The glassy water turned to froth as bubbles followed in the hunter’s wake, churning around him as he clawed violently at the water. The pond was much deeper than it looked—he’d been counting on it being chest-high, at the most. But down he went, farther, farther, until the light from above became lost in the chaos.
His lungs were burning when the feathery touch of the pond floor enveloped him, tendrils of water-weeds weaving gently around his limbs and whispering for him to remain there. He thrashed, sending them fluttering away, and dug his feet viciously into the mud. Then, with a mighty leap, the predator stretched and catapulted back towards the place from whence he had come.
He broke into the air and gasped, choking down some water but managing to steal a breath before gravity drew him back under. He twisted again, as anyone who didn’t know how to swim would when suddenly found in a deep pond. It was with his exhausting writhing and a large dose of luck that he managed to make his way to the shore, or at least close enough to plant his feet in the mud. He remained there, on all fours, wracked with merciless coughs. At first they were just for air, but within moments they deepened, dragging at the water in his lungs and filling his stomach with a hot, ill feeling. The coughs turned into hacking that ripped at his throat, and then, with a heave, the hunter vomited up the contents of his stomach before collapsing onto his haunches.
He was soaked, and smaller coughs continued to erupt every now and then, but the sickness in his gut was gone. His throat burned with bile, and he had to swallow several times before his breath became any semblance of smooth. Tired, sore, and firmly convinced to never attempt anything like this again, the hunter looked up to see if he could catch sight of his partner. A number of shadows passed over the canopy, but shadows were all they were—he couldn’t see anything from beneath the trees. With a growl he dragged himself to his feet and almost toppled over when a wave of vertigo hit him and clouded his vision with purple. He quickly knelt once more, where his was much more secure, and put his head down in an attempt to ride out the pounding that was rattling his skull.
He didn’t know how long he remained there, but when the vertigo subsided he was left with a magnificent headache in its place. He stood again, slowly this time, and while he was certainly not the steadiest on his feet he was not on the verge of falling. It was in this way that he finally made his way to dry land, and within a few minutes had staggered from the tree cover onto the open plains once more.
He cast his eyes upwards to see if she was still in the sky. Yes, the familiar spot hung there—alone.
He hissed in dismay—all that trouble for nothing? Really? A whine made its way from his lungs, and he kicked a rock in anger just as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Dark clouds were thickening on the horizon, promising an hour at the very most before it broke over the land. The hunter’s anger gave way to worry; they had failed, yes, but they still needed something to eat before the rains came, and with yesterday’s food floating in the pond his stomach rumbled with a new hollowness. They needed to find something, and quickly.
He looked around at the grass. The waterfowl had obviously escaped her talons, which meant that they had to have taken cover somewhere. Here and there the grass was tangled over shrubs and into thickets, so similar to the hiding places of groundbirds when they fled from the pair on other days. With little else available to him, the predator began to beat randomly at these thickets, hoping against hope that he would come across one of the creatures that had escaped them.
His lungs were burning when the feathery touch of the pond floor enveloped him, tendrils of water-weeds weaving gently around his limbs and whispering for him to remain there. He thrashed, sending them fluttering away, and dug his feet viciously into the mud. Then, with a mighty leap, the predator stretched and catapulted back towards the place from whence he had come.
He broke into the air and gasped, choking down some water but managing to steal a breath before gravity drew him back under. He twisted again, as anyone who didn’t know how to swim would when suddenly found in a deep pond. It was with his exhausting writhing and a large dose of luck that he managed to make his way to the shore, or at least close enough to plant his feet in the mud. He remained there, on all fours, wracked with merciless coughs. At first they were just for air, but within moments they deepened, dragging at the water in his lungs and filling his stomach with a hot, ill feeling. The coughs turned into hacking that ripped at his throat, and then, with a heave, the hunter vomited up the contents of his stomach before collapsing onto his haunches.
He was soaked, and smaller coughs continued to erupt every now and then, but the sickness in his gut was gone. His throat burned with bile, and he had to swallow several times before his breath became any semblance of smooth. Tired, sore, and firmly convinced to never attempt anything like this again, the hunter looked up to see if he could catch sight of his partner. A number of shadows passed over the canopy, but shadows were all they were—he couldn’t see anything from beneath the trees. With a growl he dragged himself to his feet and almost toppled over when a wave of vertigo hit him and clouded his vision with purple. He quickly knelt once more, where his was much more secure, and put his head down in an attempt to ride out the pounding that was rattling his skull.
He didn’t know how long he remained there, but when the vertigo subsided he was left with a magnificent headache in its place. He stood again, slowly this time, and while he was certainly not the steadiest on his feet he was not on the verge of falling. It was in this way that he finally made his way to dry land, and within a few minutes had staggered from the tree cover onto the open plains once more.
He cast his eyes upwards to see if she was still in the sky. Yes, the familiar spot hung there—alone.
He hissed in dismay—all that trouble for nothing? Really? A whine made its way from his lungs, and he kicked a rock in anger just as thunder rumbled in the distance.
Dark clouds were thickening on the horizon, promising an hour at the very most before it broke over the land. The hunter’s anger gave way to worry; they had failed, yes, but they still needed something to eat before the rains came, and with yesterday’s food floating in the pond his stomach rumbled with a new hollowness. They needed to find something, and quickly.
He looked around at the grass. The waterfowl had obviously escaped her talons, which meant that they had to have taken cover somewhere. Here and there the grass was tangled over shrubs and into thickets, so similar to the hiding places of groundbirds when they fled from the pair on other days. With little else available to him, the predator began to beat randomly at these thickets, hoping against hope that he would come across one of the creatures that had escaped them.
