Unforeseen

Just the same as our physical attributes and genetic compositions, stories of folklore and precaution are too, often inherited. We enter this world chimed with the fables of our forebears, braided into the instructions of our mundanities and routines where they eventually become inlaid, and uncontested. Regions in our territories became traditionally forbidden as they lay permeated with Beasts of agile ferocity and boundless height. We have built our survival around this elusiveness, hunting at night so as to avoid any encounters with these savage varmints. Though still, there exists the occasional flint of curiosity, as the beauty of these creatures remains undoubtedly obvious, nearly impossible to ignore; striking enough to capture even the regard of our Elders. Though despite this seemingly shared bewilderment, the Elders’ deterrence shall never waver, as “a predator is a still a predator”.

We have learned to take advantage of the night. Though our neighboring tribes may proclaim the successes of daylight, our lineage draws vitality from the shadows. Not only accustomed to, but attracted, to the nightfall, our senses heightened, and our fates highly favored. Cloaked by the murky shades of nocturne we are reared into natural evasiveness. Slumbered prey lies in futile disadvantage, if not by our temporal differences, then by their own natural subordination. We are the apex.

Upon dusk’s arrival we withdrawal from our shelters and depart for the routine pursuit. Adhering to protocol, we hunt alone. In the competitive community between tribes, one is quick to learn that with hunger draws desperation, territorial dispute evolves into battle and naturally, death ensues. Living quarters reach numbers no higher than two – though a community still holds, as common enemies and shared resources force natural bonds. Still, great caution is to be upheld in every endeavor, and one must claim victory, no matter how small, with exuberant preservation.

Heeding to these tacit criteria I depart from the sanctum towards my regular postings, taking advantage of the neglected districts bordering the Beasts’ territories, as my kinfolk are too cautious to follow suit, leaving vacant grounds. Their nests are odd, composed of foreign materials with elevations that seem to swallow their bodies like colossal armour, maws which seal them in secrecy and enigma. While they lay sealed in their privacy, innocuous prey remain in minor defenses, their burrows vulnerable, still in unsuspecting anticipation. I take effortless gains, towering height and dexterity – a battle that is closed upon its inception. With such advantage, indulgent hubris becomes nearly inevitable, as every target becomes a tally of triumph, fitness, and perseverance.

Winning after winning, a conquest of vitality converts into sport – the hunt into parade, and the game, its prizes. The throbbing spirit of exhilaration, a carnal advancement toward apical actualization, the conquest turns loud. In midst of victory, impudent in success a cry of vanquish arises as thoughtlessly as a breath, bellowing echoes reverberate in the air – and my arena evaporates. Before awareness is aligned with locality the teeth of the Beasts’ great nest unclench and liberate a single tenant. Steps before me, mere strides between frames, eyes are locked – Beast with man.

The adrenal rouse of the hunt overrides this foolish transgression, ground must be held, no – taken. Monstrous in size, the Beast is yet a pawn. The final trophy in this shadowed tournament. Oriented by pursuit, assurance is recalled, the rhythmic metronome of my blood hastens, and I prepare for the take. Steady in stance, eyes remained locked as I extend my size to unveil its true expanse. Now with intention, my howl is retrieved, with vigor, victory is already proclaimed.

Yet, my brace is unrequited, my cry unfollowed. No shred of defense born across my opponent’s face, instead: perplexity? I sense no tremble, no scent of perspiration. An alien experience, am I not a threat? My opponent stands stagnant, its visage creased in foreign bewilderment, but absent is its reprisal. The wind replaces the thud of blood in my ears, and all intentions lie dead. Then, still empty of recoil, the Beast recedes, and as swift as they opened, the jaws of its haven are sealed.

Bemused, I lower my wings.