Slow through the underground, measured step upon step.
Stripes in shadows, under tangled foliage.
Eyes burn bright, the master of the hunt,
The hush of expectation fills the air.
Cool air teases the skin, hair stands upon end.
No warmth from basking in the suns full glare.
This is my territory, big enough for one,
My home is dark and still.
I have no time for play,
My game is the hunt,
I play only for victory,
I measure my wins in blood.
The silence of the forest is my cloak.
Darkness washes the scene to night.
What is left in my wake
But the things I have to leave behind.