Blinded by the Hunt

GiaB prompt #20 animalia

Quiet. Quiet. Stay quiet.

His eyes were shadowed pinpricks as he watched from deep within the undergrowth. He sat back on his haunches, muscles tense as he waited for the next few moments to reveal their hand.

If they came closer, he was prepared to flee.

If they came too close, he was prepared to protect himself.

His dark, grizzled fur rendered him invisible in the gloom of the forest. Layers upon layers of heart-shaped leaves from the basswood trees created a curtain of concealment by which he could see, but not be seen.

And he could hear.

He heard the footsteps, so much lighter than his own.

He heard the noises the other creatures emitted, so much softer and weaker than his rich baritone.

His claws twitched involuntarily, raking the earth beneath his paws ever so slightly.

He waited.

The creatures stayed far enough away, so there was no need to escape.

The sounds they made drifted further and further, so there was no need to defend.

He broke the stillness with a heavy chuff, and lifted himself onto all fours. Days of continuous roaming ached pleasantly in his limbs and he sensed he was close, but he wasn’t there yet.

It took another two days before he could feel the rumble of rushing water underneath the pads of his feet, and smell the cold freshness of the feast that would be waiting for him.

The river was wide and the life in its waters was plentiful. He was not the first to arrive and would not be the last, but he had little interest in those around him.

Wading into the fast-flowing current, he took his place. He was ready for his prey: jump as high as they dare, flick and flap as quickly as they might, he would bear down on them all the same. This was not flight, nor was it fight. This was survival.

He worked his jaws and snapped his teeth, readying himself. His eyes roved over the foam. He sensed them underneath, swarms of them, writhing against the flow. Any moment.

He didn’t notice the huffs and low growls from those with whom he shared these waters. Too late he felt the pounding of heavy bodies up on the bank of the river, moving away.

Too late he heard the footsteps, so much lighter than his.

Too late he recognised the noises they made, so different to his own guttural sounds.

Too late did he understand that they were back.