Kangaroo's blog

Far, far away

Off in the distance

There on the horizon

Is light

Divine Traces and Demonic races: The Constant Turn of Time

By K.G.R

A light wind blew over the soft pale grass and through the aged trees of the forest, taking with it a faint scent to an upraised muzzle, its owner breathing deeply the sweet smell of its new prey. A zealous grin appeared on the maw of the muzzle and the predator was off. The creature ran at speeds that made even the wind jealous and was nothing more than a blur in-between the trees. Soon, slim jade eyes viewed their next meal, barely visible in the slowly drifting clear rain. Then, with a skill only acquired through years of practice, it took the life of the willing martyr. A quick bite and turn of a neck and the body became nothing more than a wet noodle. This martyr’s blood, which drenched the predator, became lost in a sea of deep red fur, shining against an untainted white jaw line, and drowning in paws the color of night sky.