Author's Notes:
This is my first post in this category.. I found it among my old files, written about a year ago, and thought it might be worth posting. It was originally about dinosaurian 'raptors, an old obsession of mine, but ignoring some of the details almost any predatory creature could be substituted.

I'm not sure what the point of this is, or even if it's worthy of being called a story.. I was trying to capture how I believed predators and their life to be, in a light rarely seen in any form of mass media. Anyway..

Eyes

A pair of golden eyes flash between the leaves and shadows of the sun-splashed fronds.

Quiet breathing, muscles twitching with anticipation. In, and out. In and out goes the breath. In and out flex the claws. In such perfect symmetry it fades into the shadows, one with the sounds of the earth, wind and jungle.

The eyes pierce the darkness. So bright the rest of the creature is lost in the shadows. So awing one who would look into them would be taken forever. Beautiful, round and gold, jet black pupils focused on their target. The spark of intelligence and cunning burns bright within these eyes.

These are not the eyes of a killer. It is not cold and calculating. It is not bloodthirsty and mad. It is not filled with rage and violence.

It is living poetry. Breathing music. Thinking art. These eyes are curious, as hungry for knowledge as for the meat of their target. The hunt is a game for these eyes. Not some sadistic joy, not some thrill of shedding blood. It is the joy of doing what they were born to do. The joy of doing what they had always done, and what all of their parents and grandparents had done.

It is a game. A game of life and death, yes, but these eyes don't care. These eyes don't worry about the future. They worry about nothing. This is the hunt. This is a game.

'Who will win this time? Me, or you?'

Silently the eyes move out of the shadows, a slender muzzle parting the fronds. Silently the rest of the sleek body follows, primitive leaves dragging along a stripped hide, muscles moving with visible power and grace, glistening in the evening sun as they move. They shudder when the leaves brush over them, but the eyes don't blink. They have to keep focused.

There is no insane scream of rage. There is no maddening cry for blood. There is no extravagate leap, claws flashing and teeth glistening with hungry drool. There is no anger. Only thought. Only contained excitement. A cresendoing power, welling up.

The flanks move back and forth gracefully. The tail swishes side to side. The long-taloned arms folded, head lowered, feathers swaying, muscles rippling. The body bounces up and down slightly, hips rolling to the rhythm of the run. The eyes are wide, and fixated. Nostrils flared, taking in all wisdom the wind has to offer.

The prey sees death coming in a graceful, beautiful form. The golden eyes turn upward and stare into that of those they will darken and blanken with death. They do not hiss. They to not snarl. They do not taunt or threaten. They just watch, still thinking. And that curious, almost childlike look of wonder, of thought, of pondernment, was more frightening then any savage cry.

The prey is scared. The hunter would be too, but adrenaline and excitement bury those feelings. Both of their lives are in danger. Both gain something from the other. Both need the other to live. They both know this. There is no regret. There is no hate, no rage. There is only the simple balance, the yin-yang of nature.

Death comes quickly. Blood stains the ground and the claws of the hunter. But blood is not a symbol of horror in this world. It is a symbol of change. Of destruction, of continuation, of rebirth. There is blood when one is born, there is blood when one dies. Blood is not death. Blood is life.

The hunter eats her fill. She is proud. Not because she killed something - the concept of joy from another's demise is foreign to her. She is happy because she has won the game. She is not sorry or regretful for the death of her prey, nor is she snide and arrogant. She is content. This is the way things are. This is the way they would always be for her. It's all part of the game. Someday, she too will die. But death is not important.

The only thing that matters is life.