IP: 120.149.119.230
Posted on January 28, 2015 at 08:55:01 AM by e d e n
how long will we blame the devils on our shoulders
It is the stench of blood that draws me across the fields, a mere curiosity that I intend to satiate. It is not the same weak, tepid blood of prey but rather thick with an overwhelming musk, the kind of musk that I have come to associate with those deemed as predators. It is the absence of fear in their muscles; adrenaline, heated rage and their own blood lust resonating in the scent. It is not so much the curiosity of the beast itself but rather, why such a creature might have shed so much blood. It is not the smell of a mere scratch. It is the smell of an emptied body, one of death. So, who or what has done such a thing?
I am but a slave to the scent for some time, weaving through the tall grass with cautionary steps. I do not fear whatever has taken the creature but rather, I am hopeful to gain ground on the hunter without alerting them to my presence for some time. I cannot help but wonder if I will come face to face with the black creature, Tobias, as I break through the cover of grass. The form ahead of me is dark, after all, crouched over the soiled body of a cougar, its tawny fur drenched with long rivers of blood. Her scent - now separated from the prey - is an unusual one; Diveen is there upon her but ever so slightly, and she does not stink of fear or adrenaline. Her kill is simply there beneath her, as if she had merely picked the creature off its perch like an egg from a gull.
I do not hesitate to break free from the shade of the grass, though I retain enough distance to ensure I can prepare for whatever assault she may see fitting. Nonetheless, I stop and watch, merely observing as she bites into its flesh; the flesh is dark and marbled from where I can see, a much different appearance to mere prey animals. It brings the inkling of a grin to my face, an amused expression as I watch the way her teeth breaks the surface of the skin and muscle. I will speak when I see it fit and it is only after some moments of this silent observation that I choose to make an interaction, my attention finally moving from the prey to her face. It is a grizzly thing, perhaps, but it does not matter. After all, I have surely seen uglier, more swollen heads atop the necks of those others might consider well bred or even royal. Hideousness is not found in the physical realm, just as weakness is not, but rather in the realm of the mind. Weak is ugly, yes, but is she weak?
"Take its heart."
It is not a command but rather a suggestion; I wish to see her enter its chest and take it. That is its strength, after all. So long ago, I had taken Boleyn to see the great hearts of the elk and now, I wish to see this creature's. Is it a shriveled up, atrophied thing that reeks of weakness and failure? Or is it large and strong, a thing stopped only through the sheer force of another? In that case... I wonder what her heart might look (or taste) like. For now, however, I shall leave my questions to rest on the tip of my tongue. I will merely observe and wait.