The Paracrax hen panted in the heat of the day, looking longingly towards the glisten of a stream in the distance. How she longed to stretch her legs and run there, finally fill her parched gullet with water after weeks denying herself the pleasure. But a stronger calling stopped her from even daring to entertain the thought beyond idle desire. The calling of a clutch of eggs which rested beneath her, shaking and jittering as they prepared to see the world within a few days. Yes, just a few days, and the hen's first breeding season would become a success. It was a feat not many Paracraxes could claim to their name, but this hen had just about done it. Just a little more, and she could finally get a drink...

She was so focused on the thought of water in the distance that she only just turned in time to see the worst nightmare of any nesting Paracrax; an ambushing Daphoenus. A hyaenodon might prefer to chase down a camel on the plains, a nimravid might prefer to ambush an oreodont in the woodlands, and an entelodont might be turned away by the smell of feces on her eggs. But the beady-eyed beardogs were as opportunistic as they came, and when they learned the trick of raiding Paracrax nests, they rarely ever stopped.

The hen rose up onto her feet in a wrath, flapping her huge wings, flaring up the long crest of feathers on her head, and letting out shrill alarm cackles. The Daphoenus lurched backwards in shock at the size of the hen, and usually, that would be enough to send the mammalian predator packing with its long tail held between its legs. But this one held its ground, holding its broad head close to the ground and flexing its partially retractile claws in the dirt. The hen shrieked at it once more, lunging off of her nest and pecking at its stubby ears with her stout beak. Once more the raider staggered backwards, but held its ground, observing her hungrily.

It was a sickening realization for the hen to realize that her pecks, which had bloodied the ears of many beardogs before this one, now barely left a scratch. Lack of food and water had weakened her, and this Daphoenus knew it. He had raided many nests before, and knew exactly how to do it. When the Paracrax hen was forced to drop her threat display after just a few moments of flaring her exhausted wings, he boldly made a rush forward. The hen cut him off, her own body shielding her eggs from his snapping fangs as the beardog was foiled. But he whirled like liquid sand, slipping from the Paracrax's sightline and attempting to slither around behind her. His teeth actually managed to graze an egg shell before the full weight of a desperate mother stomped down on his head. But she was clumsy, slow in her stomp and he was much bigger than any Daphoenus she'd seen before. His paws lashed out, raking her scaly limbs with his claws and forcing both apart once more.

The hen continued her screeching attempts to intimidate the beardog, but he had felt her strength and gauged it both physically and visually now. The hen could see no caution in the Daphoenus's loose body language now as it prepared for another run. The raider prowled back and forth, tongue lolling out in that excited, ghastly way its kind habitually engaged in. It let out a series of taunting chitters and barks, its voice full-throaty and bassy with the energy of many other nests raided this season. The Paracrax responded in kind, but even her voice was reedy and thin from so many weeks spent on those eggs.

Still, she stood her ground, standing as tall as she could and flapping her tired wings again. The Daphoenus licked his lips; he was an egg-eater by nature, but he enjoyed the taste of bird meat on occasion as well. It was not uncommon for a mother Paracrax to rather die than be parted with her clutch, and their slow take-off speed meant even those who did realize it could hardly escape him. The hen knew this as well as the Daphoenus did, knew that she only had a brief window to run and gain enough speed to take to the air.

So many weeks of suffering, hunger, and thirst.

So many weeks of tireless incubation gone to waste.

So many weeks of being a mother ended.

The hen did not run. She was still a mother, and she would fight to the death as a mother for her clutch. The Daphoenus saw before himself two meals now, she knew, but instinct compelled her to defend that which she had worked so hard for. She tucked in her wings, stomped the ground, and offered one last warning screech to the beardog. But the raider took no heed. He charged forward, slavering jaws wide open and ready to snap her neck. She saw death coming for her on stocky legs and sharp teeth, a death that wouldn't be dissuaded by the little energy left in her body. Still, she fought back, charging against death with her yellow bill cutting through the air like a bolt of lightning splitting the night. The hen fought for her life, yes, but there was something far more powerful motivating her and giving strength to her protesting muscles.

To live to see her fragile chicks poke their heads out of their shells. That was the only motivation going into her darting thrust.

A splash of red sprayed across the eggs, a bloodcurdling wail echoing in its wake. The hen stood to her full height, dripping blood...but not her own. The beardog in front of her writhed on its back, fluid streaming from its right eye and yelping in agony. Luck alone had delivered her beak to where it needed to go, but her indomitable will had given her the energy to even make that gamble. She trumpeted loudly, stomping down on the Daphoenus and pecking much as she could. The Daphoenus scrambled away from the assault as quickly as he could, leaping side to side in a panicked rout as it left the hen in such terror that he would likely never raid a nest again.

The Paracrax trumpeted at his retreating form, stomping her feet and clattering her bill until she was sure he had fled. When the bushes finally stopped rustling and his yelping echoed into nothing, her whole body sagged and she sat down on her eggs once more. The eggs beneath her shuddered and twitched, and the hen knew it was all worth it. She snipped off a chunk of greenery from the bush nearest to her with her beak, and the Paracrax continued her lonely vigil.