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[fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 440px; margin-top: -12px][justify][font=times new roman]Leži Harbringer had done well for himself. This hunt had brought in two fawns, three birds and another Maine Coon.
The albino serval had been out on a little killing spree to bring in sufficient food and supplies for himself -- the fawns were mainly for blood to drink, the birds for their feathers as bedding for wherever he next chose to nest, and the cat was for the meat, the flesh to devour -- and had been fairly successful. Abundant summer prey meant hunts were almost never failed, now, and Leži was wasting no time in building up the reserves for muscle so that he could grow large enough to fight off this year's undoubtable competition that would arise in fury against his tyranny. He knew people would fight him because he was successful in his battles, and budding young brutes always wanted to dethrone the king. Alas, Leži was four years old. He was experienced, he knew how to outwit any teen. They never really stood a change.
Nonetheless, he did not want to be crushed by his arrogance. Thus, he worked on eating, not wishing to neglect his muscle mass. Currently, the serval would be found tearing into the Maine Coon, the blood-drained corpses of the fawns beside him.
[size=2pt] #leziharbringer