Campfire embers glow against dawn’s first kiss. Smoke lazily drifts upwards and away, fading into the morning grey. Anticipating stillness consumes the surrounding woods as the human visitors breathe in deep.
Padding down dirt arrives the Lord of forests, the master of the hunt. Ears proudly at attention, alert for abnormalities. Crisp morning air stings the nostrils and inflates the lungs. Pure anticipation.
Hearts beat so calmly during sleep, so close to death, just across the canal from eternal rest. The mind slumbers unaware to the changes in the environment. Such a handicap for mammals in the woods of the Lord.
Drunken endeavors dominated the night sending fauna fleeing in fright. Rude, inconsiderate mammals, indeed. Arriving one day and disrupting Nature’s way. When the primary prey leave, new prey are uncovered. Slowly. First, their heads and lower until their blankets are strewn upon the ground.
Exposed and vulnerable prey laid as a banquet or feast. The Lord cannot contain a growl. Such pleasure overwhelms and consumes the mouth.
Circling, circling. Glowing embers reflected within green eyes. The wind rustles through timidly brushing the Lord’s fur and teasing embers to feign ignition. The Lord stands still, his nose erect in the air.
A sleeping bag rustles and eyelashes flicker until eyes meet sky. A manly groan fills the silence as a hunched back appears against the horizon. The sleepy form slowly makes his way towards the fire and begins stoking the embers and gathering supplies for breakfast.
The Lord was not there.