You've never felt the visceral panic of complete and utter upheaval, the destruction of a life you once knew and transition into a life you're completely unfamiliar with. That feeling never really subsides, you just sort of ignore it and fall straight into your fight or flight response. You're nothing more than a monkey with anxiety, they can't unteach that, they can just hide it deep down inside.

LeeRoy's hair blew wildly against the wind, beard flecked with frost and waving viciously. Straight into his face was the wind blowing, forcing his eyes to narrow into thin blades of white hidden among the redness of his cold agonized face. Paranoia had set in, his eye glanced sharply from the left to right and he gripped his spears tightly in both hands. One spear in each hand was facing forward, one spear was facing backwards. Thin stone blades pointing forward and back, his club hug on his hip and the broad flat piece of wood was strapped to his back.

His feet shod in work boots slogged through the snowfall and his heart rate was high, so loud that he could hear it in his ears. Paranoia made every shadow a menace, a beast that he needed to flee. Instead of fear, however, he deluded himself into anger. The heavy heart rate made his face burn hot in the cold wind, his fingers gripped white knuckle tight around the wrapped spears.

Each wind through the trees, each crack of wood, every stone and twig was his enemy. LeeRoy's irrational mind was unconsciously and consciously prepared to lash out aggressively. The darkness of night and the solemn white of snow made a clean cut of earth from sky and his vision was slight. Nothing about this situation was safe so his nerves were on edge. The thick clothes weren't helping much either, his face and fingers were still burning with the cold. Pain and nerves were putting him off the deep end, further and further every moment that passed.

The darkness that contrasted the relative warmth of day was a cruel mistress, one laden with unspoken, unknown, and unimagined horrors that modern man had left behind, one who chose in the depths of its seeming void to fill with shearing cold in place of any ounce of sympathy. For earlier, while it had dusted snowfall throughout as a blessing, now the deathly chill was a curse, one that threatened to sap life until death; exposure. What few graces there were, if one could even think of them in any straight, sane mind with the hand dealt, were that the killing cold was not perpetuated by flaying winds or dense fall... though the graces there ended, perhaps with a sense of determined punctuation to them, as though fate thought itself much too kind.

Unlike the lone man wandering the dark, the more fierce things did not find themselves blinded or burning by the cold. Instead, these curses were the boons they could have asked for should they have had the power of mind to beseech such powers for the gifts; they made prey stiff, inflexible, easy to track, blind, deaf, and more importantly, reckless and easily startled. Predators relished the night, even the hours of dawn and dusk, but they as those to come after them had a special fondness for the cold and snowfall. It posed advantages that were never gained in the hours of daylight or in the warm midsummer months where the herbivores flourished.

One of these fiercer things, in its own lonesome, had taken to the night at hand from wherever it lurked. Perhaps some of the thicker brush or exposed stone, or maybe it was such a hardened thing as it appeared that the snowy cloak that fell over the land posed it no real need to avoid the cold, rather only the desire. Whatever the case may have been, its stirring was not without purpose, for in order to fill its need - the desire to live and survive - it would need eat. Though what could be done alone? Large game was difficult by one's self, nothing to distract or lure it into a well laid trap, just as small game was too fleet of foot to keep on in pursuit of. Scavenging was always an option, especially as the hungry cold preserved meat and bone alike from the various forms of pestilence, almost neatly packaging it for any hungry carnivore to come.

Something was different in this nightly venture though, something unexpected. It came with a scent to several hundred million receptors that made up the nose, something that would put its distant competitors of the future to shame in. Curious as it was, scanning the dark, it wasted no time in drawing the cold, scented air in across its jaws with an agape mouth. Such fine tasting of every detail, it could withdraw facts as subtle as age, fitness, fatigue or stranger things yet, but there was no true need for these - not nearly as much for direction or detail. Whatever it was, it was no large thing and was pronounced with exertion and agitation. Odd that it made no sound, not as others did in such a state, but enough to rouse curiosity and the uncontrollable urge to hunt.

