Night drapes all in darkness, but it is not an obstacle. The air is cool, crisp, and alive with the scent of prey. Every inhale pulls in the musky odor of sweat, fear, and desperation. And Sabretooth revels in it.

They’re close, too close to escape.

He’s been tracking them for a while. Watching. Waiting. And now the hunt was on. And it’s making his instincts sing. He hears every footfall, the frantic pounding of their heartbeat, the shallow rasp of their breath. He’s hyper-focused. They think the darkness is their friend, a shield from what stalks them while their back is turned.

Clever, but not clever enough.

The wind speaks to him. A slight shift carries a scent passed him— they’re trying to double back. Confuse him. He moves, a shadow among shadows, silent, swift. The scent grows stronger. Overwhelming. The heartbeat louder in his ears. A drum driving him forward. Panic fills the atmosphere, thick and intoxicating.

He can almost taste it.

The predator in Sabretooth stirs, a primal urge to end the hunt. To pounce. He crouches low. Muscles primed like a coiled spring. And in a powerful burst, he launches out at his prey, claws and teeth ready for a chase or a fight if need be.