The wind brings the scent of prey… sharp as dagger, strong and intoxicating. Filling his world with impatience, that can by quenched only by the hunt.
With his claws ready to tear the flesh, he observes the animal, as it runs through the green.
But he will be faster that it. He always is.
And as long as this can be given to him every day, this wild sense of freedom…
… nothing can be compared to be now and here, living.
He jumps, and falls on the beast, with oustretched talons, with blades in minor hands. Burying the fangs in the fur, sinking the steel into the skin. It gives a resistance, good, this is what he always hope for. Battling him off itself, the prey roars, filling his ears with pure thrill.
But even if wounded… he will win.
He always does.
Standing above the fallen beast, he inhales in the fresh air mixed with the scent of blood. Touching the animal’s fur, brushing it with fingers, and taking a hold on it. You were mine, always.
And now we are one.