Righty then, here's my uber awesome story.
Shadows of the Arctic Night
The pale light of the moon cast a silvery glow over the frozen landscape. A landscape that was cold as it was harsh. What little else light there was in this freezing, unforgiving land came from the stars, and the flicker of an aurora attempting to ignite itself. It was a place where few survived, and those that did, barely managed the feat. Trees grew in places, stunted in their growth by the lack of it in warmth. And while little life flickered within these evergreens, they were living, as with the rest of this icy world’s inhabitants. Predators, prey. The order of things here was much the same as with other regions, only here it was far colder and harsher. As were the inhabitants. As was the climate.
Constant hunger drove the predatory beasts to their prey, these predatory beasts of cold and darkness. They were one with the arctic night itself. Their very essence exuded darkness. Their power came from the very temperature that constantly threatened their life.
As well as their prey’s life. A slow, lumbering herd of longhaired, brown beasts. Fur covered their entire body, from the shoulder to the head down to the feet. They seemed to be simply lumps of fur, with a round pink nose, like a pig’s, and short white tusks. Presently, a herd of these mammals were foraging for what tiny amount of plant material might be buried under the thick layer of snow. Long dead grass, frozen roots, anything to sate the insatiable hunger of the prey. They were fifteen strong, but their numbers were no use against the impressive coordination of the predators that even now, stalked them.
The predators were fierce in every aspect. Bipedal, powerful and completely deadly. Long, thin arms belied the immense power of their limbs. Three razor sharp claws protruded from the end of each limb, deadly as could be. Their large heads each contained a powerful brain, capable of complex thoughts and emotions unseen in most predators. Through a series of squeaks, grunts and growls, they were able to communicate their intentions to other members of the pack. From one ear to the other, there was a large half-ring of pink feathers, like an exotic headdress -which they could manipulate using muscles just under the skin- to aid in communication. A large pink feather grew from each ear, to aid in keeping it warm, and also in communication. Three pink feathers also sprouted from their rears, and served as tails. Covering their entire body was a thick layer of black, waterproof feathers, similar to a penguin’s, to aid in keeping these predators warm. Their mouths contained two rows of razor sharp teeth, sufficiently strong and sharp enough to enable them to eat anything organic, even the teeth of their prey. Not a scrap of what little food these beasts managed to consume went to waste. For hours after a kill, they would groom themselves and each other until there wasn’t a drop of blood left anywhere on their body, they would even lick blood from the snow, and even eat the hair of their prey.
There were four of them in the pack that stalked the herd in question. Yet four was enough to take at least one of the herd mammals down. The largest in the herd was the oldest, and this was the target. Its fur was a darker brown than the others, it had longer tusks than the others, and it was fiercer than the others. But it walked with a limp, and so it was now somewhat behind the herd, as they were preparing to move on. It made a sound somewhere between a growl and a grunt, to signal the herd to slow down, but they didn’t respond. They sensed that something was near, and were rather frightened. Many yards away hid the pack of predators, which formed a plan to take down the old prey mammal. And take it down they would, for they were starving and hadn’t eaten for over a week, and they would die before they gave up on this potential meal.
They waited. The herd moved ridiculously slowly, and the older, limping one moved even slower, but it was still close to the herd, and if the predators were noticed, the entire herd would charge and gore them. So they waited some more, as they slowly followed the herd, hiding behind trees as they went.
The herd was now about hundred yards ahead of the limping prey. And the predators were prepared to take the limping one down. They were arranged so that two would charge the mammal diagonally from the front, and as it turned around to flee, it would run into two more from behind. Soon it would be far enough away for the predators to begin their attack.
And the predators waited even longer, as the target prey fell farther and farther behind. It struggled to keep up, and even attempted to run, but this stressed its wounded leg, and threatened to break it. So it walked, and hoped that its herd would notice that it was behind. At one point, a herd member noticed that the limping mammal was behind, and stopped for a few seconds to call to it, and urge it hurry, but then the calling mammal began to fall behind too, and so turned around and began to continue on with the rest of the herd.
And now it gave up hope, this limping mammal. It gave up hope of returning to its herd, and of surviving. For thirty-five years, it had walked this arctic landscape, sired many members of its own herd, and even gored multiple predators. But now, it had no hope of ever returning to herd.
Though it had been fine just twelve hours before, it had been bashed in the leg by a herd member that had suddenly and unexpectedly gone mad. Though the mad herd mammal had been gored to death after this, it had still inflicted serious damage to the now limping mammal.
The predators then began their assault. Two charged at the mammal from the front, they dashed like bolts of lightning; clouds of snow were thrown up behind them as they ran at their incredible speed. But the mammal noticed them as they came at it, and it instinctually turned around and began to run the other way.
Then its leg gave in. It shattered like a window pane under the force of a sledge hammer. The mammal screamed in agony. And as it collapsed to the snowy ground, it noticed that there were two more predators, so there were two in the front and two behind it. Pure terror rushed through this animal, for it did not want to die, as any normal animal would, but there was no escape. So it closed its eyes, and braced itself against the pain of the predators tearing it apart.
Which they did. They absorbed energy from the freezing air and channelled it directly into their fangs, and as they grew close to their prey, they jumped, and landed atop it, four at once, and sixteen unimaginably cold fangs sunk into the prey and drew heat from it. It screamed in pain once more, briefly, and died.
And in half a minute, there was nothing left of the mammal. Not a hair, or a tooth or a drop of blood was left on the ground; all of it was consumed by the ravenous predators. And yet, they were still plagued by terrible hunger and so they moved on, as swiftly as before, planning, and hiding, waiting for another chance at food; these shadows of the arctic night.
And in case you didn't figure it out already, this was about weaviles (the predators) hunting piloswines (the prey mammals).