[If these were his own woods, there would be no point to the chase at all. No purpose to the stalking, the scenting, the hunting. His woods would tell him where his prey darted and hid; if he so bade it, they would rearrange themselves to deliver his quarry to him, and where would the fun be in that?
But this. This is familiar enough to feel like home and foreign enough to delight him with its novelty. Here he does not know every tree and branch and leaf. Here the beams of starlight shine accusations through his rippling fur, interloper that he is.
He draws closer, taking his time. He'll never be quiet enough to remain unheard, not with his paws rustling someone else's moon-grass. It's all the better that way; he wants his brother to feel it as he draws closer and closer, wants him to tremble as he tries to gauge the last possible moment before he has to flee again.]
I think of you, when I kill. I claim lives and think of what a privilege I have granted my fortunate quarry, sending them off to lay eyes on you.
[He lowers himself down, slinks past trees and into a low copse of bushes. Closer, now, inch by inch. Closer — ]
no subject
[If these were his own woods, there would be no point to the chase at all. No purpose to the stalking, the scenting, the hunting. His woods would tell him where his prey darted and hid; if he so bade it, they would rearrange themselves to deliver his quarry to him, and where would the fun be in that?
But this. This is familiar enough to feel like home and foreign enough to delight him with its novelty. Here he does not know every tree and branch and leaf. Here the beams of starlight shine accusations through his rippling fur, interloper that he is.
He draws closer, taking his time. He'll never be quiet enough to remain unheard, not with his paws rustling someone else's moon-grass. It's all the better that way; he wants his brother to feel it as he draws closer and closer, wants him to tremble as he tries to gauge the last possible moment before he has to flee again.]
I think of you, when I kill. I claim lives and think of what a privilege I have granted my fortunate quarry, sending them off to lay eyes on you.
[He lowers himself down, slinks past trees and into a low copse of bushes. Closer, now, inch by inch. Closer — ]
I see you, beloved.
[And with a rustle of branches, he springs.]