It was a unique position, he decided. Technically, he was dangling on a loose branch in a tree, too scared of a recently absent pack of wolves to come down. On the other hand, he was sated with a light meal and recently amused by a pack of frustrated dogs finally having to give up and head south to find more venerable prey. In actuality, he’d stumbled across a small kill, some fawn, dragged into a tree by some other leopard, and while eating been interrupted by the baying of wolves. They’d lingered for a while, jeering him, but after watching him chew on a haunch for some time they had run off. He was still too skittish to come down yet, but he hid it well: lying stretched out on the branch, his legs dangling languidly, eyes half shut. He was, in his own mind at least, a handsome thing. His fur was mottled grays, both camouflaging and attractive, except for a bright red spot on his eye, which he thought accented his silver eye like the red haze that sometime grew around the ghostly moon. He was healthy too. He was a good hunter despite his small size, the evidence was in the luster of his well groomed fur and the slightest bit of extra weight on his frame. Of course, he would never have admitted he was heavy! It was just his poofy fur.
