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12-21-2015, 10:23 PM
Never a predator and yet always the prey...
Slowly, a gaunt fox with a tattered tail worked its way into the grove. His black lips were curled away from his yellowing teeth and yet somehow he still managed a sly smile. Ultimately he was on the prowl for mice or a weasel of some sort, but his staggering gait suggested that even small game was a challenge. With his head dipped toward the forest floor, the haggard creature tilted his ears, listening.
There was a small pitter- patter some yards away and the fox paused, his mouth opening and closing as he drew breath through the widened gaps of his teeth. He crouched down into the dry soil and gathered himself for an attack, but his hopes were short-lived and soon whatever he’d been tracing simply disappeared.
Again, the fox was out of a meal and again his stomach rumbled against his gangly ribs. How long could a creature last without food? How long would he be able to survive? Instead of following the presumed whereabouts of his moving feast, the fox turned away to approach a nearby stream. When he arrived at its banks, he moved downward toward the water, his black lips still pulled away from his rotting teeth.
He drank, long and heavily, until his gullet was full. It was an attempt to hide his hunger and his imminent demise… Yet, he was still fighting to avoid the truth. When the footfall of another creature, far larger than the fox himself, rounded the bend, he faltered. His fear caused him to turn and run, but his running was not enough to remove him from harm’s way, especially with his jilted gait.
Slowly, a gaunt fox with a tattered tail worked its way into the grove. His black lips were curled away from his yellowing teeth and yet somehow he still managed a sly smile. Ultimately he was on the prowl for mice or a weasel of some sort, but his staggering gait suggested that even small game was a challenge. With his head dipped toward the forest floor, the haggard creature tilted his ears, listening.
There was a small pitter- patter some yards away and the fox paused, his mouth opening and closing as he drew breath through the widened gaps of his teeth. He crouched down into the dry soil and gathered himself for an attack, but his hopes were short-lived and soon whatever he’d been tracing simply disappeared.
Again, the fox was out of a meal and again his stomach rumbled against his gangly ribs. How long could a creature last without food? How long would he be able to survive? Instead of following the presumed whereabouts of his moving feast, the fox turned away to approach a nearby stream. When he arrived at its banks, he moved downward toward the water, his black lips still pulled away from his rotting teeth.
He drank, long and heavily, until his gullet was full. It was an attempt to hide his hunger and his imminent demise… Yet, he was still fighting to avoid the truth. When the footfall of another creature, far larger than the fox himself, rounded the bend, he faltered. His fear caused him to turn and run, but his running was not enough to remove him from harm’s way, especially with his jilted gait.
@Cirrus
