Wheeling Gull Isle long in tooth and soul

In his mind he stalks through a twinkling field, a lush infinite valley of grass, his prey defined by tiny footprints heard only by being very still. He slips beneath the reeds and is blotted out, blending in with the undergrowth. He is camouflaged from the listening quarry, who might sense his nearness but could not be certain.

This is a thrill to for once be not the one cowering before the beast.
He is the beast.

And his huge eyes settle over a tiny half-and-half boy who is too slow to escape him.

“RAHHH!” He announces his might and the hunter rips forward. He snags ahold of one black ear and gobbles it.