An elevated howl echoed against the night, its origin huffed the air with heated fervor. The cry for blood reached the ears of its singular meal—two-legged hairless indulgence. The scent of fleeing feast invigorated Hunter; he stood tall and sniffed, the scent was prime. Prey’s hot sweat danced in the air, motes of terror in an otherwise serene glade. Hunter waited, restrained, veins engorged with anticipation. His maw of blades drooled with tasteful senses. Each hair upon his body stood with electric hunger.
Hunter reared and ran across the damp grass. Each step pounded against soft earth. Each lent pleasure to the game. Prey dared not look back as Hunter reached the end of his chase and hammered Prey to the ground. Prey screamed and cried out in mortal reply. Hunter begged the sound with elated ears.
The moon watched in silence as he fed, the meal no longer able to utter a scream to the indifferent sky over Hunter’s ground.
∼ Lee Andrew Forman
© Copyright Lee Andrew Forman. All Rights Reserved.
5 thoughts on “Hunter’s Glade”
wow, I loved this, written from Hunter’s pov.
A delightfully dark story.
Great sensory detail.
Short and brutal. Loved that one!
Yes, riveting … and tasty!
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