The wind shifted by a fraction, and he knew that the hare had sensed something was amiss in its surroundings. The long ears twitched in his direction, and its face whipped around to stare into the undergrowth, where he had taken to resembling a fine taxidermy in his complete stillness. He silently cursed himself for not heeding the wind better, like his dad taught him to, but then again, his dad didn't have the advantage of not having to be green every time he shifted. The tawny brown and black lynx was now thanking Azar that he at least had one-upped his old man in that department. What was far harder to master (and what his dad kept trying to remind him of) was being in sync with his own environment, a natural talent that he clearly didn't have enough of at his age compared to his father. He was improving in that area, thankfully, and that wasn't all that his skill set offered, he reminded himself with more than a bit of cocky pride.

The lynx let one fang show a bit in a small private grin as he let down his mind's guard a bit to get a feel for just how alert his prey was. Though nowhere near as in tune with his mother's gift as he sometimes wished he was, what he could do was at least get a feel for those around him in a vague sense, and the hare frozen before him was radiating what he recognized in animals as nervousness, with a pinch of fear thrown in for flavor. It felt like an eternity was passing as predator and prey sat in complete stasis, each waiting for the other to show their hand. He was nothing if not patient (another gift from his mother), but his primal instincts were screeching at him on the inside, desperate to begin the chase, and he knew it wouldn't be long before the tightly stretched cord in him snapped and impulse took over.

The moment came quicker than he liked, because the hare apparently decided to err on the side of paranoia and had just began to coil into a quick bound away from his position. Luckily for him, his own spring had been wound for a few moments before his prey had begun its own retreat, and the movement of the hare's leg muscles was enough of a tell to allow him to finally cut loose.

Like a trebuchet unwinding, gaining momentum with every revolution, his acceleration from his prone state increased exponentially from the point of his release, spurring him forward to pursue the target. The hare was certainly quick, as all hares were, and more than agile enough to change direction on a dime, but this wasn't his first hunt, and he quickly adjusted his angle to intercept. The chase was over quickly, no more than a few seconds, but the minutiae of the pursuit made time slow to the pace of a frozen river in his mind. Before he had the opportunity to listen to something other than his instincts, he had trapped the hare in his paws, pinning it to the ground where it squirmed in a futile effort to escape. His claws were retracted, however, so the creature was quite unharmed. After keeping it ensnared for a few moments, enough to let his human mind catch up with his animal nature, he let the hare out of his grasp, and it hastily skittered away in a flutter of leaves and grass.

Of course he wasn't going to actually kill and eat it. He was a vegetarian, like his father, for all the same reasons that the famed green Titan had when he was his age. Being the entire animal kingdom in one body presented a conflict of interests when it came to eating flesh. The lynx sat back on his haunches, nonetheless satisfied at his successful hunt.

Eugene Dayton Logan stretched his face wide in a yawn, feline fangs flashing imperiously for a moment. Looking around, he reared back on his legs, and launched himself skyward, transforming midair into a coal black raven and took to the sky, breaking free of the forest canopy into the early morning sunrise. This patch of forest was situated several miles outside of Jump City, and was his father's old stomping grounds when he himself was a teenager at Titans West. It seemed only fitting to Gene (as he preferred to be called) that he make the same area his home for the times when he needed to heed his animal desires. He also thought it a simple matter of course that his preferred bird of choice for flight would be a raven. Though his powers leaned far more towards his father than his mother, he enjoyed paying homage to his maternal namesake whenever the chance presented itself. These idle thoughts came and went along with others as Gene made his flight back to Titans Tower, still as stalwart as ever on its island in the bay, a sentinel for strength and justice.

Coming to the roof of the T-shaped building, he began his transformation back to his human appearance as he alighted on the concrete. A young man of seventeen took shape, shaggy midnight blue hair that was almost black coming to just past his ever so slightly elfin ears. His eyes were the same emerald as his fathers, but he had most of his mother's features for the rest of his face. His wiry frame was another testament to his father's genes, but he carried his six foot figure with his mother's lithe grace. Indeed, it was impossible to mistake Gene for the child of anyone other than Garfield Logan and Rachel Roth-Logan upon looking at him.

No one was up on the roof so early in the morning, but he imagined a few more industrious Titans might be either making coffee or doing some training in the fitness room. Striding to the elevator that would take him down, Gene contemplated yet another method of convincing his friends and colleagues the benefits of tofu bacon in the morning, while thinking about picking up on that chapter of Hemingway he had had to postpone for a call to action last night…

Yes, Gene Logan was certainly his parent's child, all right. He could only hope that he lived up to their reputations when it was all said and done and written in the history books.