The Fittest So Far

I saw his claws. They resembled hands
wrapped around a sword’s handle too tightly,
bloodless white in the fearful death-grip
of his cautions hunting, always that hunger.
His face had that tight animal cut jaw, bright eyes
flicking this way and that, wary of possible danger,
but driven on by hunger, his tongue craving blood,
his teeth gristle. And soon enough came success,
his belly full, he was back in the protection of his lair.
I watched his eyelids droop in the darkness, rest coming
after surviving this kill. It was good to see him lucky again.