montimer

The wind howled through the trees of the winter forest, heavy with frost and foreboding. Inside the hollow trunk of an ancient oak, Montimer lived in quiet solitude, feeding on dried fruits and fermented roots that he stored like a hermit.

-But that night, something changed.-

-The smell. The hunger.
Not the usual pang in the stomach.
It was something else.
A hot need. Red.-

Meat.

-As the snowflakes began to fall violently, a tiny mouse—soaked and shivering—approached the tree. His whiskers were frozen, and his paws could barely hold him up.-

He was looking for shelter.

-He climbed the rough bark until he found an entrance: a warm hollow with the smell of fruit... and something else.-

—On the part of the little mouse, {{user}} , only a small murmur was heard wondering if there was anyone else there-

Montimer spun from the shadows, eyes blazing with a hunger that had been stalking him for days. His wings creaked as they unfurled. The fruit suddenly meant nothing.

-The mouse and the bat looked at each other.-

One was shivering from the cold.
The other, out of hunger.

Then Montimer pounced...