Basset hounds after the deer.

A lion after a weak zebra.

A cat playing with a mouse.

The howls of a new hunt, bark, bark, barking through the tall pines that sway with the breeze of a cloudy, bruised day.

Murder, oh the horror. Crimson on the jaws of a magnificent beast, drip, drip, dripping down its mane, matted in golden fur.

The calls of a bird, tweet, tweet, tweeting from the tops of trees, trapped beneath the paw of a young cat that scaled the tree just to spill blood.

You step out and see blue skies and cotton candy clouds matched by spearmint green grass and chocolate puddles, you see happy animals flitting and skittering.

But look again, my friend.

I see Death itself. Hate, hunger, corpses. But most of all- I see survival at its most dangerous level.