The purr coming from the forest felt more ominous than it should have. Either the dammed cat was enjoying playing with him, ensnared with one bloodied fight already, or it was preparing to fight. Frost would have spared himself the fight if he could, but dropped low to his haunches he couldn`t see any direction that wouldn`t end with teeth in his throat.

When he saw the eyes flicker into sight, he was snarling to meet the yowl he got for snapping into a more defensive position. When the beast moved, his claws flexed and his hackles rose. His body followed closely, movements carefully posed in the same dance he could remember as kids; lethal claws safely tucked in. Nothing was nonthreatening about the snap of the black tail, ears flattened, teeth exposed. It all brought back the same melody the ungracious fight had during that night and what a failure it had ended in.

Frost guessed that he might survive but he had already been cost enough for five lifetimes, if he would ever see one of them in this form. He might have hoped for the latter had he not seen so many brushes with rather unfortunate deaths so soon after the days were suddenly too bright and the nights haunted.

If in a decade he wished for a mercy kill then so be it. He had the means to end it all. Blood sprayed the brush and congealed on top of the desert sands, following and during the last cries of animals driven by something close enough to instinct. There was no mercy in the dead eyes of the beast now. It wasn`t likely to ever grasp such a human emotion. Frost only felt desperation forcing another kick and tussle in the sand, and the bloodshed continued.