Hatcha the Conqueror surveyed his domain with the satisfied detachment of one who cares not for the rich abundance of crisp prairie grass or the calming majesty of the river winding through and splashing beams of reflected light upon the shaded banks. Even surrounded by the comfortable chatter of his brood of one hundred, the familiar clicking, purring, and whistling could not calm his spirit. For restless boredom settled upon him. 

The horizon called. 

Once the thought arose, his gaze snapped to hill beside the river at the northern edge of the prairie. Just what wonders lay beyond it? A lazy breeze rolled by from the north as he watched, and he tasted the possibility of sweet flowers and melons in the air. 

Decision made, he strode with grand purpose towards the hill. Upon sensing the change in him, his brood quieted and cleared a path. Some of his bolder followers fell in behind him as he crested the ridge. 

The wind was strong here, but through squinted eyes he saw the edge of the hill not far away. He forged on.

Spread before him when he reached the edge was another serene valley. As he suspected, this field burst with soft floral abundance. His followers chittered with excitement, but it was not the sweet prize that raised the fur on their necks. A rival brood occupied the valley.

Hatcha the Conqueror purred. His next conquest awaited.