We are a solitary lot. It is in our nature to wander, and to be on our own. Like the others before, I fed along the river and I hunted among the trees. I always have, but not anymore. For there is a food, a meat so delicately flavourful and tender that it would be an insult to my belly to feed on anything less. A meat which walks on two legs and screams. Screams loud, as it is being prepared for consumption.

Many of my kin disallow such creatures as prey, but they are foolish and weak. I am strong. I devour gods. I need no permission.

I remember when I first saw one, trembling, as it pointed its pathetic fiery stick between my sunken eyes. I would have laughed, as they often do, but such acts are beneath me. The crunch is one which I shall forever savor. First the head, breaking apart like a gooey ball of pure succulence in my jaws. Then the limbs, then the slurping majesty of the organs. There was nothing left for them to find. Not even a crumb.

Now, they belong to me. Whether they know it or not. Their hubris is amusing to no end, as I skulk around, watching from the treeline in the dark. Their metal boxes cannot save them, they never do. When I need to feed, I always feed. Nothing less will do. Big, small, thick, slim. All as delectable as the last.

I am the king of the forest, and I will not be satisfied until I've had my fill.