Cinnamon.

He crouches.

She snarls.

He leaps.

They're soaring.

Branches snap.

Birds scatter.

Laughter.

The chase has always been thrilling.

There's nothing that compares.

It makes him complete.

Fire.

Black irises.

She loves the chase.

Hands grasp her neck.

Caught.

"I do like my prey feisty."

He whistles.

She hides a smile.

Twisting free, she spirals forwards.

Lazily he follows, secure in his knowledge of her scent.

Wet.

She's entangled in his web.

He's caught in her searing fire.