Thus when the once settled paws put to tracking in a calm walk, testing the air time and again with an open, fanged mouth, the wandering, wavering pattern diminished as it honed in closer to the source. First it was the odd gust that moved with the wind, tossed aside, but soon it was a trail, then on? Not even the concealing snow could hide tracks, layers or not, light or rather the seeming lack thereof. The contrary was true at that, the ambient moonlight refracted amongst countless falling icy particles and scattered wide; how bright it made the night to anyone with the talent to truly see it. Sound in all of this, a factor as it needed to be to come, played but no role still - no baying or whinnying - instead just deathly silence, as much so as the deadly hunter itself.

That gift of hearing would come in due time, but in the meantime the calmly hounding figure kept on in search of its quarry, pausing now and then on its winding way to discern where next the wind would come and go until it could find the source outright, walking almost as if it moved in an arc.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity
Unconsciously his mind retraced his steps, his vision glanced behind him to see a thin trail left behind himself. A line of footfalls where he'd been, clear evidence that he'd walked this way. The thought took a moment to process and he realized that he might be followed in this method, realizing that he was both out in the open and likely reeked. His nose could only smell that icy coppery scent your nose takes on when chilled and frosted, but he could feel the sweat inside his coat and boots. Returning his eyes forwards he raised his arms up slightly and picked his pace up, pressing the spears against his waist to narrow himelf as much as possible. Hot breath steamed from his lips and nostrils with every breath, he breathed in with both to gulp as much air as possible.

Physically he was far from tired, strained but not from exhaustion. Every muscle fiber in his body was fighting against the instinct to break into sprint, to frantically run away from some unseen abomination. Livening his pace and thinking back to his childhood, the things he was taught young. How to survive, how to fight, how to know when to run. His father knew he was unhealthy, his father knew he would have a hard time growing up.

Teaching him young, he was taught how to swing an axe. He was taught how to use his weight, great or small. Taught how to use leverage as the ultimate strength, taught how to weave bark fiber into simple rope and sharpen rocks by striking them at an angle. He'd need to construct something other than weapons soon enough, his clothes wouldn't be sufficient for keeping him warm for too long. A fire would be necessary, fortunately winter provides much in the way of kindling. How quickly could he get a fire started?

It'd be minutes at best, right now the best thing to do was to keep moving. Keep the body warm with exhertion, friction of skin against cloth to generate heat. As long as his breath steamed he was alive, it was when he stopped breathing out steam that his concerns for fire should grow to their peak.

Consciously he breathed out, watching the steam pour from his lips in the near darkness. Tightened his hold on the spears and pulled his head down, tucking his chin to his chest.

He was fine.

Now and again a pause amidst the tall grass glazed with frost was needed, a nose wafting over their long blades, with a rolling breath washing over them in the process. The trail itself was irrelevant, the shortest distance between two points not the focus of the matter, rather just the type of thing it was in the first place. What information could be gleaned made it clear it was small, no greater than an elk in size for certain, no smaller than a pronghorn, but none of those was it at all, especially not as it traveled so alone in contrast to what was to be expected.

Still, moving on a distant curve away from the beaten path following the scent upwind, the cut in on the path from a flank was made only when the smell began to strengthen in intensity and concentration. For the hungering maw, whose jowls and whiskers were tinged with gathered snowflakes and naturally camouflaged in the embrace of winter, it flared and drove the rest of the elongated body to a halt. For a time it waited as it had before, but now the surveillance changed in nature; food was close, but where upon the horizon was it? The tall grass would obscure at least part of it, so to hurry into the scene out of hunger and curiosity was out of the question. Instead, with pupils enlarged and scanning, it noted every subtlety of the environment.

Motion was its trigger, for while it could not discern something as fine as the difference between turquoise and aquamarine, even the slightest movement overlaid an object and betrayed its position. Camouflage or not, if it were not still or could not expertly mimic the environment, it had little chance of evading the eyes of a cat. Sure enough from this, despite the ambient snowfall, a silhouette in the distance appeared, breaking the scattering of light to form a moving figure which was backlit; it was odd, tall rather than long, with strange prongs front and back.

