The dark black creature loped
through the deepening shadows with a fluid cat- like grace. Golden half-rings
shone dully against the mat black coat at the shoulders and hips, and crimson
eyes flashed deeply from a feline-like face. An upside down crescent moon of
the same dark gold as the rings covered the broad, sloped forehead drawing the
eyes down to a jet back triangle nose lined with gold. A timid tip of a pink
tongue ran lightly across the bottom row of tiny sharp teeth that belong to
those of a carnivore. Cupped ears tipped heavily with the gold and a curled
tail was flat against the figure to cut down on the wind resistance. After all,
the cat- like creature was trying to escape. Wasted energy was a sure way to
fail, to be captured and punished yet again.
Behind the creature came the faint
chilling howl. The howl was a message to her. It said, 'I'm coming for you' and 'I'm
near, but not too close'. The gold tipped ears flattened back to pick up
the sound more clearly and the crimson eyes squeezed shut at the chilling sound
that meant the chase was on. It was the sound of the hunter. The hunter was coming, the hunter was close!
The creature's thoughts merged in a whirling panic, The hunter was coming, the hunter was close! Pushing on blindly,
the creature forcefully suppressed the frantic pounding of fear and kept her
clouded mind to the possible futile business of escape.
Running was wearisome. The paws were
sore from days of running on unforgiving pavement and the tired mind begged for
sleep. ‘Just a minute of rest. Yes, just
a moment's time. No! Once the eyes closed, sleep would overcome and the hunter
would catch its quarry’. No, sleep was a remote luxury for the tired
feline. Stamina and endurance was the key. Weakness and fatigue were not. The
hunter was not weak, oh no. The hunter would pursue forever and a day at the
first sign of weakening.
There were other problems too. The
stomach rumbled in complaint at the lack of food and the muscles twitched with
the lack of oxygen. Food, any food, would be a means of fueling her headlong
flight. But, stopping, just stopping to eat, would be fatal. The creature knew
that for a fact. Fatal if the creature stopped and fatal if it did not.
The long, once beautiful fur was a snarl of knots, brown clay, and the clinging fog of city soot. Clumps had snagged and torn off unnoticed along the trail of fear and desperation. To run the raspy tongue through the tangles of remaining fur might mean life, for night would be falling soon and the heavy fur would not ward off the chill in its current state of ill repair. Seemingly insignificant details in the daily balance of things, but in the hunt, they could tip the scales heavily toward capture. A decision must be reached; for in the balance hung life, death, and true freedom.