The world is a vampire sent to drain

Pity. What else could be felt for the prey caught by an amateur hunter?

Stalking. The Chase. These were all things he excelled at. The real issue came with the catch. Remorse always filled him as he struggled to give the final blow. He didn't want to end the life of the innocent creature beneath his paws, but it was necessary. He needed a souvenir to bring back, a show of his strength. That was what gave him the courage to snap the hare's neck.

He always slit the throat. It was his own small way of giving back what he stole, the blood that ran through the grass gave it fertilizer. The plants thriving wherever he made the kill. It was a messy process though, one that dyed his multi-coloured fur.

Afterwards he laid beside the corpse, sides heaving as he recovered from the exertion.

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