by Eric Fauble

Created on: September 27, 2009

Excerpt from "Katarnyaza: A Cheetah"

PROLOGUE

As you walk silently through the thick bushes, your ears twitch in a circle, picking up the faintest sounds, sounds most can only wish to hear.

In the distance, a lion's booming roar echoes through the plains, sounding more and more like the rare sound of thunder. An elephant herd trumpets, low and loud rumbles across the grassy ground.

Then, all was quiet. So quiet, not even a bird or a mouse could be heard. Before you know it, you realize why all is quiet; you're running. Running as fast as you can.

Half a minute later, your lungs are bursting, your breathing rapidly increases, your heart beating faster than it ever has before. You feel like stopping, but deep down, you know you just cannot. You don't know who or what you're running from or from until you finally hear it.

Gunshots. At least, that's what it sounds like. BANG! BANG! Two more go off when you realized you've finally stopped running.

The shots of the gun ceased. Your ears perk up, twitching in small circles once again. You listen for the gunshots; they are gone. Finally. Or at least, that's what you think.

Unaware of the many dangers lurking around you, you lay down in the tall grass, resting, recovering your heart rate and your breathing. You breathe slowly, almost panting, but softer.

Your eyes slowly close. You're exhausted. All you want to do is rest and sleep. One more move, and you feel like falling into a million pieces.

You open your eyes too soon. You jump to your paws, ears twitching in small circles once again. Your yellow-gold eyes stare at nothing, but you know something is out there somewhere. You are watching that something as it stares back at you. You try to move, but your paws are frozen to the ground, making mobility nearly impossible. So, your body crouches to the ground, low, trying your best to hide amongst the tall grass.

Too late! You've already been spotted. Quick, make a snap decision; live or die. Of course, you decide life over death, but at the rate you're moving, death seems more like a probable answer.

So, you continue waiting. You figure whatever's watching you from the safety of the bushes must be another one of your kind.

You sniff the air.

No.

It's not another you. Nothing even close to what you are. It's a mere different scent, a scent strangely familiar, like you remember exactly what it is, but can't think it. You know the scent from somewhere

But where? Where do you know it from? Why is the strange, familiar

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