The savanna, dim and parched, bears witness to an unwonted phantasm.
A shadowy breath. A whisper across the grass. A caress on the nape of potential prey.
It sniffs, moist air.
A vision: one watering hole, still fighting for existence eight months into the dry season.
It flashes forward, clearing a pride of lions laying half-asleep beneath a nearby acacia tree.
A graceful stop, and its reflection disperses on the water.
Blurry ripples, a sunken murmur…
It swipes at the surface with its sharpened hoof.
Again.
Again.
Then, an explosion.
A colossal crocodile jumps, desperate, confident—and misses completely.
Before the suchurian predator can process what has occurred, it finds itself lying on its back. Subdued and immobile.
A pair of long fangs sinks into its neck, thick and covered in osteoderms as it might be.
Ungulus von Drakul, Supreme Antelope of Darkness and Father to all Vanelopes, feeds.
— Bastian Espada