Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

The sound of rats gnawing on a carcass was unmistakable. Each one of the beasties was chipping teeth into bone, peeling muscle from ligament and shoving it wetly down their gullet. Prone in the shadows, Hargrave could barely discern what their find might've been. Bioluminescent scraps of fur were carelessly torn through, destined to be left as table scraps for the lower-ranking Pitches. They couldn't afford to be picky and dig for the offal.

Fiery eyes counted a total of eight in this swarm, but an alarm call could easily conjure ten or twenty more. One rabbit certainly wouldn't be enough for that many. A full-grown canine, however... the situation could quickly become a repeat of what events transpired in Polaris all those cycles ago. Hargrave didn't have faith in their leaving her bones behind - but, at least, her stone could carry on.

In short, the dog was running the simulations from a rather great distance. Most occasions would call for simply conjuring fire and smashing it into the nearest rat's behind, and letting it be burnt alive; or sneaking close to a lone specimen and hoping it didn't squeal before she crushed its windpipe. But, she wanted to keep this one alive - at least, long enough to carry it back to Orion.

Oversized as the bastards were, they'd turn to Oil far too soon.

She could tempt fate by engulfing one in flame, but the likelihood of either the rat keeling over or setting its companions aflame and causing more problems... was entirely too great. Her head tilted slightly. A trap, perhaps... ? Something for the stray catching a curious scent on the breeze. The catch would be separate from the rest, then. There would be no tangible threat. More often than not, the dumb beasts got spooked by magic without an easily-visible source.

Hargrave inhaled quietly, and focused on a pebble. Once it was disturbed, she could conjure fire - "ah?" She breathed. Something lurched from her stone, sticking to and spreading at some vague point ahead of herself. Legs gathered up beneath her, toes spread and claws unsheathed as if preparing to run off - it could be magical misfire.

Nothing... the Grey Hare relaxed, and settled back into watching. Just for the moment -

A scraggly-looking rat, clearly low in the pecking order, had a sudden burst of bravado. Gnashing teeth on nearby rocks until they were bloody, it slalomed forth. Its ears were pricked up and whiskers twitching with every tentative sniff. It circled the frenzied group for just a moment, before charging to bump a just-smaller one aside. All that courage vanished in an instant - the shoved Pitch rat whirled around on a dime and sank needle-sharp front teeth into his face. Claws scrabbled, blood spurted, and the low-ranker shrieked. They tussled long enough for it to be reminded of it's place, and then they broke apart.

The Lesser stuck to the outskirts, watery red eyes staring balefully at the feasting group. Scraps it was, if there would be any left...

Distracted from the documentary-esque happenings, Hargrave stared at her own claws. Unsheathe, sheathe, like she did her shortsword. They weren't enchanted with a numbing cold, nor sharpened to slice through flesh; but, they were comfortable, now. They were hers. By many standards, they were an extension of herself that was far more stable than any blade clutched between the teeth was.

She turned her paws over, baring the pads and urging them to take on red-hot luminescence. It was a blessing, at times, that they had grown so frostbitten in that trial; hardly any sensation remained. There might come a day where her magic might get a bit overzealous and chew her limbs to nubs, but Hargrave was enough confident in her sight. She twisted her wrists and let the stone char beneath her feet. A tantalizing scent, maybe, for that poor left-out rat.

Indeed, there was... something else on the wind - something stronger-smelling than the intestines the other Pitches were gorging themselves on. The low-ranker pushed up onto its hind legs, craning its neck to sniff. It wasn't bloody or much like the warm musk of something meaty, but it was intriguing. Curious, quiet chattering eked out from red-stained teeth, and the rat went towards it.

Hargrave, in the same moment, leaned further into the shadows, curled ears shifting forward to catch the feather-light noise of the beastie's gait. It was barely discernible, just a quiet pit! pat! pit! pat! approaching. A stone shifted...

... and the world briefly flashed into orange. The Grey Hare watched with wide, dumbfounded eyes as magical flame burst around the rat. It caught and engulfed the Lesser in seconds, but burned out in seconds as well - smothered by the faint, musky wetness of disheveled fur. Her head shifted just to the left, to watch the squealing, frenzied mass of Pitches glance at the flames on their companion. A few bared their teeth, posturing to attack - but upon finding no threat, turned tail and bolted. It was base instinct to fear fire.

