I don't think I should get Triumph Points for this cause I wrote it ages ago. Like 14 months ago. As I also didn't write it for Exilian I think it would be a bit cheeky to claim points for it.
The eagle soared high over its domain, the limits of its vision so far away they may as well not even exist at all. Limitless. Truly, that is a fitting term to describe the life of the eagle. Its senses are finely tuned to the environment, able to see the small, insignificant prey below, able to smell the cool scent of crushed pine needles and soft springy grass. Each feather sensitive to the slightest miniature lick of wind and perfectly able to adjust accordingly. The eagle’s excellent hearing can pick up the sound of birds flying for several hundred metres and can tell each pattern of wing beats apart in an instant. The perfect predator.
Swept down upon the branch of an oak tree, the lack of leaves upon its crumbling extremities giving evidence to its demise. The bare twigs are reminiscent of grasping, dead hands, reaching up to drag their victim back to whatever hell they came from. But the eagle is immune to these flights of fantasy. Real flight is far more compelling. The perfect predator is fearless, for what is there to fear when one can fly?
The sound of rifling leaves draws the eagle’s attention. About a hundred metres away, something is stirring in the midday sun. The eagle can smell rabbit flesh, its juicy aroma flooding the centres of the eagle’s brain. The small furry creature could be considered a delicacy among eagles, the soft flesh easy to tear apart, the bones soft enough to crush and consume, the organs small enough to be conveniently swallowed whole. Of course, for the perfect predator, the satisfaction of the meal was secondary to the satisfaction of the kill. The thrill of the hunt is intoxicating for the eagle. A blazing inferno roars in the eagle’s veins as it takes to the sky once more, powerful wings propelling the eagle into the air. The life of the perfect predator is limitless.
The eagle’s keen eyesight picks up the disturbance one more. The size belies its identity and the eagle immediately knows its a black rabbit, male, probably two years old. The eagle has seen a lot of rabbits, a veritable horde of lagomorphs that have expelled their last breath under the cold attentions of the eagle’s razor-edged talons. A sudden gust from the eagle’s left causes a wing to drop minutely, before the eagle is able to adjust its positioning, the tail-feathers fanning slightly while both wings strain to catch as much air as possible. After the split-second repositioning the eagle is ready to strike. The perfect predator is in position.
As a bolt of russet lightning, the eagle sweeps down from above, the broad, dark wings, clearing the air. The hooked beak forms the bodkin tip of the arrow as the perfect predator streaks into the undergrowth. The pure exhilaration of the hunt builds in the eagle’s deep chest, releasing itself in a wild shriek. The gleaming talons rake the undergrowth as every extremity of the eagle’s body strains to avoid the collision with the oncoming ground. Just as the eagle despairs, the impossibly sharp talons find their mark, sinking into soft flesh. The perfect predator was successful.
Two sharp pinpricks jolt the eagle’s leg as it climbs back into the sky. The shock causes the triumphant predator to lose its grip on the carcass of the rabbit. As the dead grey creature spirals down past the tree line, the eagle realises its dreadful mistake. The distinctive diamond marking of the rattlesnake that was coiled around the prey provide an immediate explanation of the stabbing pain the eagle experienced. Noticing the stiffening of its talons, the eagle sweeps down once more upon the dead tree branch. Surrounded by death, the eagle hunches its shoulders against a sudden chill not even the heat of the midday sun can heal. The corpses of the day’s dead litter the ground. Soon the perfect predator will join them.
Hope you enjoyed it. I'm sort of surprised I hadn't put it up sooner really.
