There is none.
The beast stalks it's prey.
No pity, no remorse.
The mad squeal of the beast brings back the long forgotten sounds of "the hunt".
Prehistoric madness, an agonizing need for the life of it's prey.
The eyes glaze over, the hackles raise, he leans forward anticipating the leap.
The prey motionless, frozen in fear
waiting for an inevitable end.
The crash and weight cripple the prey.
Hot snarling breath, white dripping teeth.
Stuffing flows on the floor as the beast mercilessly plays.
Bitter sounds of agony curse the air.
Squeak... squeak... squeak.
No longer will it know itself, now just a shell.
The stuffing is gone!
The stuffing is gone!
