Thalassa
The best way to hunt a predator is to catch them unaware in the middle of their own hunt. Thal's been waiting patiently, the sizzle of her molten lava disguised in the soft crash of the waves against the bony island. Her ears flicker when she hears the Mudtiger begin to move, her paws padding silently to follow at a low crouch. The black and silver of her fur is hard to catch in the shadows of the vibrant foliage, even the glow of her blue eyes seeming to blend into the dangerous environment of bright colors despite how they stand out against the stark ivory of the ground that peeks through greenery and shifting vines. The sentient plants don't reach for her, having already been burned when they tried to wrap a tendril around her hind leg. It's made it that much easier to stalk her prey.
She can see when it finds a target, pausing as muscles ripple under scales, tongue darting out cross razor sharp teeth like it can already taste its prey, even its spine fins tremble at the tension. This is when its attention is most consumed, the hunt taking every bit of concentration, the perfect opportunity for her to pounce. Her haunches bunch beneath her, eyes narrowing in a moment of suspended anticipation before she leaps, claws outstretched to draw blood.
But the Mudtiger is lunging for something beyond, her eager claws finding no purchase as it clears the brush into an opening. She pivots and follows with a deep, rumbling growl of frustration, determined to salvage the hunt. Yet when she breaks through, she's greeted by chaos. It's a strange situation she'll have to work though later. For now, she ignores the woman and her horse, tackling the roped beast with another echoing growl. The movement sends lava splattering across the ground, followed by droplets of blood when her claws connect with the Mudtiger's scaled side. Unfortunately, the momentum sends them rolling over a jutting piece of bone that looks like an unnaturally large femur, the sharp spine cutting into her flank as she tumbles under it, the rope pulling taut with the distance.
She can see when it finds a target, pausing as muscles ripple under scales, tongue darting out cross razor sharp teeth like it can already taste its prey, even its spine fins tremble at the tension. This is when its attention is most consumed, the hunt taking every bit of concentration, the perfect opportunity for her to pounce. Her haunches bunch beneath her, eyes narrowing in a moment of suspended anticipation before she leaps, claws outstretched to draw blood.
But the Mudtiger is lunging for something beyond, her eager claws finding no purchase as it clears the brush into an opening. She pivots and follows with a deep, rumbling growl of frustration, determined to salvage the hunt. Yet when she breaks through, she's greeted by chaos. It's a strange situation she'll have to work though later. For now, she ignores the woman and her horse, tackling the roped beast with another echoing growl. The movement sends lava splattering across the ground, followed by droplets of blood when her claws connect with the Mudtiger's scaled side. Unfortunately, the momentum sends them rolling over a jutting piece of bone that looks like an unnaturally large femur, the sharp spine cutting into her flank as she tumbles under it, the rope pulling taut with the distance.
Bite my tongue, bide my time
Wearing a warning sign
Wearing a warning sign
