Darling, You Look Perfect
The light of the sun was just beginning to soften, that time called dusk growing nearer and nearer. But Alarik was wide awake, his heart pounding and sending adrenaline through his veins as he crouched low and stalked a pheasant. His ears and eyes were as sharp and alert, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of his prey. It was a large and lovely male pheasant, with colorful plumage and a sort of regality to its gait. It had been a while since Alarik had brought down any sort of game besides rabbits. Pheasants were more of a challenge, and that challenge he welcomed. There was something about the hunt that Alarik relished; it made him feel strong and capable for once, instead of feeling like a some silly little dreamer, a hopeless romantic with nothing to show for his two years of life.
But now was not the time to let his mind wander onto such things. He needed to focus. The male stayed very low, the muscles in his legs aching a bit as he kept himself in a deep crouch and, inch by inch, crawled closer to his prey. When he was only about twenty yards away, the magnificent bird snapped its head in his direction and, with a rustle of feathers, it took flight. But Alarik knew pheasants could not fly far, so he bolted after the bird in the hopes of catching it when it finally returned to earth. This chase continued for nearly a minute, but just as Alarik was closing in, he breathed in the scent of a boundary line and came screeching to a halt. His prey escaped, and a whine of annoyance escaped from the back of his throat. Alarik wasn't the type to swear, but damn. All that work for nothing.
The young man glared at the invisible boundary keeping him from his prize and delicious meal, and after retreating a few feet for good measure, he plopped down onto his haunches. This was no good. What was Alarik supposed to eat now? Another scrawny rabbit, probably. Was it possible to get sick of rabbits? Because Alarik was definitely getting sick of rabbits. "Talk" "You" Think |
