The Mooshka was steadily gaining on the young Sasquatch.
     For days now his nose had led him on, through fields, past farmhouses and barns, stopping only once to snatch up a cat and steal some chickens.
     With the passing time his broken head throbbed less and even the burns on his back seemed to be healing. With the reduction in pain renewed vigour fuelled his need for vengeance. The thought of it drove him on and he travelled fast on all fours, loping through the long miles with fresh strength.
     He should have caught the youngster by now but amazingly it did not stop even during the bright light of day to rest. He could smell it was weak and injured, pushing itself on and on. Indeed it had been bleeding badly for a long distance before the steady dripping had slowed and stopped. 
     Now his nose told him the young Sasquatch was only a few minutes ahead and the Mooshka picked up the pace. For some time now it had been leading him into the rugged arms of a strange mountain he had never seen before. Something about this place made his senses tingle. Mooshka rarely felt danger threaten, they were at the top of the food chain, mostly.
     Yet here there was an ancient taste in the air and he sensed a great presence watching over the mountain. It had made him cautious but now the scent of the Sasquatch and sweet vengeance for his brother was so close and fresh it encouraged him to move faster. He threw aside the fear and bounded ahead through tall, ancient boulders that were weathered and worn into fantastic shapes.
     Abruptly he found himself in a cool pine forest, a thick layer of needles softening the ground and the sounds of his pursuit. Ahead through the trees he saw movement. His nose instantly told him it was the young Sasquatch. His prey was so close... he could avenge his brother at last.
     Then he saw it stumble and fall. Freezing in place, the Mooshka watched it carefully through small gaps in the brush. Was it a trick? Did it know it was being followed?
     It did not move, except for one hand, tracing the ground with one long finger. What was it doing?
     It lifted its head and looked to one side and for the first time the Mooshka's nose caught that strange, ancient scent that had been teasing him for so long in full force!
     His eyes adjusted and he saw an enormous figure standing in the trees looking down at the young Sasquatch. It was bigger than anything he had ever seen, yet despite its bulk if his nose had not picked it up he doubted he would have ever seen it. It grunted and the young Sasquatch tried to rise to its feet but the effort was too much. It collapsed, exhausted and defeated. The giant stepped forward and the Mooshka saw it carried a long, thick tree trunk in one hand, using it like a third leg as it moved. The other hand reached down and effortlessly picked up the fallen Sasquatch by one arm, holding it high to better inspect it. It hung limply and did not move, was it dead?
     Disappointment filled the Mooshka's body. He had wanted to kill it himself, and eat its heart for what it had done to his brother. But this thing was far far larger than he and there was no way he was going to challenge it for the meal.
     As if sensing his thoughts the giant suddenly swung its boulder sized head in his direction and sniffed.
     An almost overwhelming wave of fear swept over the Mooshka but instead of fleeing in sudden terror he somehow managed to remain still. The wind was in his favour and he was behind trees and brush.
     The giant stood still for a long time, sniffing the air and bobbing its head, trying to see him through the brush and trees. The Mooshka noticed two oversized teeth jutting from its lower jaw like tusks. He could barely make out the eyes under a thick brow, flicking from side to side, trying to see him, but he remained still.
     Then it lifted the tree trunk it carried and slammed it down onto the ground with such force the ground shook. He almost bolted in surprise and shock but somehow resisted the urge to flee yelping back down the mountain.
     Finally, it turned and carried the young Sasquatch off through the trees.
     Anger, both at the lost prize and his own fear, filled the Mooshka's veins.
     He lifted his lips in a furious snarl but was wise enough to hold back the growl that threatened to break the quiet. He had been denied his vengeance!

     A greater power than he would enjoy the fresh meat of its pumping heart.
     Suddenly the smell of the old Hairless One that had contributed to his brother's death wafted through his memory. He still could seek his revenge!

     The memory of the baby's young, sweet flesh followed, making his mouth instantly salivate... he would track down the old Hairless One, take its head and then finish the meal he and his brother had missed.
     The smell memory of the old Hairless One focussed his anger.
     Without another thought for the young Sasquatch he had followed these past days and nights, the Mooshka turned and began to make his way back... back towards the waterfall where his brother had died... back towards the town of the Hairless Ones.
     His strength was regained now. No more would he fear the puny Hairless Ones and their stinging weapons.
     It was time to vent the burning rage of his fury upon every last one of them.