Hunting for Variety

    Kit crouched, her eyes trained on the stray dog that had wandered into this stretch of woods.  It seemed to be attempting to track something, and Kit snorted in derision.  It was a mutt, someone’s lost dog, and it had none of the instincts needed to survive on its own. Even now, it had no idea it was being hunted as it desperately sniffed and dug around, trying to figure out how to find food.  Kit shifted her weight a bit, making sure she was balanced on all four legs.  She wasn't hungry really, but she could feel that side of her demanding to be freed.  Davias called it a beast, and Kit felt the name was apt.  He also insisted on come semblance of self-control, claiming she needed to balance things.  But that beast and its instincts had kept her alive for a long time.  Even after the ages she had spent with Davias, it was hard to ignore that other voice that growled and clawed at her, demanding to come out.
    Right now, being a bit bestial was all to the good, and Kit launched her feline body at the dog, hitting it in the side and knocking the startled mutt to the ground.  The dog struggled to get up, yipping in fear and surprise, but Kit gave it no more time.  As a lynx, she was about the same size, and she had the dog easily pinned as she tore at it’s neck, instinctively going after what she needed to survive: blood.  To a human, the sounds the dying dog made would be horrible, but Kit barely noticed as she fed.  She felt no guilt, considering ending this stray’s life a merciful end.  A quick death was better than a long, drawn out death by starvation.  And while the world of the cities dictated only killing with cause, the world of the wilds demanded that only the strong survive.  
    Maybe it was a sound or a new smell, but something alerted the beastial side, and Kit straightened suddenly, her fur standing up as she snarled.  The approaching legs were familiar, and Kit craned her neck up to see Davias frowning as he approached.  Kit quickly forced down the instinct to crouch and hiss to warn the approaching predator off her kill.  She glanced down, noting that the dog was pretty much done anyway, so she offered no resistance when Davias grabbed the scruff of her neck to lift her up to his eye level.  
    “This is not what I meant about needing more variety in your diet and you know it,” Davias said.  Kit flattened her ears slightly, mostly to tone down the voice that was much louder to a lynx, but it had the added advantage of making her look repentant too.
    “I am glad to see you graduate from local wildlife, but local pets are hardly a step up,” he continued, though his tone was not exactly scolding.  “Are you at least done, or are you still hungry?”  Kit didn’t struggle to get down, which Davias took as a cue that she was fine.  He lifted her to his shoulder.  As big as a lynx was, Davias was plenty big enough to handle the extra weight on his shoulder.
    “And no clawing.  I like this coat,” he warned as Kit settled herself.  Once she stopped moving, he started walking back in the direction of the haven.  Kit kept watch around them as they moved, though nothing seemed out of place as far as she could tell.  They had just gotten here, so she hadn’t been in the woods here enough to have them memorized.  She couldn’t help whining slightly as they emerged from the trees, and Davias absently raised a hand to scratch her neck and ear.  She sighed as she reined in the instinct to jump and run back into the trees.  
    “Safety is with the pack, home is the haven,” she mentally recited.  “Do not show fear. Support your comrades.” As much as she wanted to hide in the woods, safety and survival was with Davias, her pack, and the city.  And now the pack and the Sabbat’s city expected her to repay by protecting them as well.  Kit had considered that concept for an entire night, comparing it to things she remembered reading when she had been human, before she had accepted the situation.  One did not just take, one was supposed to reciprocate and share to some degree.