This story was posted January 7th, 2010
The night was dark and tenebrous.
The moon was obscured by the ominous black clouds which augured a dawn of winter storms.
The creatures of the night prowled with a decided lack of intensity, prefering to hunt when the the wildly whipping winds subsided.
The howl of predator and the whimper of the prey were trumped by the the fury of the elements.
Merowg loped, in long effortless strides, the frozen tundra barely yielding a sound beneath his large padded paws..
He was hungry.
It had been several days since he had made a kill, and his empty stomach growled with an almost painful virulence.
Merowg was a 500 pound killing machine with huge fangs, and a double row of sharp teeth . He was born to kill, slash, and eat.
His razor sharp claws were retracted as he ran, but would extend almost instantly when sighting prey or facing a foe.
There were not many on this forsaken world who would dare to challenge Merowg for territory or a meal. The foe who had dared ended up as dinner themselves.