He crouched on the branch, with his tail swaying nervously, eyes scouring the ground below. The silence weighed heavily against his ears. He sniffed the air, trying to catch the alien scent again. The scent of predators.
A soft growl escaped his throat in frustration. He remembered the days when he would challenge the intruders. He wished he was still at his prime, before that near fatal injury. It throbbed in response to his recollection. He licked the scar instinctively. A long livid line of raw pink stretching from his flank to thigh where no fur will grow again. It was a jarring disharmony to the rhapsody of black islands in a proud sea of gray, the coat that gave his clan identity.
The hunts were getting hard. Survival had always favoured the strong. And he knew he would not get any preferential treatment. Anxiety was eating his courage slowly but surely. He could taste the bile of panic rising up his throat as he thought of his beloved mate and the litter she was expecting by the next full moon. He spent most of his time recently away from his spouse, on the pretext of hunting. It would not be wise to reveal his despair to his mate.
A scuffle in the bush below brought him back to the task at hand. The wind brought the distinct scent of fear to him that was not his own. He swallowed his fear and leaped to the ground on sure silent paws. He knew he has to hunt. Not only for himself but for the survival of his mate and the coming litter. He roared a challenge and dived boldly forward...
14/01: Affliction
A soft growl escaped his throat in frustration. He remembered the days when he would challenge the intruders. He wished he was still at his prime, before that near fatal injury. It throbbed in response to his recollection. He licked the scar instinctively. A long livid line of raw pink stretching from his flank to thigh where no fur will grow again. It was a jarring disharmony to the rhapsody of black islands in a proud sea of gray, the coat that gave his clan identity.
The hunts were getting hard. Survival had always favoured the strong. And he knew he would not get any preferential treatment. Anxiety was eating his courage slowly but surely. He could taste the bile of panic rising up his throat as he thought of his beloved mate and the litter she was expecting by the next full moon. He spent most of his time recently away from his spouse, on the pretext of hunting. It would not be wise to reveal his despair to his mate.
A scuffle in the bush below brought him back to the task at hand. The wind brought the distinct scent of fear to him that was not his own. He swallowed his fear and leaped to the ground on sure silent paws. He knew he has to hunt. Not only for himself but for the survival of his mate and the coming litter. He roared a challenge and dived boldly forward...