Thursday, 9 October 2014

The Hunt

The black dog hunts
Hackles rise as he stalks his prey
Eyes gleam red
As if lit by fires eternally burning
Teeth gleam white
As lips draw back in silent snarl

Each foot rests lightly on stone
Leaving scorched marks as he passes
Delicate steps leave no sound
Only a faint hint of smoke

Muscles shift and turn
Beneath sleep fur and tight skin
They show strength enough to tear and rend
Bring down the largest beast
Or the most nimble

Tonight the prey is not large
Not nimble
Limping, it scurries across a stream
Fleeing without hope
Without reason
Only a remnant of spirit drives it onwards

The black dog tenses
Springs
Brings down his prey in a violent explosion of motion
Knowing the inevitable his prey relaxes
Finds a moment of peace
Before a loud crack breaks the night into a thousand shimmering pieces

The black dog stalks back to his den
Confidently moving through the night
Knowing his rule stands unchallenged

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