Dark clouds discharge their burden upstream, churning the dry riverbed into a hellish vein of foaming water. The rainy season has finally returned to the scorched, parched land with a rumbling fury, heralding in a chorus of long thunderclaps the arrival of the migrating herds. Thousands of famished, thirsty animals enter the grassy plains and start milling about, cropping the sunburnt grass and newly formed shoot's, ever encroaching upon the thickly wooded forests fringing the almost dry riverbed.

Inside the deep, dark forest, hungry eyes are patiently watching.

The ancient Glossotherium gingerly makes its way down the small embankment running towards the drying river. The wide, flat, muddy edges of the shore are bordered by thick, gnarly trees and not a lot else. The tall grass, so abundant only a few short weeks ago, has been cropped down to its roots from constant grazing by thousands of insatiable herbivores. The numerous herds of bison, Stegomastadons' mixed in with the hairless mammoth Mammuthus, all moved into the area for a short rest before continuing their long journey towards the winter feeding grounds. The herds had arrived early this year, and the rains late, catching the grassy plains of Pleistocene America before the cycle of re-growth had begun. The long grasses, so necessary for the survival of the herds, had no chance to mature. Tiny shoots would appear, then be immediately devoured by a hungry animal, giving the plants no chance to fully-develop.

The world was changing! Winters were shortening and summers lengthening. To the giant herbivores they were subtle, imperceptible changes, yet all would have catastrophic results. These minor changes would start major ones, shifting the natural order, sending these gigantic animals and the carnivores that prey on them into extinction.

But that was the future. For now, all there was to be concerned about was the upcoming rutting season. Males would soon start fighting between themselves for the right to mate with the herds' cows. This was a dangerous time for all. Jousting males could as easily trample a juvenile or unaware female as one of their opponents.

The heat of the day was taking its toll on the heavily coated Glossotherium the desire to drink had become impossible to ignore. History had taught the giant Sloth that watering holes were not the safest places to stray into by your-self, and they were twice as dangerous during the middle of the day. Normally the Sloth would only approach the water when the herds came into drink. There was safety in numbers! But the herds had already visited the river, and night was a long way off. The old Glossotherium needed to drink, whatever the consequences may be.

Entering the shade thrown off from the trees lining the water, the ground Sloth noticed the untouched tuffs of grass still standing around the edges of the river. Though the bank was low here, giving descent access to its water, the sides of the embankment rose sharply, making the grass on these slopes almost completely inaccessible to the heavy Bison and Mammoths. But the sure-footed Sloth would easily get at it. But first, water.

The Glossotherium deliberately placed its knuckles on the mud, curling its clawed hands inward as all sloth's do, then carefully made its way across the churned up mud towards the remaining water out in the middle of the bed. A quick look around to be safe, then the 12-foot long herbivore lowers its head and starts lapping up water with its immensely long tongue.

Having finally sated its thirst, and smart enough to realize the danger, the Glossotherium turns and heads back towards the hard packed earth of the far bank.

Again on dry land, the giant Sloth walks over to the grassy embankment it had spied earlier and starts to feed on the long grass.

It's then the Smilodon strikes.

The great sabre-toothed cat had seen the plant eater moving towards the watering hole and had quickly moved into position. These days the large ground Sloth's were rare and to find one out in the open, completely vulnerable like this was an opportunity the Smilodon refused to miss out on

Moving silently through the tall grass running alongside the river, hidden behind a screen of dark brown tiger stripes along it's tawny hide, the Smilodon was all but undetectable, hidden amongst the grass. Slowly it crouches and watches as the Sloth pulls itself out of the mud, then amazingly wanders over and starts eating the very grass it's hiding in.

Unable to restrain it's blood lust any longer, the Smilodon springs out of position, and with three large, bounding steps, jumps at the side of the Glossotherium, who, startled by the sudden commotion, tries to turn and run away.

The Smilodon hits the sloth in the shoulder. Though much lighter then the massive herbivore, the cat carries enough weight to drive the Glossotherium to its knees. Sharp claws bite deep into the sloth's skin, giving the sabre-toothed Tiger enough grip to wrestle the struggling Glossotherium onto its side. Though not as fast as the great cats that would follow, the Smilodon is more solidly built, with infinitely more power tied up into its stocky frame. This allows the carnivore to overwhelm its prey with sheer brute force.

The old Glossotherium struggles to get its legs back under its giant frame, trying to regain its feet. But the massively muscled Smilodon just clamps onto the herbivore and rolls it back to the ground.

