Through a Hunter’s Eyes
Spinning and weaving the steel-like lines together, I worked all night long in creating the net that would be my trap. As strong as anything a hundred times its diameter, few creatures could break through once they were caught. And if the strength was not enough to hold the prey, the adhesive properties of the net could hold even the most stubborn in place. Rarely has anything escaped from one of my works of art.
Anchored vertically in an opening in the foliage, the trap was virtually invisible to the untrained eye. Many have stood face to face with my nets and never knew it was there. What good is a trap if the prey can see it? Can avoid it?
Completing my night long task, I ducked out of sight, hidden in the foliage. It was time to rest and wait. I didn’t need to keep an eye on the net to see when I caught something for I maintained contact with one of the lines. I could feel the slightest vibration and would know immediately when I caught something even as I rest and slept. There would be no escape.
I did not know how long I would have to wait before I caught something, but it did not matter. I had mastered patience long ago and could go for what seemed like forever without ever moving. I was a master of the game and would not lose.
The sun had nearly reached its apex when I was brought out of my rest having felt the unmistakable tug on the line. I cautiously came out of hiding to get a look at what I had caught. Rushing in to early would get myself hurt or worse. I needed get a grasp of the situation and had the time because I knew the prey wasn’t going anywhere. The situation was easy enough to handle and I was at no risk of getting injured. Conscious thought went to the background as instinct took over.
I raced along the line, keeping a close eye on my prey as I quickly approached it. No matter how much it struggled it would not get free. As the prey fought to free its self, it just ended up tiring and wearing its self out. This made things easier for me.
Out came more line, like what I used to make my net, which I used to eagerly wrap up my prey. It was sealed up in a cocoon line in short time; cutting off any small hope that it would escape my grasp.
The last task of the capture was complete when I bit into my victim through its prison. It screamed out and struggled briefly before my venom worked its way into its system, both killing and slowly liquefying its insides.
When the process was completed, I stepped back to admire my work. I was good at what I did and I was proud of myself. The only thing left was to drink up my meal before working on setting up tomorrow’s trap.
Maybe I would be lucky again and capture myself another fly to dine on.