A Utahraptor stood on a hillside, overlooking a herd of weary iguanodon. They trugded through the ferns, remaining ever watchful of the shadows amongst the trees and ferns. They had very good reason to.
He kept himself well hidden, along with the rest of his pack. His family hadn't eaten in a few days, so it was crucial that this hunt is successful. He looked on in anticipation, searching for the pack leader's signal. Tan feathers bristled on his neck and back, and black spots and stood in stark contrast to the rest of his color pattern. He hid behind two large conifers, making sure he was not spotted. Any mistake, especially panicking a herd of creatures weighing in at several tons, could be deadly.
He was hungry though. And he was young. He was liable to make make mistakes. He spotted a sickly herd member. He shambled along, his wobbling body swaying and jerking like a tree during a bad storm. He groaned a strangled hoot before falling; coming to a stop just in front of the hidden raptor. He was young, like him. He looked to be a very unlucky creature, for he had scars all over its back. He craned his neck around for a moment, then rested his head on the ground.
This was an almost miraculous chance if he had ever seen one. He took a step foward. Careful, careful; he did not need to scare away the prey. The poor thing shivered. He was probably dying from an infection, a reminder of an earlier attack.
Predatory instincts fully awakened now, the raptor creeped ever closer to the unfortunate victim. This was the way of the wild. The weak become food. The lame die. That was how it worked.
He was now close enough to the iguanodon to see the what was the source of the infection. A large, black, scabbed over tear between the creature's side and his thigh. Puss leaked out of where ever the thing cracked. The skin underneath his scales was an angry red. He knew he should have waited for the rest of the pack. But that would have panicked the prey, and regardless of how exshausted he looked, he could still deliver a devastating kick or bite.
That and he would have to wait for food. The elders would feed first, leaving only the low nutritional value of the scraps behind for him and his brothers and sisters. He did not want that.
A few cautious steps closer, and he could sneak around the prey's body and attack his vitals with the aide of surprise. It would still be dangerous though. He would likely have to make many strikes before the prey was safe to begin consumption.
He eyed the saurian while he stalked him. He was nearly uncontious now. This would make it easier, if only a little. He could feel his claws rubbing together in an excstatic friction. He would get this meal all to himself!
He was now standing in front of his goal: right behind his neck.
His eyes flickered.
The creature twitched.
The pack leader stood over his kill. The other elders stood around him, feeding off of the best bits of the cracass. Bits of the liver flopped out of his mouth as he surveyed the landscape. One of them was missing. He had not reacted when he had given the signal.
He dug back into the ribcage. Younger predators stood off to the distance, sitting under a tree while the clan leaders ate their fill. One of them irked her head over towards where they had dispatched. There was a large green shape in the distance. It stood still as stone. Accompanying it was a small tan dot in the ferns.