Unseen Predator

He licked his lips.

He could taste it. The scent in the air, as the downwind brought upon him what He'd been waiting for.

He lay with His belly against the floor, crouching in the brush. His eyelids were closed, His ears perked as He patiently listened intently. In His heart, He could feel it. His instinct was screaming, yet He sat with His muscles lax. He padded the dirt before Him, adjusting to the feel of His surrounding.

He began to feel restless, but He further forced Himself to remain still.

He could feel the time approaching, the right opportunity not far from the moment, and once more He licked His lips. The urge was overwhelming.

And then... the crack of a stick, the snapping of dried leaves as they crackled underneath his unsuspecting prey. The hunt was on.

In an instant His eyes blinked wide open, the shimmering gold contrasting so heavily to the surrounding brush. Every muscle in His body tensed, and He lept forward with a feral zeal, His blood boiling in His veins. His eyes stayed wide open, scouring the jungle before Him as it passed as a blur. It was all irrelevant, and nothing mattered, nothing save the wonderful feeling that was driving Him with such primal urges.

His instincts were sharp, honed with the delight of hundreds of successful kills, but this was one hunt in which he'd savor the moment so finely. It was a case in which the Predator became the Prey, and He was going to enjoy taking its Will and Heart for His own.

For a brief moment, He saw it. The bounding leaps of His prey quickly appearing then disappearing behind the trees to His side, and with such savagery, He felt the split between seconds approaching, and He seized the opportunity. One heartbeat, another, and before the third, he lunged.

For that instant everything seemed to slow down. It was Him in the air, his tail behind Him, swishing with fervor, His claws extended as he was bearing down on the back of His unfortunate victim. He could hear His heartbeat pounding, so heavily, and in the background it was just silence. Wide-eyed, He landed upon His preys back, and He dragged it down as His claws grasped tight around the shoulders of His prize.

The beast writhed for a bit, and as it paused for the slightest second, He took His chance to readjust, clawing now at its sides, His fangs sinking into its neck. The torrent of warm delicious blood poured into His mouth, and He relished in its sweet taste, the flavor only sweetened further by the satisfaction in achieving His kill. Within a few minutes, the beast was limp, and He had already cut out its Heart, and carved out its throat.

In that space between seconds, the Predator had become Prey.

He stalked back to His cavern, with a sense of pride and satisfaction. There was none that could have done better than He, for He lived for the feel of it, the final moment before he bounded in for the kill; The absolution that came with the thrill of it.

The Thrill of the Hunt.