Beast of the Gorge
The name of this place was Landskar. He remembered that part well enough.
He also remembered his name... the soft, warm smells of his parents, and the feeling of safety. But that was all before the schism that seemed to fracture his life into two completely different parts. The time before, and the time after; the latter being much longer, and much more ongoing, without any hint of change.
Hyagara was alone, now. He had been, for quite a long time. In a place where the land itself seemed sundered, preyed upon, scarred and left for dead. He was in one of the many gorges that sliced it apart... it had been relatively peaceful, here. The sound of the deep mountain river rushing through the roughhewn, jagged stone walls was a constant friend to his spotted ears, lulling him to sleep every night, keeping him from becoming trapped by too much complete and dead silence.
The many small caves, cracks and tunnels that pockmarked the land were perfect for his small, young size to curl up and navigate within, seeking protection from much larger beasts that roamed the mutilated landscape of raw rock, hanging vines, and thick, overgrown foliage. There weren't always predators, of course. Roving herds of elk, deer, lumbering herbivorous animals and small, flighty creatures, all called the place their home. But for a dracus as young as Hyagara, none of these proved as real opportunities for food or companionship.
Though he was young, he was wild as the natural land itself, around him. What language he had begun to learn had already begun to fade into his previous life; the quiet, milk-scented peace of warm incubation. That was another life; another Hyagara. Now, he crouched amid the rocks of one of the many gorges like a wild ermine, back arched and short, youthful mane fluffed against the cold, muscle tensed with paranoia and preparedness.
He felt more like prey than predator, especially once one of the larger dagger-toothed beasts of the forest passed by nearby, stirring the waters and mud of his peaceful channel of water with glinting claws and rippling, bulging cords of tendon and bone. It was only by pure luck he had survived so far; living off what little he could find. Fruits, berries, nice fat bugs and worms, small animals injured or recently dead that he could scavenge. His little home was decorated with small bird and lizard bones from edible treasures he had pulled in to that small rocky lair, and spent each night curled up in a somewhat prickly mess of reeds and pine boughs he had dragged in.
He lived each day from sunrise to sunset. There was no goal in his little mind beyond raw survival, hiding in the shadows as long as he could until thirst or hunger drove him out. Though vestiges of fear kept him on his toes, a droll familiarity and resolve seemed to temper his mind... willing to accept what might come. After all, who was he to change fate? He was like a leaf on the very river he lived beside; allowing it to take him where it may, and doing his best to evade the eddies.
He looked out past the ragged outcrops of stone, watching the disturbed water choppily clash against itself as the long shadow of a predator's monstrous tail slowly slid away. The splashing footsteps faded away quite quickly, along with the scrape of rough hide against stone, until only the sound of water and birds filled Hyagara's ears once more. He had survived for another few hours. His heartbeat calmed, and he curled his forepaws under him, eyes sliding shut. Someday, he would be too large for this little cove in the rocks... and what then? Perhaps he could will himself to stay smaller. Yeah... That might do it... Stay small, uninvasive, uninteresting, and perhaps he might live to see his horns sprout further and become sharp.
Submitted By Otterbird
Submitted: 2 years ago ・
Last Updated: 2 years ago
