Hoof and Claw
Hoof and Claw
By Ziegenbock
"Easy, tiger..."
The prowling mass of fur and flesh circled his prey, closing in slowly. The mountain goat matched him pace for pace. Usually by this point, predators would have backed off, the legends surrounding the white caprine usually enough to deter any challengers. Another persistent one, he mused, meaning he was either from far away, or very foolish. And he wasn't even full weight.
"If you had any idea who you were facing, you'd walk away now."
"Oh, I know who you are. And I'm the one who's going to put an end to it."
"Listen to me tiger, turn around now and save your dignity."
"Dignity? Ha! The only dignity tonight will be in leaving you as little more than a butchered carcass. I know who you are, goat, and I'm the one who's going to stop you."
"If I had a blade of grass for every time someone's told me that..." His heart pounded in his chest, readying himself for combat. He loved showing off his enormous strength and agility, far beyond even the most seasoned of challengers. And yet, there was something about this tiger that was unusual. A certain style or poise which he had never encountered before. It wasn't simply a desire to fight the goat, but more than that, a desire to prove himself. Finally, an animal who saw combat not simply as a necessity, but also as an art. And in this world of treachery and wholesale slaughter, your only merit as an animal is on how well you kill.
They drew closer, the tiger's deep rumbling growls growing louder, those long tufts of amber and onyx fur ruffling in the bitter evening chill. Swift silent paws swept the bare stone earth, circling ever closer to his prey, that big juicy mountain goat, salivating in anticipation of finally slicing open that steaming flesh. The goat crouched low, long strides matching those of the animal towering a foot over him, showing off his weapon of first choice, two long curving heavy razor-sharp horns growing atop his forehead.
"Nice horns. They'll make a nice trophy for my collection."
"Let's see if you feel that way with them slammed into your head."
The world stood still. Golden feline eyes locked into a devillish, unblinking caprine stare. Confirmation. A fight to the death.
The tiger leapt first, snarling, teeth bared. The goat was ready, and standing his ground, predator and prey slammed into each other, muscle to muscle, bone to bone. Both rolled to their paws, the tiger immediately beginning some frenzied clawing, the goat only just staying out of paw's reach. My God, he was fast. But still, nothing he couldn't handle.
The beasts squared up for a second charge, heavy testosterone-fuelled grunts steaming from each muzzle. The goat moved first this time, lunging headfirst and landing awkwardly before a deep throated bleeeeeat! ripped through the silent air and his hindquarters buckled. In his right haunch, deep crimson furrows had been carved by the tiger's claws. The feline loomed, grinning with delight, proudly flexing his bloodied paws. The goat reached a forehoof to the gaping wound, wiped the blood and licked the hoof clean with a sly, flat-toothed smile.
Grunting and snorting, the beasts engaged once more, sparring and parrying each other's efforts. The goat winced every time he landed on the injured leg, the tiger trying his hardest to exploit his opponent's vulnerability. He was the one scoring all the early points, landing scratches across the goat's muzzle and chest. The tiger won in the weaponry stakes, but the goat was nimbler, and he was happy to take a couple of scrapes whilst waiting for his opponnent's first mistake.
They stood head-on, gauging each other's next move. Some nifty hoofwork and the tiger was wrongfooted, stumbling past the goat who reared up, every muscle rippling, throwing his whole two hundred pound bulk behind a massive headbutt, slamming his rock-hard head and horns full-length into the tiger with a meaty crack!
With a roar, the tiger staggered around in a daze. Quickly, the goat shuffled parallel to him and drove his razor-sharp horns into the tiger's flank. Time and again he stabbed and tore the meat in the tiger's thigh, making him growl and moan painfully. Then, the caprine held still, driving those daggers deeper into his flesh. The tiger tried to pull away, but the goat's sure-footed stance and tough neck muscles made him impossible to move.
Blood stained the animals' fur. Ripping his horns from the tiger's flank, the goat met his gaze, the slow creep of fatigue building in the two beasts. Both were badly wounded, but there was still time for one to land the crucial blow. They closed in breathing deeply, their bodies burning, their vision blurring. The goat proudly held aloft his horns, coated in the tiger's blood, smiling as the tiger barely repressed a growl of anger. Both reared up before horn met claw, claw met horn, goat and tiger matching each other blow for blow, twisting and turning with a savage elegance. Finally, the goat thought, a real challenge.
They met once more, each searching for an opening, a chink in the armour to finish off their opponent. They slammed together once again and held there, claws raking deep into goat flesh, each driving against the other with all their might. The goat was marginally stronger, and even with his hind claws digging into the ground, the tiger knew it would only be a matter of time before he was overwhelmed. Time was running out. Second by second he slid backwards against the goat's merciless thrusts. He had to turn it around. The goat meanwhile drove harder, the sweet scent of victory so close, oh, just seconds away, sweeter than the scent of a hundred heaty does. Just. Once. More.
Suddenly the cat sprang off the ground. The buck started forward, the resistance from the tiger removed. Now! Two velvety paws swung down into the goat's back, slamming him into the ground, claws raking through goat meat, powerfully, relentlessly, rolling him over to gouge through his hairy chest, the desperate billy bucking and thrashing, bleating and bleating and bleating, everywhere pain, nothing but pain, his once-majestic arctic white pelt stained bright scarlet, spumes of blood foaming in his mouth and trickling down his muzzle.
This was it. All the tiger had to do was hold the goat still, then straight for the throat. Those huge meat hooks dug in, making the goat buck frantically. But this time, the tiger held firm, finally exposing the goat's neck, baring his wicked fang-filled maw, snarling triumphantly, his whole body shaking, trembling in anticipation of this most beautiful, most deserved slaughter.
A long, guttural roar of agony ripped through the night sky. The tiger keeled onto his side, claws sliding from bloodsoaked flesh. Blinking tears from his eyes, he could just make out the shape of the mountain goat, biting hard into his paw, teeth sinking deep without even pausing for bone. The goat dodged a swing from the other massive paw, rearing once more before crashing horns-first into the tiger's skull, the feline staggering around half-stunned before a torrent of vicious headbutts, crack after crack of those thick dangerous horns and the tiger collapsed, crumpled on the ground, exhausted and defeated.
There was no celebration. Dazed and weakened from blood loss, the goat set to cleaning the wounds covering his chest, back and flank, breathing hard through slitted nostrils to lessen the spicy coppery taste. Both animals were still alive, but from the sight and the smell of them, they could have emerged from the depths of hell. There was blood eveywhere, here and there scattered with shreds of white mohair. As the goat caught what little breath he could, the orange and black fur pile stirred. He flicked a long white ear in that direction, turning his head and huffing softly.
The tiger's breath was thin and hoarse, chest rising and falling slowly. Staring straight ahead through blurred eyes, he scanned his foggy mind to remind himself of how he ended up in this predicament. And then he remembered, growling with slaughtered pride.
The caprine meanwhile rose slowly to his hooves, fixing the tiger with a deep stare.
"No doubt we shall meet again, tiger."
And away he went, the very wind stilled in respect for its wounded brother.
Who, or what, was this 'animal', who fought and won against predators twice his size, who was mauled and torn to pieces but could still outclass a male Siberian tiger? He had to know. There must be some secret, some rational reason for how, for why, the great predator had become the prey. This was no ordinary goat, that was clear. But the more questions he asked, the more he rationalised, the more the enigma deepened. How did he do it? Where did he come from... where was he going? He had to find out. No matter what it took, he had to be the one who solved the mystery of the great Mountain Goat.