upon his flesh and hang from it like a tick.