It seemed like a bluff, but in all truth, Daijur had never really felt nervous. As a cub he had been uncertain over his own skill and for a certainty he had learned the taste of failure one too many times as he aged but to say that he had ever been a creature accustomed to fluttering nerves was absolutely not the case. It meant he dove headfirst into danger and tackled every task with the same unrivaled passion.

Today that task was his very first Viking and no matter Jupe's hope that he failed, even loosely masked in well-wishes, he intended to make it a successful one. She would eat her words, he was adamant, if only because it was becoming a new favorite game of his to play. Failure hardly bothered him so much as losing a playful game of wits and wills. The skeleton-marked lioness wasn't the most willing opponent and for now, it seemed, she was perfectly content to loathe him entirely. That was fine, for now.

Despite his usual contentment to toy with someone, however, the thought of her plagued him as he made his way out of the Stormborn borders and back into the roguelands that had once been his home. It wasn't regret, exactly, so much as it was a simple consumation of his thoughts. He knew well his type - spitfires, the lot of them, all angry and bold - but it wasn't until this moment that he had felt the need to win one of them over to his side. As his dark paws trudged through the frost-crested grass of the plains, he found himself wondering if it was perhaps because all the ones that had come before were so rapt in him that he had never needed to win them over. They had been bold and fiesty, it was true, but also very easy. It was enough that he had to wonder if there were cubs of his out in the world somewhere, raised alone by capable lionesses that had all hoped he might stick around.

It wasn't until the Stormborn and his chance encounter with Jupe that he had ever felt the need to plant his roots anywhere. What was the point of settling down somewhere or with someone unworthy? He valued pride and prowess, knowledge and skill. It had been chance that he had entered the Stormborn and found the culture worthy of himself, it was somewhat more that the girl was dancing along in his thoughts with her scowling face and lashing tongue. Gods help him but he ******** enjoyed it.

Days passed with no real chance at accomplishing anything - that was how the roguelands often were. They were large and empty, dotted with singular lions or moving bands of families and groups. There was always more land than creatures, not counting game animals, and though he had known that it would be this way (he had lived in the lands long enough to know what to expect) he still felt that small inkling of annoyance creeping up in his gut after so long without accomplishing anything. He'd be damned if that girl was right about him. Pushing through his growing doubt, Daijur perservered, traveling the lands in a large semi-circle around the Stormborn territory. Whatever he managed to find he knew would be difficult to bring back alone and there was no need to add a great length of distance as another factor. That being said, he was willing to admit that his choice to stay so close by was probably what was hindering his hunt but he wasn't willing to make the sacrifice just yet - he wanted this to go exactly his way.

It was possible that if it had taken much longer, he might have changed his plan of action. Fortunately, his luck changed on day three.

At first it had been a pack of hyenas that he had spotted - or, rather, heard. They were loud and amused, heckling something that he couldn't quite see at the crest of a lazy, rolling hill. Unpertrubed by the sound of them, he made his way up with silence on his side, taking advantage of their distraction to sneak up behind them. Once he passed the crest, he fell flat to his belly and took in the scene: three hyenas that had cornered a female against a rock outcrop over, he assumed, her recent kill of a klipspringer. It was considerably little meat for the three of them to split but, he assumed, they were just having a bit of fun - she was small, if angry, and they could have killed her if they had wanted.

Perfect.

It happened in the matter of a few seconds. He leaped to his feet without a sound and caught the first hyena with a clean sweep of paw, gashing open his belly with the precision of a male used to using his claws. Blood gushed immediately as the creature cried and all but tumbled down the hill in an effort to escape but Daijur had already moved on, catching a female around the neck with a clamp and ring of his jaws. His teeth sunk hard into the gnarled flesh and he whipped the strong grip until he felt her bones creak and snap, letting her fall limp and lifeless at his feet. The third escaped entirely unharmed but not without a plethora of mental scars. Daijur stood atop the hill, blood dripping from his jowls and splattering his fur, watching as the two remaining members of the tiny pack retreated with what was left of their health. He suspected from the way it was running that the first would not make it, it was just as well.

"Thank you," came a small voice from behind him, quavering over the syllables but he could tell that she was trying her hardest to sound brave and tough. He said nothing at first, only turned his head slowly to meet her gaze where she still stood, cowered back against the rock. She was on edge still, and rightfully so, because Daijur had absolutely no intention of letting this be a rescue. He moved forward toward her wordlessly - maybe it was something in his eyes or the line of his body as he walked, but her ears began to pull back again and her teeth bared even as she shrunk and cowered back against the hard line of the rock face.

"I won't let you have this kill anymore than I would have let them!"

Her words were spit in the air between them and for a wonder, he simply laughed. It was an adorable reaction, really, being that she was so incredibly small for a grown lioness. Without a word for an answer, he closed the space between them and struck her hard across the head - her skull rebounded against the rock and she fell, limp and unconscious.

"Be quiet you foolish thing."

Then he settled, calm and comfortable, to begin devouring the meal she had no doubt worked so hard to get but had also worked so hard to protect. He was certain the meat tasted sweeter for the trouble. It was a small thing, the klip, and in no time he had devoured it entirely. He could have simply left and counted it a trip well worth, bringing home a pelt and skull for pretty trinkets, but that wasn't enough for the soon-to-be Reaver. He sat and waited patiently, cleaning the pelt as she lay there, until he at last heard her grown and stir. The moment she was conscious enough to remember what had happened, her bright, fearful eyes swung in his direction.

"I'm still here," he offered with a smirk, then pushed himself up onto his feet, "And we will be leaving as soon as you can stand." Her mouth parted to protest but he held up a paw immediately, "oh no, you will not talk your way out of this. If you so much as look like you mean to escape me I will run you down and bash your skull in completely this time. Do you understand?"

Her mouth clamped hard around her words and she went rigid and still, but did not answer him. Annoyed, he moved closer, and lowered his great head so their eyes were level.

"Do. You. Understand. Me?"

With fear overtaking her, the bright lioness nodded, wise enough to know that he meant the truth.

"Good."

Daijur drew back as she stood up and the pair of them left, the Reaver and his Thrall.

(1,439 words)