to show any potential intruders the fierceness of her claws. She went over to the next tree and repeated the process, then stalked a robin redbreast that had the audacity to land in her territory and pluck a fresh worm from the grass. The bird spotted her movement, however, and quickly flew into the woods with the worm hanging from its beak, leaving her still crouching in the grass, nervous and frustrated.
The short grass offered little camouflage, but the bushes and large trees just beyond promised not only plenty of hiding places, but unsuspecting prey as well. She took a quick look back at the house, flinched her long tail once, then with feline determination padded off into the woods.
Her instincts took complete control and, for a moment at least, she forgot she was an ordinary housecat used to being pampered and fed. In her own mind she became a wild animal of the jungle, the primeval cat, more fierce than the lion, more swift than the cheetah, more cunning than the tiger. She was a killing machine designed to deliver death to whatever stood in her path.
Then a new sound and a new scent attracted her attention. She sensed a presence, an alien presence that recognized her as one of its own. It called to her with the voice of the mother of all cats, beckoned her, coaxed her, enticed her with the promise of food.... Some small part of her brain flickered with the thought of home, of the Woman-Who-Feeds and The-Boy-Who-Strokes-Ears. Then the thought was gone, banished by this new presence, and she was feline again, attracted by the new and the strange. She cocked her radar ears forward toward the sound while lifting her nose to capture the scent.
That tiny portion of her brain that remained housecat flinched with fear at this alien, uncanny presence that beckoned her. A call from the Woman-Who-Feeds or The-Boy-Who-Strokes-Ears, or maybe even The-Man-Who-Gives-Milk would have been enough to send her bolting for the safety of home.
But there was no such call.
Her feline instincts recognized the smell of blood. Fresh blood. Unable to help herself, she rushed into the woods.
She ran with a purpose, ignoring everything around her: the birds, the insects, and even the forest itself. She buried her fear within her semi-domesticated brain as she cut a straight course through the woods, leaping over bushes and fallen branches, instinctively knowing the shortest route to her destination. The sound and the scent grew stronger the deeper she went into the forest, and she could not ignore the call.
She stopped when she came to an open field with a huge, flat stone in the center. The stone called to her. Even while her tail twitched in agitation and indecision, her four legs were already carrying her forward to the base of the stone. Sensing danger, she dropped into a crouch and hissed an angry snarl. She raised the fur on her back and bared her teeth, realizing that this was no Mother Cat, but something far more dangerous and inexplicable.
Could she have articulated her thoughts she would have wondered why the stone was so black—as black as her own ebony fur—and why it seemed to project such evil from itself. Perhaps she would have wondered how it had come to be and who controlled the powerful force she sensed within it. And, were she capable of the thought, she would have wondered how a thick, black shadow could grow out of nothing and advance towards her so quickly, despite the fact that the sun shone over her shoulders.
But, being merely a cat, she could not wonder. Instead, she bared her fangs, lifted her tail high in defiance, and prepared to do battle as she felt the shadow’s coldness approach.
-3-
He mentally licked his lips in satisfaction. In reality, of course, he had no lips, no mouth, no substance. The blood had helped, though, and the pain had diminished somewhat. It was never really gone, but diminished. The feeding had helped take the edge off of his agony and give him at least a shadowy existence. Yes, it
The short grass offered little camouflage, but the bushes and large trees just beyond promised not only plenty of hiding places, but unsuspecting prey as well. She took a quick look back at the house, flinched her long tail once, then with feline determination padded off into the woods.
Her instincts took complete control and, for a moment at least, she forgot she was an ordinary housecat used to being pampered and fed. In her own mind she became a wild animal of the jungle, the primeval cat, more fierce than the lion, more swift than the cheetah, more cunning than the tiger. She was a killing machine designed to deliver death to whatever stood in her path.
Then a new sound and a new scent attracted her attention. She sensed a presence, an alien presence that recognized her as one of its own. It called to her with the voice of the mother of all cats, beckoned her, coaxed her, enticed her with the promise of food.... Some small part of her brain flickered with the thought of home, of the Woman-Who-Feeds and The-Boy-Who-Strokes-Ears. Then the thought was gone, banished by this new presence, and she was feline again, attracted by the new and the strange. She cocked her radar ears forward toward the sound while lifting her nose to capture the scent.
That tiny portion of her brain that remained housecat flinched with fear at this alien, uncanny presence that beckoned her. A call from the Woman-Who-Feeds or The-Boy-Who-Strokes-Ears, or maybe even The-Man-Who-Gives-Milk would have been enough to send her bolting for the safety of home.
But there was no such call.
Her feline instincts recognized the smell of blood. Fresh blood. Unable to help herself, she rushed into the woods.
She ran with a purpose, ignoring everything around her: the birds, the insects, and even the forest itself. She buried her fear within her semi-domesticated brain as she cut a straight course through the woods, leaping over bushes and fallen branches, instinctively knowing the shortest route to her destination. The sound and the scent grew stronger the deeper she went into the forest, and she could not ignore the call.
She stopped when she came to an open field with a huge, flat stone in the center. The stone called to her. Even while her tail twitched in agitation and indecision, her four legs were already carrying her forward to the base of the stone. Sensing danger, she dropped into a crouch and hissed an angry snarl. She raised the fur on her back and bared her teeth, realizing that this was no Mother Cat, but something far more dangerous and inexplicable.
Could she have articulated her thoughts she would have wondered why the stone was so black—as black as her own ebony fur—and why it seemed to project such evil from itself. Perhaps she would have wondered how it had come to be and who controlled the powerful force she sensed within it. And, were she capable of the thought, she would have wondered how a thick, black shadow could grow out of nothing and advance towards her so quickly, despite the fact that the sun shone over her shoulders.
But, being merely a cat, she could not wonder. Instead, she bared her fangs, lifted her tail high in defiance, and prepared to do battle as she felt the shadow’s coldness approach.
-3-
He mentally licked his lips in satisfaction. In reality, of course, he had no lips, no mouth, no substance. The blood had helped, though, and the pain had diminished somewhat. It was never really gone, but diminished. The feeding had helped take the edge off of his agony and give him at least a shadowy existence. Yes, it
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