"These wild horses… they should be Przewalski's horses, right?"
James watched the herd carefully as they thundered across the plains. They looked very similar to modern domestic horses, with brownish-yellow coats and sturdy builds. These horses usually lived in grasslands and harsh environments, often moving in large groups. When they ran, they formed long lines, one after another, creating a powerful and organized movement. During the Pleistocene, North America had several species of horses, but most of them eventually went extinct.
Only Przewalski's horses managed to survive into later times. Seeing thousands of them galloping together like this was something else entirely.
This time, Mom and Dad didn't leave. Instead, their eyes locked onto the herd with clear intent, and James immediately understood why.
Compared to animals like bison or mammoths, these horses were easier prey. They weren't as aggressive, and they didn't run as fast as pronghorn antelopes, making them one of the more suitable targets for saber-toothed tigers. After the herd slowed down, they began spreading out across the grassland in smaller groups, some alone and others in groups of three or five. This was exactly the moment predators waited for.
Mom lowered her head slightly and made a soft sound toward James. He understood immediately—she wanted him to join the hunt.
A small spark of excitement rose in his chest. This meant his ability had finally been acknowledged. Zack and Zoe, on the other hand, were left behind. They simply weren't ready yet. James didn't let that distract him. He followed Mom and Dad closely, carefully observing every movement, knowing there was still a lot he needed to learn.
The first step was choosing the right target. Mom and Dad lay low in the tall grass, their eyes scanning the scattered horses. No matter the predator, there was always one simple rule—catch the easiest prey with the lowest risk. In simple terms, pick the weak one. They didn't look at the strongest or healthiest horses. Those were too dangerous and required too much effort. Instead, they focused on individuals that stood out for the wrong reasons—old, injured, weak, or thin. It didn't take long before they found their target: a limping horse.
Even after choosing the target, they didn't act immediately. The next step was judging the wind direction, which was just as important as selecting the prey itself. Many herbivores had an extremely sharp sense of smell, and if a predator approached from the wrong direction, its scent would give everything away instantly. In open terrain like this, where the wind constantly shifted, it became even more critical. James watched closely as Mom and Dad judged the wind based on the movement of the grass and the way their fur shifted. They were currently positioned upwind, meaning their scent wouldn't reach the horses, but they stayed alert, ready to adjust if the wind changed.
The final step was choosing the hunting method. Saber-toothed tigers mainly relied on two approaches—ambush or stalking. Ambush meant staying hidden and waiting for prey to come close, while stalking meant slowly closing the distance before attacking.
In this situation, the choice was obvious. These horses were extremely alert, and any sudden movement could send them running. Ambush was the safer option.
After observing the surroundings, Mom and Dad seemed to predict the path the horses would take. They moved into position, and James followed them into a patch of dense grass. All three of them lowered their bodies and remained completely still. They didn't stay together in one spot either. Instead, they formed a triangular formation—Dad at the front, with Mom and James positioned on either side behind him. It was a coordinated setup, clearly meant to block escape routes.
Not far away, the small group of horses continued grazing as they slowly moved forward. Time passed, and the sky gradually darkened as evening approached. James could feel his limbs starting to ache from staying in position for so long.
For a moment, he felt the urge to relax, but when he glanced at Mom and Dad, both of them remained completely focused and motionless. He forced himself to stay still. A good hunter needed patience—there was no shortcut around that.
Then, suddenly, Dad shifted slightly. It was a small movement, but it was enough. His body lifted just a little, and the muscles in his limbs tightened instantly. James's focus sharpened.
The target was close. The group of horses had unknowingly walked straight toward the ambush point. At the front, a male horse lifted its head and sniffed the air cautiously, clearly on guard. But the conditions were perfect.
Dark clouds covered the sky, the air was heavy with moisture, and the wind direction remained in their favor. Their scent stayed hidden. The horses, eager to feed before the rain, continued moving forward without realizing the danger.
Closer… closer…
James locked onto the target.
The limping horse had stepped directly into the kill zone.