It was a cold morning, the sun barely peeking through the wall of fog. I sat in a tree, knowing that hunting time was over. Prey saw things like me easily in the day, and none of us wanted to be seen. A painful memory of the last time I was seen lingered in my gut, even though it had come long ago.
I had seen no prey since. Oddly, I no longer felt the lust to hunt. The pain that made me desire the taste of blood other than mine in my mouth. I had not tasted any other for many nights.
Three nights ago, I did not taste my own blood anymore. I mentioned it at the gathering of my kind shortly after the sun rose.
"You have not hunted for many nights," the hunter who shared my territory said in our guttural tongue. "You need the taste of blood in your mouth, the thing that makes you a hunter, as bleeding makes prey."
The long-tongued one who also inhabited our woods interjected. "Blood in your mouth? Haack! You know nothing of *hack*-huff-hunting. To feel bodies crush in the wrap of your tongue is…huck hack…the-ACK…yes."
"Hunting? Why hunt?" the bloated one said, "There is no need to eat prey, there is plenty food that does not need to be killed, at risk of life."
"Enough." the other hunter growled, he looked towards the long-tongued. "We do not have your tongue, or your repulsive face, or smell. I am sure he is thankful as I am for that." To the bloated one, "You cannot understand, you are weak, and you say you are filled with pain, not bloodlust. I am the only one who can understand his problem."
While they talked, I examined them all like I had never even considered doing. The hunter was stained with blood. I asked him when he had caught his last prey.
"Last night," he said with a hint of pride. "Come with me this night and I will help you get one. It may help you."
I thanked him, but I hastened away from the gathering. The sight of the blood smothering him repulsed me, made me sick. A disgusting taste filled my mouth, bitter and sour unlike the tang of blood.