The Hunt
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blood between my fingers
the eyes of the prey, closing in death
the sisters moons taking the colors

He ran, like a wind, like a strong gust of fresh air dancing between the trees, sweeping away the leaves, and kicking the soil with his claws. The forest was catching him in its embrace and welcoming him as its ruler, the only one who really owned it.

She was so close. Her scent was hanging along his path, he could sense her from afar, like the sweetest honey on his tongue. She smelled of youth, of dry moss and everything in between. He lost his mind for this scent.

She was running, fast, fast, in fear, or in joy, it didn’t matter to him. He wanted to catch her, mark her, claim her. She was his and this cat and mouse play only was making him more desirous.

He taught her so well. She was agile, her body tense and toned, her moves quick and balanced. She was his own creation, a clumsy guard sent by skekSo to her doom, changing into a huntress, the spirit of the forest.

The memory of her touch was making him lose his head, even more, his moves started to be unfocused, a wild heated animal, chasing his prey under the green canopy, under the vast darkening sky. It was what he was living for; his strong legs kicked him up, he was running now among the branches, the keen moss-colored eyes looking down, in the joy of the pursue.

There she was!

She ran like a rakkida, her long hair tangled and partially caught by braids. Her face firm and excited, her smile wild and passionate.

She saw him when he jumped on the lowest and thickest branch of a huge korka tree.

She changed direction, yet he was already catching her, falling on her and pinning her to the soft grass. She started to wiggle, but her hands embraced him, her legs catching his hips, trying to snatch as much of his broad frame as she could.

“My Hunter caught me…” she purred.

He was inhaling the air, his tail thumping in an excited manner. His blood boiled at the restless closeness of her body.

“You know what you are, gelfling” he pressed his body tighter, minding to not crush her with his weight.

“Oh yes, my Hunter…”

He buried his masked face into her small chest, feeling as her body welcomes him, her breasts heaving in ragged, impatient way.

“…I am your prey. I always was.”

She opened before him and he didn’t need more invitation. She was his possession. And he was her pursuer, till the suns stop to shine and the moons fall into the pits of perdition.

//   Article written by skekMal  //