Only casually breathing, mouth agape, it proceeded to watch from its point in the distant dark, well over a hundred meters, ears listening for the slightest detail; at times it tapped the crunch of snow and grass beneath the thing, the eerie quiet giving the illusion of auditory improvement when rather it only drown out other noises. But the giant tan thing was not so limited, for even as it scented the air again and continued to watch the open night for anything else that might be stirring, one ear kept tab upon even the slightest noise it made whenever they did rarely reach it, turning to track the sound. It decided then, with the tip of its tail flicking from left then to right, back again and then some, just what it intended to do.

Against his better judgement, LeeRoy stopped when he saw a large tree. Untouched by men it was allowed to grow tall and strong. Dark against dark in the blackness of night, the dim moonlight barely escaping through the clouds didn't provide enough illumination for him to see the top, there were a few branches that had enough snow on them that he could see them. He turned around and pressed his back against it, taking a deep breath in through his nose and mouth. Feeling the bark through his coat he felt some kind of odd comfort, looking back the way he came there was a moment of calm. Wind no longer in his face and the snow no longer falling right on him, he breathed deep once more and rubbed his face against his shoulder.

Down the path he'd came from he couldn't see anything, shuffling slightly he turned around the tree to see if there was anything behind. Again, nothing but the darkness of night and the white of snow. Turning back, he let his weight drop slightly onto his back and hips. Putting the weight on the tree to relax for a moment, taking another deep breath and trying to deal with the realization that this is happening.

Nothing about this situation made sense, one second he was in his room and the next he was here. There was no buffer period, there was no unconscious section where he simply didn't remember. It was clean cut, room and then hellscape. If it hadn't been winter he might not have been alive now. His coat, pants and boots were sufficient but he needed rest and shelter. But most of all he needed heat.

Safety was paramount, his crudely fashioned spears, hammer and shield wouldn't be good for anything if he didn't make it to sunrise. Daylight would be safer, even if it weren't warmer he would at least be in a more advantageous position. Just needed to make it to daylight.

The other, still an unknown in the dark, watched attentively from where it sat until the night's stranger went about off into the dark further and all but began to vanish. It carried on in pursuit, or rather a casual walk that followed parallel to the trail the thing made that led itself closer to the odd tree that arose here and there. The show of curiosity versus potentially an easy meal were carefully poised in opposition, either this thing was a matter of interest to be explored or merely just another to be eaten, yet which it was did not seem to be clear at the moment. Was the proposed risk worth the reward? Was there any reward at all?

Such simple reasonings were not enough to dissuade it however, as each of its widespread paws carried it along and across the thin layer of snow just as silently as they did before until it came closer still. It laid itself down from a ways behind the robust base of the elder tree, camouflaged perfectly amidst snow crested blades of tall grass; for the moment it chose to watch and observe, to better sort its two options. The only hint of its internal and simplistic debate was the repeated and subtle twitch of its tail again, its broad head dipping between the blades or rising from time to time as it sought a better view, hesitating between a natural need for pursuit - the fact the thing exposed itself at all by setting down rather than remaining upright - and a natural wariness of anything exceptional or odd.

Now and again the tenseness of its back rose then fell at the hair, attempting to become comfortable in what seemed as though it might be a long wait on a night whose temperatures threatened to fall lower with the passing hour. It mattered not, at least not urgently, the patience to lie in wait for hours on end in no short supply for this tawny figure like its relatives. So in place of that hurry, it contented itself with tasting the air again and awaiting what next would come.

Leaning against the tree, he stuck the blunt of his forward facing spears into the snow, pointing out and away from his body and pressed up against the roots of the tree. Able to keep moving, yes, but this was a good spot to catch his breath and try to get his bearings. So far he hadn't been menaced by anything, so collecting himself was important.

