The Hunt: In the Woods
The beast needed no weapons made by man to assist him in his hunt. He had his god-given gifts of speed, claws, and the senses that helped him eek out the location of those that would threaten his family, his friends, his very world. They may not have been threatened right then, but he acted as though they were. A natural born killer, through and through, nothing would cross his path without his permission.
He was silent as he skulked through the woods, tail swishing, giant paws impossibly quiet against the leaf litter that covered the ground. He made no sound, but every sense was on alert, nostrils flaring as he paused, picking up the scent of something or someone infringing on his territory. A flick of his tail and he turned, loping through the woods, an orange and black blur that was ill-suited to camouflage in this forest of green and brown. He might have been a failure at times, he might not have lived up to every expectation heaped upon him, but when it came to protecting those that he held dear, he would be successful.
Finally, the great beast came to a halt, settling down in the brush, taking cover under green foliage and other undergrowth, the hunter's body flat to the ground. Every muscle was tense, waiting, watching, and only the glint of those golden eyes in the darkness betrayed his presence. He would hunt tonight, and he would prove his worth to those that relied upon him.