I look for my prey. Chest heaving. Heart pumping. The dark colours of the plants boar me. I need the colour of prey, of food. I need the red of heat.
The hairs on my back stand up grey and long. I stretch, much like a cat (although I prefer to think a cat stretches like me), I'm ready.
My tail springs up. I sniff. My prey is here. Running. I look for prints in the dead leaves. The thrill of the hunt wanting for me to leap and land the fatal blow into the poor seers neck.
I chase the prints.
Snow falls. Winter is here. It only adds to the difficulty of a normal chase. It sends me of track and my vision is blurred by its cold.
There he is. My prey. He looks up gracefully only to see me and sprint. I am too fast, too powerful, too much for the creature.
I sink into his fleshy neck. He fades away... Dinner is served.
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