ORIGIN

Vargas had awoken, helped to oversee the trials in Hydra, and then hunted and spoken to Gembound throughout Canis and Orion without a single bite of food. He was now--now that the Trial had just ended--on the hunt. He'd gone far too long without eating, and his stomach gnawed at him.

He'd come here, then, to Eridanus--full of jungle, full of life, and most importantly of all, full of food. Long, bladed limbs cracked quietly through the foliage, claws sinking into peat. His head lifted, and he inhaled quietly, taking in the scent of wet, of dirt, of distant life. And his magicka flared with it, seeking anything else that might be crawling through the trees.

He stayed still and quiet, for a time, slowly looking over Eridanus with this magic. The heat of beating hearts and flowing blood shone red in his senses, and he could "see" life almost everywhere. Birds fluttered to and from amongst the trees, catsquirrels racing along the branches; rats burrowed between the roots, and--There. Deer.

Two small herds close by, and a few scattered individuals--but he honed in on a herd, now. He wasn't sure that one of the small creatures would be enough to sate him, not today. Intense and purposeful in his movements, Vargas started forward. He was unhurried, but he wasted no time, and no physical movement was in any way superfluous: he was a stalking predator, everything focused on his prey.

He moved as quietly as he could, and when he sensed that they were close, he dropped low and moved more slowly. He was careful to stay downwind, having to circle through the trees to do so; the deer were five in total, browsing in the clearing beyond. Vargas knew that he would not be able to creep any closer. He'd need to ambush, to snag one before it could flee--he was swift, but the foliage was thick and the cave deer small enough to twist, turn and zigzag through the brush faster than he could find them, unless he got lucky. Better to kill one quickly, before it had the chance to bolt.

After a few long minutes of waiting, watching them, and ignoring his hungry gut, he made a decision. They were milling about thirty feet away, and one kept drifting closer than the others--a pale grey one--but it never approached his treeline. There was nothing, then, to wait for, except for it to be facing him, so it would have a harder time in fleeing--coming in from behind was pointless, he knew, as they had nearly complete vision even directly behind them.

He tensed when at last it was near enough, head down, grazing toward him--its tail flicked, and Vargas abruptly surged from utter stillness into violent motion, crashing through the underbrush and leaping claws-out for the deer.

He'd been asleep too long--his movements weren't as graceful and as precise as he'd have liked. I need training, he thought distractedly, as claws scraped over fur and the patter of fleeing hooves filled his ears. He snagged it, barely, tripping it up before he could get his weight on it more firmly. The other deer were gone from the clearing by the time he had this one on its side, and he tried to grip its head and twist it back, to get a grip over its throat with his jaws.

The way it scrabbled and kicked, however, he could not get a firm grip on it. He swore under his breath, struggling to keep it down--it was tiny, compared to he, and difficult to keep a hold on. It even kicked him once or twice, managing to strike sharp hooves over his shins, and he swore again, grunted, and pulled back a little.

"This will be much easier," he muttered, entirely aware of the deer's lack of sentience, "if you stop struggling and let me finish this quickly."

The deer continued to kick and to struggle, and Vargas grunted again. He held it down until it stopped, for a moment, wild-eyed and panting; and then he again attempted to grasp its head, so that he could lean for its throat.

When he had it well-enough pinned, he pulled its head back a touch, and then opened his jaws. Bending low to the ground, he pressed his teeth in around the throat, to either side, and then he bit down.

And he waited.

As hungry as he was, he didn't rend and tear; he didn't even particularly break the skin. He was almost gentle, patient, feeling the deer's heart pumping blood against his jaws where he blocked its flow, feeling the struggle as it tried to take a breath but found its airways blocked. It tried to cry out, but it couldn't; it kicked at him, but this did little.

Within half a minute, the Gembound was unconscious. Only then did he snap his jaws fully shut and draw back, severing arteries and veins, rending through flesh and cartilage and pulling the deer's neck apart in one swift pull.

Then, after waiting another moment for it to be well and truly dead, he began to feast--tearing legs from torso, innards from ribs, and consuming it bite by bite. With each, his towering form pulled up and back, head tilting upward to gulp down swallows of meat and bone.

His stomach rumbled more heavily, and his six eyes slipped shut in bliss: this was what he'd been waiting for. The warmth and the heavy feeling of food in his belly did nothing to sate him, though--he'd need another couple of deer this size, at least.

When Vargas at last had finished, he lifted his head once more. Soft snorts accompanied his taking scent; he was not bothering to be quiet now as he crashed a few steps into the foliage. Left behind were only a few scraps of fur and hide; the bones, organs and meat had all been devoured.

His magicka flickered outward, too, and again his senses found heartbeats--though most had fled the immediate area. Except... one.

Vargas turned, his interest piqued. There was something close by--... and after a moment's check, he realized that it was not even hidden. Though he was primarily "seeing" the red of it, his vision told him that it was standing, quite calmly, out in the open of the clearing.

It didn't seem like any of the Lessers he knew, and so he spoke, voice rough with hunger.

"Do you speak?" he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

Vargas peered down.

Wonderful. Middle of a hunt, and being pestered by one of these strays--and a child, to boot, not even old enough to know of hunters and prey.

"I am hunting," he answered brusquely--but at least he answered, rather than chomp the thing up. "I am hungry." He didn't bother to start a speech about predators and prey; the kid would learn that on her own soon enough. Or she'd get eaten, he supposed; it'd serve the caves well either way.

He turned, looking for the other heartbeats he'd sensed not too far off--and went crashing after the fleeing herd, shouldering heavily through the brush. He snapped branches and twigs, not bothering to stay silent this time. The fleeing herd had not gone far. They'd trusted to the forest to hide them, but magic did not obey the laws of vision. His monstrous form came careening through the trees and down, clawed arms slamming into another of the deer.

It wouldn't be hard for Seraphim to catch up, if she cared to--but Vargas had already half-forgotten her, intent on sating his appetite. Below his grip the deer bleated in panic, thrashing, an audible beacon if the child had lost track of the predator looming above it.

Vargas was so focused on his prey, on wrestling it down, that he didn't realize Seraphim was coming up behind him. It was only at the sound of her voice that he raised his head, glancing sharply around, before fixing all six eyes on her.

Her suggestion seemed almost to offend him, and he pushed his weight down just enough to keep the deer pinned before he answered.

"It is not hurting. It is afraid!" He looked down briefly at the deer. He didn't think he'd broken anything; and like the last, his intention was to quickly cut off the blood supply to the brain before even breaking all that much skin. He looked back to Seraphim. "And for good reason; it knows it is about to die."

He studied the foal for the briefest of moments. "Come closer. Come here, and watch for yourself." He had the tone of a teacher, commanding yet emotionless, for here was a young Gembound who could learn a valuable lesson about hunting prey.

Never mind that she might be an herbivore; one never knew when this sort of thing might come in handy.