The Fanguar

Deep in the longdark swamp lurks a deadly predator. She fears little, but all fear her. Sleek and colored like the shadow she hides in, the smart, secretive fanguar now rules the southern jungle.

A descendant of the leopard-like sphinx, the fanguar is a large griffon that is now among the apex predators of the longdark swamp 290 million years post-establishment. Weighing as much as 400 pounds and stretching up to ten feet nose to tail tip, this powerful, solitary hunter takes a very wide diet, from small scamps to trunkos many times its size, and it is even competent at capturing prey that dwells in the water, snatching it from the shore with its raptorial claws and very elongated hooked beak. Though it is longer legged and less arboreal than its ancestor, it is still a capable climber, and often rests out of sight in the forking branches of the largest swamp trees, even dismembering its prey and carting them up to store there in relative safety from thieves that stalk the shadows below. Most fanguars are melanistic year-round, the tawny spots of their plumage only visible in bright light, though lighter colored individuals with patterns more like the sphinx do exist. This species has also evolved paired ear-like tufts of bristles on their heads that serve as crests to make them appear larger in confrontation, but may also help improve the focus of their hearing.

Fanguar bills are extremely sharp and hooked like a scythe; they are their primary killing weapons, with the claws used only to restrain prey so the jaws can do their work. Ambush predators, they sneak up quietly on their targets and then burst from cover, taking them by surprise. For animals much smaller than the hunter, a single bite accompanied by a vigorous shake of the head is all that is needed to kill, but when hunting big game the fanguar makes use of exsanguination - death through traumatic blood loss - by grabbing the throat and pulling back forcefully, slicing through it with the fang-like notches on the sides of the upper jaw. This method of feeding, more typical of sawjaw molodonts than of any other bird, allows the animal to avoid injury by quickly making a slashing bite and instantly retreating from its wounded victim, allowing it to flee and eventually die over the next few minutes, as the hunter trails it close behind. The fanguar's neck muscles are extremely large and strong, powering its vicious slicing bite that can cut through several inches of muscle to target and sever the neck arteries of its prey.  This hunting technique requires precision and great skill to accomplish consistently, and female fanguars teach this, among other skills, to their young over as long as three years before they are fully independent.

As an adult, the fanguar fears no other land animal except for the late-hothouse squabgoblin, with which it can compete for food in a rivalry carried on from its ancestor. To this creature only, it will usually relinquish its kill if confronted, as it has come to understand the danger posed by weapons - it has become more intelligent over all, probably as a direct result of strong competition with this species over resources and territory, and the need to be able to predict their behavior and adapt rapidly to technological progression, which occurs much faster than typical evolution. And as squabgoblins are still not good climbers, this predator maintains an advantage so long as it can remain within the deep forest, where ancient, towering trees lend it a refuge. Only a single cub is born at a time, allowing its mother to protect it more closely and give it all of her attention. Though the fanguar is now too large to nest, in the way its ancestors did, it continues to hide its offspring in tree holes. Safe hiding places are usually located as high in the forest as possible to keep them safe from predators, and the young are instinctively silent when not with their parent so as to avoid attracting attention. One of their biggest threats, safe in their tree hollow, comes from their own kind. Males wil kill unattended cubs, if they find them, in order to cause their mother to come back into breeding condition. Mothers are the fiercest of all and will defend their young to their own deaths, however, and these males, though more agile, are both smaller and less dominant; she will viciously attack any that come too near her young ones. While even a female fanguar could ultimately lose in a confrontation with a large gang of squabgoblins and their spears and other tools, they have quick reflexes and incredible strength, and will not go down before ensuring their enemies lose some of their own, too. The fanguar is smart enough to understand that avoiding their enemy is the most effective way to survive, however, and does not typically attack the squabgoblin nor steal its food unless their own life or that of their cub is already threatened. Also aware of the dangers the silent, giant hunter of the shadows can pose, the squabgoblin generally maintains a respectful tolerance of the fanguar in turn. 

Though tenuous, this truce between apex predators can benefit the squabgoblin, as the fanguar's presence suppresses the numbers of certain smaller, more agile carnivores that can swoop in and kill their own young and disappear before being seen. What the fanguar receives may be less consistent, and may well be limited to being mostly left alone, but at least some subgroups of squabgoblins appear to venerate the predator for its protection, and will leave offerings of their own food near where one is known to live as a token of their thanks.

~~~

It is early spring in the longdark swamp, and after months of darkness, the first rays of dawn now transform the landscape into a starkly contrasted twilit world of yellow and black. For a young fanguar, now close to 2 years old, it is a time he has awaited. Dawnwalkers, now encompassing several species of bipedal browsing burdles, begin to break out of their underground hibernation chambers and emerge into the light to feed. They stay the year-round and sleep through the winter in order to corner an advantage on eating the first leaves of spring over the migratory animals which have yet to return this far south. But there are some predators that remain here, and which wait for this moment to target the weakened animals as they first rise, having not eaten in months. 

The young fanguar approaches a pivotal time in its life. Before the next winter, its mother will become receptive to breed again, and it will be driven away from her territory. It has less than a year to become fully competent and self-sufficient at hunting on its own, and the clock is ticking. No longer does she do all of the grocery shopping, leaving him safely nestled in a comfy den. Now he is expected to pull his own weight and to contribute. Until now, this has been in the form of assisted hunts with his mother leading the way, or the independent capture of very small animals that were little more than a tidbit of meat. Today, though, he is doing it on his own. Eager to begin, he takes on the very first of the spring arrivals that he finds - a large, adult male dawnwalker. His approach is perfect, silent and quick. His pounce is flawless, powerful and confident. 

But his bite is flawed. His beak slides too far down the long neck of his target, and comes to snap closed not just below its throat, but above its shoulder blade, missing the vital artery entirely. In an instant, the beast throws him off, sending him tumbling across the muddy ground. Now aware he is there, it turns to face him, scythe-like claws at the read, and bellows, an unearthly sound that unnerves the young hunter, and draws the silent but rapt attention of two tall giraffowl in the distance who have only now become aware of the danger nearby. Blood drips slowly from the burdle's wound, the scent tantalizing to the hungry predator, but the cut left by the failed attack is not life-threatening; it is not enough to kill the prey, only to enrage it. Now without the benefit of surprise, the cub is unsure what to do next. At a distance its mother has watched it all unfold from a high tree perch, resting silent and so motionless that not even the giraffowl below have noticed her. She could intervene and finish the kill, and perhaps eventually she will. But it is important for her child to fail in order to learn from his mistakes, and to learn to improvise his technique, and so for now, she remains a spectator in the first trial of adulthood. For very soon, she will not be there to help him out. Win or lose, this contest is one that her son must undergo on his journey to independence.