The Hunting

He's moving again ... among the brush near the river, picking up the scent of his quarry. The land is quiet, still and very warm and humid. The water is good, clear and cool. The animals know he's here ... know he's hunting ... and are keeping a watchful and safe distance. Many have seen for themselves what he can do and see in him the death that he brings. They have his scent, too and the quiet hides their secret signals to disperse and clear the way for the hunter. Even as he moves through the vast savannah, his presence is sensed well in advance as if rippling through the tall grasses.

"He has been smelled. His natural scent has been masked, but I can smell him out among all the animals here. He thinks he is clever ... that he can outsmart me, but I am a different hunter from any he's met before. He'll soon see for himself. I smell his movement as he leaves the riverside and moves into a stand of trees. He's resting ... waiting, still thinking he's tracking me, when it is I who is tracking him."

The hunter circles the copse slowly and methodically, clearing the land of any interference. It is just the two of them in this vast grassland under the blazing hot sun of a mid-summer afternoon. The smell of his prey gets stronger in his nostrils and his muscles tense in anticipation, like the jaws of a trap primed to snap shut and cut deep into the flesh, ripping through muscle, tendons, nerves and blood vessels with their rusty but razor-sharp fangs.

There is movement among the trees. Stopping mid-stride—subtle and unnoticeable in a world other than this one—the head tilts slightly and pivots as the watched scans the perimeter where the grasses permit greater visibility. There's no pause to indicate that the hunter's whereabouts have been discovered. Minutes pass.

"He doesn't know I'm here, less than 50 metres from where he stands thinking he is a step ahead of me, that he has calculated what I will do next and when I will do it. But I can stand here for an hour, or longer, not twitching a muscle with my respiration rate lowered by will. I can outwait him. I have done so many times before, with many like him. Let him rest in the shade a bit longer."

A cloud of dust appears in the distance in the direction of the eastern mountain range. Two military jeeps are headed for the isolated pocket of wood where the hunter and his quarry remain standing, both conscious that the stand-off is about to be interrupted.

"Who are they coming for? Must be him. What an unlucky bastard to be hunted down by two adversaries."

A rifle shot breaks the silence, echoing back against the hills. Then a second and a third, their echoes filling the noiseless grasslands with violence awakened. Under the trees the body has fallen to the ground, convulsing and spitting up blood. The jeeps are still quite far away. These were very good shooters, but not good enough to finish the job.

Springing out of the tall grass in great athletic leaps, the big cat lands squarely beside the writhing, bloody body.

"I will end this for you."