Post by sallydickins on May 17, 2006 13:41:57 GMT
Darwin saw the balance of the natural world. One wing full of colour, full of splendour and magic the other dark, destructive and corrupt with canker. The joy at new life, the next generation, the continuance of the species…………but not of the strongest, the fittest perhaps or the most aggressive……
She hunkered down in the humid afternoon. The shade from the overhanging branches only taking the sting out of the sun but not alleviating the oppression of the heavy, airless cocoon wrapping itself around her consciousness. Her eyes blinked away the drowsiness, the temptation to lower her head and soak up the dark was edging ever closer to conquering the will. The survival of her own depended on her ability to outwit her aggressor, and carefree restfulness would not allow them to see tomorrow's dawn. She strained her keen eyesight through the shimmering of the heat haze. Her senses alive to every changing nuance of smell, sound and sight.
Across the pale gossamer grassland, up the craggy base of the hill to the rocks seemed totally still and innocent, bereft of any of the sinister violence that she knew awaited her. She needed to be in the safety of those rocks, to hide her progeny and gain the high ground. There she would be safe, able to see her enemy in time to seek security or prepare to defend their right to life.
The previous day as the sun stretched out rays and warmed the morning ether the cheetah had spotted a group of three rogue males. Young, and outlawed in their desire to stay as a pack, ganging together to work as a team and creating savagery and barbarity far greater than nature designed for their kind. Should they catch her scent on the shimmering heat waves, should they catch sight of her young cavorting about the lair the cubs would receive a swift and vicious death.
She needed now to cross the treacherous void of the grassland. She hesitated one more time. Her whiskered nose twitching, separating and analyzing each particle. Her upright ears twisting catching every buzz of a fly, every possible crack of a breaking twig, and her golden eyes searching, and scanning every flow and ebb of the grass heads - was it breeze or was it death?
The males had a mission - to create the next generation to have the gene stock at the top of the food chain. To be the fittest, to be the strongest you had to be the procreator. The cubs were the barrier, the cubs had to become of age and leave before the mother's hormones spun round again ready to accept another gestation. It would be a while yet before the cubs were ready to step out to find a mate of their own. Only at pubescence they had much to learn, they still suckle, she still cleaned and fussed over them. They were ripe for killing though, removing forcefully so the males could scrap and snarl over the barren and grieving female. She would submit to the successor to be implanted by his seed and then abandoned to bring to the top the strongest and the fittest…….
A guttural grunt emitted from deep in her throat, a sign for her young to stay close and be aware. She tensed her muscles, gripped her resolve and stole off and out into the killing ground………
She hunkered down in the humid afternoon. The shade from the overhanging branches only taking the sting out of the sun but not alleviating the oppression of the heavy, airless cocoon wrapping itself around her consciousness. Her eyes blinked away the drowsiness, the temptation to lower her head and soak up the dark was edging ever closer to conquering the will. The survival of her own depended on her ability to outwit her aggressor, and carefree restfulness would not allow them to see tomorrow's dawn. She strained her keen eyesight through the shimmering of the heat haze. Her senses alive to every changing nuance of smell, sound and sight.
Across the pale gossamer grassland, up the craggy base of the hill to the rocks seemed totally still and innocent, bereft of any of the sinister violence that she knew awaited her. She needed to be in the safety of those rocks, to hide her progeny and gain the high ground. There she would be safe, able to see her enemy in time to seek security or prepare to defend their right to life.
The previous day as the sun stretched out rays and warmed the morning ether the cheetah had spotted a group of three rogue males. Young, and outlawed in their desire to stay as a pack, ganging together to work as a team and creating savagery and barbarity far greater than nature designed for their kind. Should they catch her scent on the shimmering heat waves, should they catch sight of her young cavorting about the lair the cubs would receive a swift and vicious death.
She needed now to cross the treacherous void of the grassland. She hesitated one more time. Her whiskered nose twitching, separating and analyzing each particle. Her upright ears twisting catching every buzz of a fly, every possible crack of a breaking twig, and her golden eyes searching, and scanning every flow and ebb of the grass heads - was it breeze or was it death?
The males had a mission - to create the next generation to have the gene stock at the top of the food chain. To be the fittest, to be the strongest you had to be the procreator. The cubs were the barrier, the cubs had to become of age and leave before the mother's hormones spun round again ready to accept another gestation. It would be a while yet before the cubs were ready to step out to find a mate of their own. Only at pubescence they had much to learn, they still suckle, she still cleaned and fussed over them. They were ripe for killing though, removing forcefully so the males could scrap and snarl over the barren and grieving female. She would submit to the successor to be implanted by his seed and then abandoned to bring to the top the strongest and the fittest…….
A guttural grunt emitted from deep in her throat, a sign for her young to stay close and be aware. She tensed her muscles, gripped her resolve and stole off and out into the killing ground………