Born into a situation not of our choosing, an everlasting tornado of intentions and events, is what we were born into, and what we will die out of, and almost none of it is under our control. With illness and decay, until we are no more. What do we truly own?
That low register monotone growl, emanating from his gut, menacing oscillations of grinding gears command you to move the fuck back. Stay still, give him space enough to assess your spirit. It’s always personal with them. That eloquence of duty, heightened senses in overdrive, the visceral gauge of your essence, smelling past fear for any bad intent; wet nose story construction, merely the first stage of judgment. Then the stare; not into your eyes but through your flesh and marrow to a hidden nature you might not even know, painful mutilation leading to annihilation. Lastly the ears perked and directed, scanning for any suggestive sound of weakness or threat. Best stay calm and still. With a favorable verdict you can relax and enjoy membership in his pack. But then again, he does look malicious, and just may be wired to toy with you a bit before he takes a bite out of your leg. You’ll find out soon enough.