The reputation of the Arizona Bark Scorpion precedes it: only a few dozen of the 2,000 or so scorpion species in the world are potent enough, venomously speaking, to be considered dangerous, and it stands as North America’s deadliest.[1] Yet there’s so much more to them than a vicious sting. Researchers marvel at what these hardy little warriors can do: some scorpions can go a solid year between meals, while others have survived oxygen deprivation, accidental “drowning,” and even being frozen, ultimately springing back to life with little to no harm done.[2] Yet they’re not cold-blooded killers, at least when it comes to humans. Quite the opposite. Almost all incidents of scorpions stinging people come about accidentally; scorpions possess extremely poor vision and typically attack only when dangers (hands or feet) intrude upon them.[3] They deserve respect and caution, but not hatred or fear. For most small animals and especially insects, however, they rightly instill trepidation, if not outright terror.

Several years ago, a scorpion found itself exposed to the world in daylight, a rude awakening for an otherwise nocturnal being. Its tribulations quickly came to the attention of a nearby Cactus Wren. Said scorpion took off for shelter, raising its tail as a ward against danger. The wren flew down to challenge its passage.

Two combatants, scorpion and bird, faced off. The stage was set for a dramatic battle between avian and arachnid—

Until the wren calmly grabbed it by the tail and beat it to death against a rock.

Having vanquished its foe, the killer flew away, never bothering to eat its victim, strangely content after bludgeoning it into nothingness.

In the end, predators have two enemies (excluding humans): starvation, and each other. We often think of survival as epitomized in that fateful moment between hunter and prey, but the reality is that carnivorous animals must compete with, chase away, or even kill one another simply to stay alive themselves. Sometimes this is a matter of absolute danger; in other cases, as with the scorpion and the wren, it’s opportunism at its purest. When the chance to eliminate a potential threat or competitor arises, few animals will turn it down. That’s why owls kill roosting hawks whenever possible, striking while the latter are helpless because of their miserable night vision. Hawks eagerly return the favor during the day. They’re rivals competing over the same finite hunting grounds, and they approach their coexistence with a blood feud worthy of the Hatfields and Mccoys.

Sometimes, it’s a matter of respecting the hierarchy. An osprey would rather surrender a fish to a Bald Eagle than get into a fight it can’t possibly win; from the eagle’s perspective, it’s more convenient to engage in a little high seas piracy than go fishing and risk failure. There’s no real incentive to kill the osprey. Lions and hyenas, by contrast, waste no opportunity to attack one another if they can get a clear advantage; they fight for the position of apex predator, while simultaneously living in a world where the crocodile is king (but only in its watery realm). All the while, smaller predators forever wait in the wings to take whatever they can without getting caught in the crossfire. It’s an endless, brutal battle, with no final winner, and everything always at stake.

In some ways, it’s a game of chess, with each participant measuring the strengths and weaknesses of the other while carefully maneuvering to ensure their own survival. More often, however, stratagems take the simple route: just as paper covers mighty rock, the wren’s superior reach lets it easily thrash a scorpion without really endangering itself. What makes for a frightening predator in one circumstance might be easily negated in another. Terrestrial dwellers fear rattlesnakes with good cause, but Red-tailed Hawks happily seek them out as a food source. Larger animals shy away, but the raptor, extending its wings like some kind of tottering matador, goads the snake into striking harmlessly at feathers and thus overextending itself. The rattlesnake remains a fearsome creature, the bane of small animals and a source of discomfort for even the mightiest of mammals. Hawks simply possess the right degree of nimbleness to negate what would otherwise be a prohibitively lethal snakebite.

Tools, talent, sheer luck: survival is one of the few things universally greater than its composite parts. It doesn’t obey any rules, and it certainly comes with no guarantees. But for every competitor in this lethal game, from the wren to the raptor, winning at any cost definitely beats the alternative.