The Crimson Raven
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Picnic TimeNot so far from the activities of the others, a strong and proud creature darted through his forest. A stag, great and tall; he knew there were no other males as strong as he for miles. The bane of the huntsman. He stood grazing in his clearing like a king a misted the dim, green shafts of light that where allowed to illuminate the dense foliage. The birds chirped in chorus to the horizon; the bugs of the late morning buzzed about as they spread the gentle mist of pollen that gave the wind it's sparkle.
There was something though, in the air. Tangs of it wisped pass the stags nostrils every so often. An acute metallic scent he'd come to associate with the fresh kills of a predator. There was a rustle of heaviness from the brush around him and two bird flew from their branch. The stag took no notice. It was only once the wind changed direction he noticed again the sharp scent that assailed his senses, now stronger, more pungent then before. If he'd bothered to stur his attention from the sweet grass beneath his hooves; he would have noticed the red, viscous fluid dripping onto his neck from the distance canopy above; or that the birds had stifled their called; or that the forest itself seemed to hush in the wave of something unseen. It was only after the short, sharp pain that ran through his upper back right through his chest, did the great stag notice the sound of breath above him, or the metallic scent that now engulfed him. His sight grew dim and weightlessness too him.
Opening his eyes to the sound of crunching and lips smacking together in drool-filled delight, the stag found himself stare out at the forest floor below him. If animals had such logic, the stag would have realized he was in a tree, however this point of view just added to his confusion. What was truly worrying was that he had no function in his legs. A glance of his body solved this problem: The fact he didn't have any legs. Either cut off at the knee to chewed down to a stub; the stag watched in muted protest as this last intact legs was gripped by a well kept, but blood soaked, clawed hand, and promptly snapped off with the sounds of wet branch under to foot of soldiers. A low growl, short and indifferent called the stags attention to the creature that sat there next to him. Before his fading sight could focus, to hands now grip the sides head, tight and forceful. He head, followed by his limp and worthless body, were brought up to face his devourer, only to be greeted by an open maw bigger then the stags head. A razor like tongue whipped at his nose before the stags sight faded entirely and all that was left was the crushing of bone as the mouth closed around his head to break it open and suck out the contents with a nosy , and feral vigor.
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