He flipped the backwards facing spears forward, so all four spears were propped out and away from his body. Two supported by the tree and two in his hands. Removing the wooden plank he dropped it forward and dug it into the snow, piling up a small hill of it around the base so it would provide some kind of wall to keep snow from piling up on him directly.

Completely immobilizing himself and planting himself firmly in one spot, LeeRoy used his boots to push away as much of the snow as possible and provide even more of a dugout between his spears and shield. Not much of a protection from anything except wind and snow, but regular dirt under his boots felt more comfortable than snow.

Despite the show and method of the display the lost figure put forward, the menace of the crude, pointed spears, the apparent observer turned stalker was not dissuaded. If anything the act of burrowing incited a sense of attentiveness to it, the to point it dropped to a low creep, even at a distance and at a skewed angle. It was neither directly from behind it neared closer yet nor was it from the side; the motion was not conscious, rather an instinctual understanding of the blind spot most prey things had. Unbeknownst to it, the quarry was no conventional prey item who had a wide field of view, but this method would not have varied much either. After all, most anything short of the large porcupine or glyptodon, was most vulnerable at such a point.

Slinking along, pausing only now and then to observe, it came closer still almost to the base of the snow shrouded tree, but mere feet away. With no moonlight through the obscuring environment, not that it would have helped much, it was a ghost in the darkness which balanced upon delicate albeit broad feet. Both ears now sleek to its leonine head, it held its position for a few tense moments as the snow continued to build into a mound around the dug out, backed by the shield. It was then, creeping about the side of the tree, it launched its attack from behind the shoulder.

The round base of the large, old pine prevented a direct attack from the rear, but as with any lion or its relatives this meant very, very little. If anything, it changed nothing at all in fact. The first thing the prehistoric felid did was drive its head around, jaws first toward the side of the neck, but turned it back inward so it was hooked and straight toward the throat; this was measurably timed with the outer paw reaching in to try and find purchase upon the chest. This method of biting would tuck itself to beneath the prey item's chin, shielding the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of the hunter while giving the defending beast little means to do anything but attack the thick, muscular neck or incredibly dense skull, if it even had recourse at all. Several millions of years of evolution had refined this tactic which naturally kept the cat away from what were usually crushing forelegs' hooves or spearing horns and led directly to their usual method of killing by suffocation.

The paw however had a different purpose, to act as an anchor and cement a hold, splaying with terribly vicious talons that were curved like fishhooks; the moment one should catch, the cat could clench and drive them in with a tensing. At such a point one of only a few things tended to happen, either they were affixed to the flesh, tore violently free by the ensuing struggle and creating deep wounds, or at times became stuck - much too hooked or sharp for their own good and often at the hands of an inexperienced cat. Regardless of the ultimate case or outcome the only more dangerous weapon were the teeth punctuating the bite; not that the claws which could flay hide were not bad enough, but the crushing, piercing jaws were unmatched.

Teeth, with nearly two-thousand pounds of bite force per square inch, put their pointed ends to the outsider they held in peril; more than enough to pulverize a femur in one single gnash, aimed at what might well have been the most vulnerable point of an entire human being.

The rest of the cat, seemingly somewhat lost in the snowdrift at the base of the tree were it not for the fact it was pushing aside the cold mounds, balanced upon its three remaining legs and weighed its mass out with its long tail. Already balanced to drag back the moment paw and or jaw found their mark, it was not about to let its quarry dig deeper into its burrow to escape. Most things that tended to do so were unpleasant, often biting at the cat's paws or worse, inflicting a painful quill or jet of burning, stinking chemical odor to drive it off. If it were going to eat, its prey drive having been sufficiently stimulated, it intended to act fast, something even the grace of winter in this odd place could not stop. After all, the sole thing more powerful or talented than it was more a finesse hunter with a far more fatal bite...

LeeRoy is mauled by the prehistoric lion, completely unaware of its existence until the last moment.

GG You Win.

You proved lions can beat humans in a fight as long as the human is completely unaware of your presence and doesn't know he's in a fight.

You've proven your point, congratulations.