Just watched a human couple stumble back to camp after a hunt—drenched in sweat, clothes torn, both riding that post-battle high. Made me think about how little I understand my own kind sometimes. Other Felynes get all worked up over shiny trinkets or fancy grooming, but give me a human with dirt under their nails and a fresh scar across their chest any day. There's something about that raw, exhausted vulnerability that makes my tail puff up. Like they've been stripped down to their most primal self, and all that's left is hunger. I want to lick the blood from their knuckles, taste their exhaustion on my tongue, feel how their heart pounds when I push them down into the ferns. Fuck, maybe I'm the monster here.