Jumping on the Sloth's head, pinning it firmly in position, the cat opens its mouth to an almost unnatural width, revealing the 7-inch sabres jutting from its top jaws. Then in one quick bite, it bites the Sloth's exposed neck, severing major arteries along with the animals' windpipe, killing it instantly.

With the same biting motion, the sabres slice themselves free of the neck, safely removing them from harms way before the dying animals thrashing body can damage them. Though large, the sabre-teeth are quite fragile, with almost any type of side ways pressure capable of snapping them in two.

The Smilodon, its victim now very dead, places its front paws on top of the carcass, raises itself, conqueror style, over its victim, and gives out a mighty roar. The great cat then jumps down and starts to feed just as another roar answers its challenge.

The mighty hunter raises its head out of its meal in time to see a second Smilodon step out of the grass, onto the riverbank.

This new Smilodon is older, with a massive head and immensely muscled body. One of its Sabres is broken and it also walks with a limp, showing an injury obtained during a previous fight with a rival. Incapable of hunting, the old Smilodon is now forced to scavenger, a role its teeth certainly helps it play. No dire wolf or smaller predator will hold their nerve in the face of such a well-armed killer trying to steal their meal.

The old male roars its' challenge, bearing his massive canine teeth in a display of superiority. The young male follows suit, adding to the loud din already reverberating around the in-closed space of the watering hole.

Both animals eye each other off, looking for any sign of submission or weakness. The younger Smilodon has already noticed the older cats' injury, but becomes confused when the older male refuses to hide its injury like a normal animal would, instead it seems to be displaying the injury, using it as a warning to others.

The younger male pads away from its kill, closing the distance between it and the older Smilodon. A fight in the open favours the younger, healthier male, while fighting around the enclosed space around the dead sloth would hinder him as much as the old male.

Both remain face to face, upper lips curled back, bearing their teeth, while low, menacing growls rumble from deep inside each cats throat. The younger cats in top condition, having been very successful lately in it's hunting. The old male is already losing condition, having had to fight for every scrap he's been scavenging lately.

The two cats start to circle, each looking for a sign of submission from the other. Both try to keep weight off the paw facing the other cat, keeping that leg free to strike at the first sign of an opening.

Under the hot sun, with the stench of blood and death in the air they watch each other. Finally hunger breaks the stalemate.

Driven by the scent of the dead sloth and a gut churning need to eat, the older cat pounces. Lifting both front paws to try and get a good hold on the younger cats' head, he dives forward. But the younger Smilodon is ready for the move. Jumping back, he easily escapes the older cats clumsy attack, then dashes back in while his opponents unbalanced. With incredible strength and sheer weight, the younger Smilodon drives the old

male to the ground, then, opening his mouth to an impossible angle, he drives his elongated canines into the large fleshy shoulder of the older cat. One sabre slices straight through the large shoulder muscles, before slicing free, while the second buries itself deep in the shoulder blade.

The old male roars in agony as blood fountains out of the huge wound, the younger cat holds on tightly, trying to stop the thrashing cat from breaking his jammed tooth.

Both animals continue snarling at each other, though the older cats grow weaker as the loss of so much blood takes its toll. The younger cat continues it's vice like grip, insuring the safety of its buried tooth.

Suddenly, water starts running about their feet, slowly turning a deep crimson as it washes away the blood from the dead sloth and the dying Smilodon. The victorious male grows more and more anxious at the rapidly rising water, which is now above their feet. At this rate it will soon be around his knees.

Water from the heavy rains falling further inland is now flooding the dry river bed, on its way to the distant sea, washing away or drowning everything in its path.

The young male tries in vain to free his tooth from the shoulder blade of the now dead cat, but finds it still firmly held. The water is now lapping at his shoulder, and flowing very fast. Already debris from further up river is passing by. Here and there are the bobbing corpses of other animals that had been caught and drowned in the sudden flood.

The Smilodon is now franticly trying to swim in the rapidly moving water, but his own weight, along with the added weight of the dead cat still attached to his tooth, slowly wears him down until, with a final growl, he's pulled under the churning waters of the river!

This story is in part true. Many sabre-tooth remains have been found showing wounds and injuries inflicted during its lifetime, and some of those could only have been caused by another Sabre-tooth. One such fossil, a shoulder blade, has been discovered with a broken Sabre-tooth spearing it, proving that these animals often fought and at times killed each other.