The Chase – A Singa Tale

The Chase – A Singa Tale

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The wind is blowing towards me, the smell of the young brown gazelle strong on it. he looks furtive and strong, a good runner and the only advantage I have is the wind and surprise, if the wind changes before I am ready its sure there is no food for the next day or two. he feels eyes on him, fidgets, smells the wind but I am still upwind, settles back to eating the fresh grass. The wind would change anytime soon, a deep breath, check the ground in my line of attack for treasonous footing for about the umpteenth time, muscles bunched and the grassland plain blurs.

The wind changes, the gazelle fidgets, smells the wind, takes one look at 160 kilogrammes of hunger and fury barrelling towards him and bolts away then realises just how much of a trap he is in, I’d known he’d bolt directly away from me once I commit to the chase so when stalking him I’d placed him directly between me and a grassland bog, an arrangement which he realises and in a tribute to the litheness of his species he makes a hard right turn which I couldn’t even contemplate at that speed, takes a jump in the air obviously impressed with his own maneuver and takes off.

If only this young fool knew what chased him, he would have made that turn and took off with all the breath it had but no he didn’t know, he’d never know, that I have never lost a single chase since the turning of the seasons and can’t remember the last time I lost before that, that I always hunt alone and that he was dead the instant I set eyes on his lovely skin.

I had anticipated the right turn since the marsh was to his front and left and he wouldn’t run into a death trap so willingly though not as gracefully as he’d done it, so as soon as he bolted away from me, a shift of mass put me on a direct line with him again, the wind is now blowing into our left flank and he had lost the advantage of been able to track me by smell, a slight tilt of the head to ascertain my location put the fear back in his eyes, I was close, too close and it made the last mistake of its young life by trying to go right, to run away from the wind and gain the advantage of tracking me by smell, but it was far too late for that as both my fore limbs tangled with his hind limbs and razor sharp teeth sank into his spine, we both lost footing and crashed in the grass, releasing my teeth from his spine and sinking it into his throat, his lifeblood splashing over my face and jaws, thoughts of filled bellies and a satisfied grunt came up my throat.

I am Singa and I hunt alone.



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