The Hunter's Song II: Lost Blood

Ch 20: Bloodlust (Shale)

Their little claws raked across sharp grey stones.

Crisp cool air packed with moisture from the waves of fog rolling over the nearby mountain ridge.

Crazy Wolf had his senses trained on a female vodry fox while Raven Tide stalked a fluffy two-and-a-half-foot-tall male.

"They control their breathing well," Peleon commented from our roost atop a small stone outcropping.

Even without a helmet to muffle their panting, the twins displayed superb physical awareness.

It must have been those ears.

All sounds were amplified; their prey, the terrain, and every involuntary anatomical response.

An average Zhaguai pup would mitigate their grunts to avoid detection, but my son's razkur senses made them conscious of every flexing tendon and internal gurgle. Hushing their breaths below their prey's hearing range barely qualified as youngling play.

"It won't be long now," my bearer thrummed in approval.

The desolate rocky slope came at that suggestion of Lost Coyote. It was foreign terrain to the boys and an excellent exercise in tracking burrowing prey. We gave the boys short wooden spears to pierce the earth and coax the foxes out. A simple challenge, but more than plenty to stir their instincts.

"Perhaps," I brought up a local map of the cacti and succulent speckled glade. The fox tunnels extend for miles, cutting off at the hot springs girdling the base of the mountains. "They've been out there since before dawn. Odds are they'll tire out within the hour."

"All the more reason to push them," Peleon smiled.

I glanced at her with a suspicious eye.

My bearer was correct, but I wasn't keen to implement whatever extreme methods were percolating inside her head.

"We will see."

The boys were resolute in their hunt and I wasn't yet ready to interfere.

They lacked the skill to take on a beast of equal weight and strength, but it was time they became acclimated to adversaries that bite back.

Raven Tide was leaping gracefully over the brown tallgrass puffed up between the stones. His eyes were dilated and his little ears flicked methodically as he zeroed in on his target.

Crazy Wolf, on the other hand, remained true to his spirited nature. He was hyper-focused on staying ahead of his fox and gave no regard for the cacti grating into his arms and legs.

"A resourceful approach," Peleon mused. She too noticed Crazy Wolf's tendency to rely on his brother's presence to herd his prey.

A Zhaguai's bloodlust was the foundation of our entire way of life.

The urge to kill, the drive to fight, the recurring dreams of feeling fresh blood between our claws.

Through the code, each of us received a purpose through being forged into unrivaled warriors.

The glint in my son's eyes rekindled the spark of my own blossoming days.

Your skin tingles and every whiff of sweat or blood triggers saliva on your fangs. A restless instinct compels you to run all day and night until you can tear something in half. Claws extend and suckling teeth will loosen over the next few cycles to be replaced by sharper adolescent fangs.

My favorite pastime as a pup was concentrating on my quarry's heartbeat. The organ's heat would pulse in rabid brilliant shades. I could only speculate on the level of intensity my sons were experiencing. Every sensory aspect of this small recreational hunt had to be amplified.