The haggard-looking low-ranker turned to run with them, squeaking miserably, but Hargrave was unwilling to let it get away. She could make it quick and merciful, just enough to get it out of consciousness. Her magicka snatched out for it, but in no intended, innate way. A mental hand stretched around the Lesser and held on tight. Subconscious direction forced the squealing animal towards her, and a split-second decision (and, perhaps, the instinct to catch a frisbee) had her jumping up to meet it with her jaws.

It vanished below her line of sight, and the poor thing dropped like an iron weight in her mouth, with a ghost of a cry whistling out its mouth. "Damn," she growled around its stinking corpse.

All the prior noise had been enough to catch the attention of the other members of the swarm. They chattered in their charging return, a pack of cat-sized monstrosities with fire in their eyes. One less rat - however disgraced it'd been - meant danger; and it ought be removed. Hargrave's tail sprang up, and she braced to bolt towards Orion.

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

death

Hargrave backpedaled, running through the options. Objectively - logically - her legs were longer than these rats'. They could carry her further and faster than theirs could; yet, they were frenzied. Disturbed from a meal, they'd be relentless. That, or the canine simply wanted to be assured that she wouldn't be trailed. Anyone would look moronic with seven Pitches chasing after them. She had no clue what purpose to seek in life, but she knew that she should preserve her dignity while looking.

Fiery eyes fixed on the head of the group: a large, nasty-seeming monster of a rat. Its fur was gnarled and cowlicked every which-way by the cycles' worth of scars it had. Piercing yellow eyes burned with a hatred no small(-ish) animal should be allowed to contain. Snip off the head, and the rest would flee... yes?

Jupiter had not screamed like that brute did. She might've cried and groaned with the suffering of being torn apart by a hundred-plus crawling shadows, but she'd been prepared for it. Hargrave didn't know what work the centaur did - what her status had been in the Caves - but she knew the Master'd been prepared for that death. This singular rat? Undeserving, unaware. One second, it was charging at the head of its self-made, brief pack. The next, it was the victim of direct immolation, engulfed by flames.

The canine could only watch on with dawning horror as it twisted towards itself, trying to snap and bite at the fire that was eating through that rippling sinew. Blood sputtered from every nick it inflicted upon itself. It mauled itself until the moment its conscious gave out from roaring pain. By that point, the magic had eaten it down to raw red.

The pack split around its corpse, if only to avoid the sparks and soot. They charged on, unrelenting with another Lesser taking its place at the head.

Heart beat against lungs, and lungs beat against ribs. Blood roared in her ears, though the sound was muffled by the lightheadedness that'd seized her. She couldn't get enough air into her lungs like this. Running would make it no better, but she needed to turn - and go. Go. Precious few feet remained before pearly-whites would spring for her throat, and the clock was against her - the decay of the Pitch in her jaws was bound to start halfway to Orion, now.

Hargrave grappled, and the chaotic nature of fire yielded to her will. It whirled away from the rotten pyre in the background, sweeping in a billowing arc in front of the furious pack. They stuttered to a halt, wretched squawks escaping each of them. A three-foot high wall stood between them and their assailant. However fleeting it was, (without something to burn, and without the fleeing canine to sustain it) the rodents lost their bravado. Every shred of animalistic fury and thrill of the hunt bled out.

They turned back, gathering around the burnt-dead rat, and started to gnaw away indiscriminately.

She turned on her heels and raced away. Only the blue stone of Orion could offer any assurance that this had been the right choice to make; throwing caution to the wind and using her nigh-uncontrollable magic on an unwitting, living being. Lessers seemed made to be consumed, but that was not the purpose she was forcing them to serve. (Oh, how it all looped back to purpose.) This one was to be a sacrifice. All intentions seemed to point in that direction, anyways.

Death might be a mercy, then. Hargrave feared for what the Kings might've had in mind for a creature living long enough to bleed for their own purposes. A Hunt, summoned to descend upon quarry. If they did not, their prey might be slaughtered. But, what was it they were hunting? Would it all be worth it, if it were some criminal being? A monster being made an example?

"Augh!"

Best to not let her mind run faster than her feet.
exit Hargrave