Cruelgames Stories

His green eyes narrow to a slant as the target closes in. Poised for flight at no moments notice, as still as the summer's noon he stands. His muscles are tense. His death grip on the tree tigthens with anticipation as the target is finally in perimeter. He lunges forward for the unsuspecting prey. But what he does not know is that this lunge will be his last. As the falcon plunges into the jaws of death in the eye of a velvet arrow. And he is not the only one. . .