05-27-2018, 10:40 PM
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Hungry.
It drives them all. Predator and Prey alike, it is the kindling to their fire. They cannot live without food and they cannot have a good life without that which improves their happiness. For some — the Predators of Beqanna, for example — their happiness comes in the form of the hunt. She is one of them, a Predator.
The protection of the shadow, the thump of a beating heart, the deep red spurt of blood; the hunt calls to her like the croon of a mother’s affection. She dreams of the hunt, sometimes. Flashes of Prey skin (whether horse or doe or wolf or fox) and the musky scents of the earth, the cry of an injured animal and the warmth of muscle against her mouths, the flood of saliva against her teeth and the way the shadows curl against her shoulders.
Something new.
It is not a someone, but a something, crafted of a darkness that could have thought of her own alienoid figure. It slips through the shadows as silently as she, and her nostrils sense the Predator in his blood. Yet she waits among the needles of a pine-tree, pointed shoulders as still as the branches that slide against her armored crown. Her inky color blends into the shade so well she might become the darkness itself, yet if he senses her presence she won’t mind.
After a moment, she slides out from beneath the tree with a few chitters, sounding not altogether welcoming or threatening. Her knife-tail flicks against her heels, even while her dark eyes critically analyze this new Predator.
Friend or foe?
It drives them all. Predator and Prey alike, it is the kindling to their fire. They cannot live without food and they cannot have a good life without that which improves their happiness. For some — the Predators of Beqanna, for example — their happiness comes in the form of the hunt. She is one of them, a Predator.
The protection of the shadow, the thump of a beating heart, the deep red spurt of blood; the hunt calls to her like the croon of a mother’s affection. She dreams of the hunt, sometimes. Flashes of Prey skin (whether horse or doe or wolf or fox) and the musky scents of the earth, the cry of an injured animal and the warmth of muscle against her mouths, the flood of saliva against her teeth and the way the shadows curl against her shoulders.
Something new.
It is not a someone, but a something, crafted of a darkness that could have thought of her own alienoid figure. It slips through the shadows as silently as she, and her nostrils sense the Predator in his blood. Yet she waits among the needles of a pine-tree, pointed shoulders as still as the branches that slide against her armored crown. Her inky color blends into the shade so well she might become the darkness itself, yet if he senses her presence she won’t mind.
After a moment, she slides out from beneath the tree with a few chitters, sounding not altogether welcoming or threatening. Her knife-tail flicks against her heels, even while her dark eyes critically analyze this new Predator.
Friend or foe?
@[Sinner] / @[Modicum Mortem] / this is all over the place oops :/