Overture Downs Let's raise some hell, shall we?

WC: 361

The lust that plagued the beast was something that would likely never abate, no matter how many wolves he tore to pieces, nor wound he garner across his massive body. He was poised in the darkness like a sphynx spilling riddles in the form of his piteous voice, hoping to lure the child closer. Maybe he wouldn't harm her after all. He thought of all the things he could do to something that small, and as a plethora of concepts invaded his superior brain he had to hold back some of his desire to laugh—so he purred softly instead, so brief and so quiet it was like the rustling of old leaves in the woods.

What could he do to the child? What could he do. Really, if the thing came close enough, he could fashion her in to some kind of snack. She was small enough to be more of a nuisance than a threat to him, and as both a cat and a male he had the distinctive feral drive to grab at her, to toss her around. She was the size (and if he continued to spy, the complexion) of a cub born to his own people; this would not save her. Men were known for killing the children of other men, and Zugzwang was no different. But other thoughts came—for he did not have to end her life so swiftly, as satisfying as that would be. He could take her away from here, do things in private—

—Ah, but she was not alone. After briefly losing sight of the dark-capped girl he heard someone, or some thing, drifting closer to the exposed tail and his cooing voice. The foot-falls were not as chaotic as the child's, which led him to believe it was someone older. A guardian perhaps. Maybe the child's own mother—what an enticing thought. So, Zugzwang continued with the ploy and put his mind to work on the present moment rather than all that could be. He carefully tugged at the detached tail and from where it sat on the forest floor, it looked almost alive.

Mother, mother—is that you? I need help, mommy, please—