Smoldering Thoughts of a Hunter

I look with longing over my shoulder at a would be meal, but for your diligence. I and my cohorts will move off in favor of our skins. But know, our return is already imminent. The lambs are ripe and our bellies whine. How long can you watch? How many can you save from the inevitable? One may die with honor tonight while the moon smiles. Are you not a predator as well. Do you deny your need for blood? Indeed you hunt not just for meat but you take the hunter just to prove your strength, hanging his carcasses from fences and walls. Over countless lifetimes you have taken our kind. You subdue his heart to your bidding. He works for far less than he can kill himself. His mind bends to yours and he forgets his fathers' spirit. You have turned him into a beggar. I will not beg. I will not make a child of myself for your sport. My blood may be taken by your fury, my skin nailed to your wall, my flesh and bones slung over your fence to dry in the sun, tuck for the shrike. I give it to him cheerfully if I am taken while I hunt. Light and darkness chase each other and every turn of the moon brings me closer to death. It takes life to fill the emptiness. My other has young to feed and she hunts as well. Even as you guard your charge they learn our ways. They will grow to replace us and bring their hunger to your fence. How long can you watch?