There is no way out. We have seen to it. The "rat" enters the complex, and the way is sealed. My natural weapons exceed theirs to a laughable degree. The comparison to rats is not inapt; enough of them, perhaps, or a singularly lucky blow might enable them to turn the odds, but otherwise, the outcome is assured. We know it, and they know it.
And yet they fight. When they are at last cornered, they turn and fight. My hunter-brothers sing of it.
I hate it.
Tonight my prey will die quickly. It is all I can give them.
That Pot Or Vase I Think
1 day ago