"Leave me alone," hissed Loket under her breath. Her eyes glared in the moonlight at her cousin. He snarled right back, pacing around her. The blood was flowing again. The moon pulled at her belly. But she was not ready for this.
"I said leave me ALONE!" she roared, slashing at him. Her claws sprung forward from her knuckles and lashed across his cheek. He stepped back, mewing.
"Ah, Lok. That hurt." And then, he lept on her, half playing, half fighting. They rolled across the forest floor, hissing and snarling at each other, fur flying. Finally, Loket was on top, pinning Herrol down. He looked up with defeat in his emerald eyes, the pupils round in the darkness. His fur was black as the night, short and smooth. Dark spots could be seen barely, and only under bright light. Hers was short, orange and black, and spotted like a cheetah. Her eyes were large and amber brown. Her tail lashed behind her, and she clicked her teeth at him. She held up one hand- a very human hand- and retracted her claws back. And then she stood, and brushed the leaves from her coat.
"Get up. We must hunt." And he obeyed. When her time came, when the moon pulled, he was no match for her. Her strength welled up deep from within. So he would listen, until the blood-flow stopped. And they went off to hunt.
Loket and her distant cousin Herrol were from a strange species. Humans, or some human-like creature (perhaps a shapeshifter), had one time long before produced an offspring with a cat. Not a house cat, but a "big cat". Those offspring chose not to mate with humans, but wiuth other cats. Now their generation, that is, Herrol and Loket's generation, were mostly cat with some human characteristics. They hid out in the forests, away from real humans. And sometimes they preyed on the animals that the humans raised. Their brothers were at least useful for something.
The moon shone bright, fat and full, above the treeline. Loket and Herrol romped together, playing in the patches of moonglow. They smacked at each other, never really hurting, but always on the verge. They killed a sheep. They were stupid creatures, really. Bleating and bleating, calling for help. Honestly, all fluff, no brain. And they gorged. Somewhere deep inside, a small voice called out in disgust. But like always when they killed a beast, they pushed it away and kept eating. Food was necessary for survival. The human inside didn't like it, but oh well. It wasn't their fault they were what they were.
"Don't bite me, Loket."
"Don't push me, Herrol."
"I am not scared of you, Loket!"
"Nor I you, Herrol! So don't PUSH me!" Herrol snarled again, and jumped onto her back. She went down with a surprised yowl. She hadn't been expecting that. They rolled, slapping each other with their hands, clawing. Herrol bit hard Loket's neck, and she hissed in anger. This time it ended when they rolled into a lake. They separated and came up, getting away from the water as soon as they could. There, on the banks, they groomed. It seemed that all they ever did in their lives was walk, fight, eat and groom. And sleep. They always slept...
Herrol yawned, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. Loket watched. Herrol stretched, arching his back, his muscles stretching taunt. He was very handsome, she thought. And he turned, and lay down on his side. She lay near him, not beside him. She thought, as she drifted off into sleep, that they needed something new in their life, some change. And she didn't know, for how could she, that Herrol was thinking the same.