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The damp air was pressing on him, licking the nape of his neck, and bogging his lungs - but he liked it. Beads of sweat were gathered permanently across his forehead, and it seemed all of his exposed skin had a sheen to it. His breath came easy and evenly, the tips of his black gloves resting in the moist earth as he crouched beneath varied green vegetation. His muscles were relaxed, but his eyes were darting from one area to another, catching any patterns the beasts may express. Their sharp scent stung his nostrils, but he did his best to ignore it. The driving force today was hunger, and the large raptor eggs were the target.

Before coming to the jungle, he hadn’t known these animals existed. They were truly magnificent, pure hunting and ravaging machines, and he held a surprising respect for the primitive creatures. He had found their nesting ground, and it seemed they didn’t keep to their own nest; instead, the wandered the entire ground and checked on each clutch of eggs. Interesting... A tall female began to stroll toward his hiding spot, her dark eyes focused on the nest that was closest to the unknown spy. She bent her neck and nudged the eggs randomly, pushing them closer together. Her nostrils flared and she took a few deep breaths, her snout suddenly pointing toward the cluster of ferns. For a tense moment, she watched the leaves carefully. Satisfied nothing was amiss, she turned and moved further into the nesting ground.

A stream of sweat trickled down Yarwood���s neck and stopped at the small hollow, pooling at the middle of collar bones. He swallowed hard, letting out the breath he had been holding with a slow whoosh. After another glance around with red-brown eyes, he decided now was the time. Muscles tensed as he shifted forward, timing his sprint to the targeted nest. One more glance to the patrolling raptors, and he lunged forward, his eyes dropping to the clutch of eggs twenty feet ahead. His boots gripped the packed earth easily, allowing him to sprint forward in a matter of seconds. With his heartbeat singing in his ears, Yarwood slid the last few feet on his thigh, arms extended to immediately start gathering the eggs. Luckily, the eggshells were rough, and he was able to hastily shove three, then four eggs into his bag. A shrill screech cut through the humid air, and Yarwood took that as his cue to leave.

He cinched the top and headed back the way he had come at a dead run. He burst through his previous shelter, his right arm cradling the stolen goods and his left arm pumping at his side. He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder, as he knew what he would see: a very angry mother raptor with blood in her eyes hot on his trail. The hairs along the back of his neck lifted as he changed direction, heading for a thick copse of trees. The trunks were large and close together, and their gnarled roots gathered and knotted at the soil. As he reached the first tree, he began to pant as he went through his very short list of options. The raptor was a large beast, and unable to make sharp turns. So, it was here he would make a stand.

His boots worked fast as he climbed over the first set of roots, spinning and sidestepping to reach the next tree. The bark was wet, and he slipped a few times but caught himself with his free hand. He could hear claws and teeth on wood, and that made him pirouette faster. A foot slipped and he slammed into a trunk, and he could hear the unmistakable crunch of eggshell. He let out an exasperated groan, hoping beyond all hope that this trouble wasn’t all for naught. Beginning to tire, he grunted and growled his way further into the tight grouping of trees, the sound of the mother raptor getting further away. He was right - she couldn’t get into the trees!

When he was satisfied that he had pushed far enough into the trees, he slumped against a trunk and openly panted. His chest developed a stitch on the left side, and he clutched it as he slid down to his rump. He took a few moments to catch his breath, reluctant to look in the bag. Eventually, he worked up the courage and loosened the top, reaching in to bring out an egg. However, he was met with something extremely sharp, and he quickly pulled his hand back with a pained yeow! Dangling from his thankfully-gloved index finger was a tiny, slimy, scaly thing, chomping and scratching and thrashing about. Yarwood’s jaw dropped in disbelief, before another good chomp brought him back to reality. “What... What’re you doing, you litte bugger?!” He let the sack rest between his legs on the tree root and grabbed the struggling raptor on its snout, slowly prying its teeth from the black leather. Even though its whole head fit in Yarwood’s palm, the reptile still fought against him. He slid his hand down to its neck and cupped his hind feet in his other hand, trying to hold it still and not drop it.

After a few moments, the raptor realized its struggle was futile, and he looked up at its captor with a small snarl, its tail twitching back and forth. Yarwood could only laugh, a loud belly-shaking cackle, the full scenario playing out in his mind in a comedic fashion. “You’ve got to be joshin’ me,” he muttered, eyes going back to his newest problem. “And what am I to do with you, yeah? Did you crack my other eggs?” Yarwood glanced into the bag and groaned, slumping once more. The raptor clicked then trilled, as if proud of itself. 

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