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Barou is Isagi-hunting.
That’s what he’s begun to call it. It’s a particular activity that he partakes in and devotes himself to: he believes that it’s special enough to deserve its own name. There’s one deer he needs to hunt, one deer that never leaves his mind, one deer that his stomach is always longing for. Hours upon hours of his days are dedicated to the hunt, nothing else, just that. It’s only that deer that has the honor of being targeted so fervently by the king. Only Isagi.
Every prey in the woodlands lives in fear of him. They are all right to do so. Barou is a menace to them all; a death omen, if you will. You catch sight of him, you’re dead. That’s just how it goes, and it’s a truth that all of the woodlands had grown to accept. But Isagi… he is something special. Barou doesn’t think there will ever be any other time when he will feel half as ecstatic, as joyful, and satisfied as he will feel when inevitably, he sinks his canines into Isagi’s fragile throat, his claws digging into the dark fur that is so soft to touch against his own, while tasting blood in his mouth.
But Isagi is prey that has not accepted the ultimate truth quite yet.
For one thing, he is still alive, treading the woodlands without a worry in the world, always so utterly enchanting. Barou has never seen an animal so delicate, so hauntingly beautiful. But that’s not why Barou can’t get him out of his head, not why he has such a desire to taste Isagi. It’s the rebellion that intrigues him so much. Isagi refuses to be eaten. And he doesn’t eat like he is supposed to. He eats like a predator.
There is nothing Barou finds more enjoyable than hunting. Why would a predator hunt? The answer to the question is simple and so obvious, and usually, there is only one answer to it. Predators hunt for food. That’s all there is to it. They don’t possess a unique kind of sadism. Hunting brings food, food satisfies hunger. It’s so obvious that it’s stupid to explain. But that’s not quite why Barou hunts. Sure, he is an animal like anything else. He is living and breathing, he possesses a stomach that growls with hunger if left neglected. But when he hunts, it’s not sustenance he’s looking for. He is hungry, but oftentimes, it’s not a kind of biological process. He longs for the thrill he gets out of hunting. It’s a state he loves to be in: prowling the area as silently as he can, tracking prey, and being aware of everything. At last, he’ll find his prize. A helpless deer quenching its thirst by the waterhole, or a gazelle idly grazing. Barou isn’t picky; he likes anything that will let him forget everything but the hunt. If the hunt is satisfying, then the taste automatically is.
He doesn’t even bother to wait or bide his time. What’s the point of it, if Barou already knows that him simply gazing upon a prey means death for them? He charges immediately, because he never hesitates. Sometimes, the prey manages to catch sight of him before Barou can sink his teeth in. It’s these moments that he always thinks about gleefully. The look of utter fear and helplessness. You’ll die, and there’s nothing that can stop such a pitiful fate. That is how it always goes. Prey are meant to be killed. And when Barou is there, to be killed and eaten is imminent for them.
Most times, though, Barou manages to trap them against the dark soil and bites before it can even register what’s going on. He takes pleasure in that too. To feel it thrashing under him, in pain to a degree that he will never have the misfortune to feel. It’s a pathetic sight to watch. Prey are just so delicate, he almost marvels at it. They don’t even have time to cry out and make those irritating distress calls that Barou always hears from them. He is far too quick; he bites down on its throat and crushes its windpipe within an instant, severing its spinal cord. When he is sure that it’s dead—which is usually so quick—he lets himself watch the carcass. Watching the corpse is delightful as well. The physical outcome of his hunt, in all its bloody glory. He has the power to have made this happen. He’ll begin to taste it, the meat appetizing. Never bothers to drag the carcass back to his den. The hunt is always what he is looking for, the utter feeling of domination and control. He doesn’t need anything else.
This is how he lives. Hunting, and hunting, and hunting. Barou lives for it, and no pleasure comes close to it. He loves to be the ruler of everything; he loves that he can kill any prey he sees. It’s a wondrous existence that Barou is more than pleased and satisfied with.
Isagi has taken that away from him. Barou can’t feel that bliss anymore, that sense of satisfaction that comes with sinking your claws into a good catch. He kills, has his fill, and leaves the flesh and bone that remains to rot. Then, he moves on and never thinks about it. Until the next hunt. Until the next prey is dead. It’s never personal, and each hunt is of equal value to him.
But he can’t feel that way anymore. With the arrival of Isagi into his life, taking over his mind, every prey he bites into tastes so insipid. Every time he charges in, it feels languid. The look of pain and terror evokes nothing in him now. He is always only thinking about how good it would feel he were devouring Isagi right now, at that moment. If he were in such a blissful situation, he would not leave anything to rot. Everything would have been his; not even the soil would deserve the prize that is Isagi. He just can’t be satisfied with anything anymore. Not until he has him. And when will Barou have him? He is just so hungry.
Barou has known Isagi since he was a cub, a juvenile lion. From a young age, he had shown proof that he is destined for nothing but greatness. The proud lionesses that raised him always used to whisper among themselves: he was simply better than any other cub that they nursed. Some day, he was going to be the creature in the woodlands with the most blood stuck to his claws and teeth. It was only a matter of time before he took over the pride and established himself as king. And that’s what he did, because who else is more fitted for the role? He killed his own father at such a young age, effectively taking over.
But he had known of Isagi before he was king. A young cub with lofty ambitions. Someone who knew that they were so great and mighty. That kind of mindset had led him to do reckless things. He never did bite off more than he could chew, but none of his gestures had been ordinary.
When he was just a cub, he attacked an entire herd of deer, all on his own. Barou had never been a gluttonous creature, and he certainly didn’t have any intentions of eating all of them. He only attacked because he wanted to. He thought it was a challenge that could satisfy the urges that ran deep inside him. Because ever since he was a cub, he longed for the feeling that hunting and killing would give him. Attacking this herd of deer was what made him realize that he was happiest when he had a delicate throat in his mouth and blood in his tongue.
There were about fifteen deer in that herd. Barou remembers this quite well. And he had managed to kill all of them, all except one. But he doesn’t remember the actual killing. The way he had attacked each of those helpless deers, his roar vibrating through the woodlands like a battle cry. He might have completely lost his mind then, given in to his violent urges so completely. How else could you explain the sight that was left?
And of course, he remembers what he had left behind.
By the time it was done, blood was all he could see. It was as if someone had picked up the terrain and bathed it in a pool of blood and guts. Even now, it remains the bloodiest sight he has ever seen. He doesn’t think he will ever forget it as long as he lives.
The earth, the grass, which had been such a lively green, was stained a deep, deep crimson. Everything had taken on a vibrant, unnatural hue of red. Mangled carcass strewn everywhere on the ground. Their guts were scattered everywhere, indistinguishable from each other. It wasn’t clear which limb or body part belonged to which deer. Barou faintly remembered there being scratches on the tree trunks, produced by his own claws. He was washed with blood too; none of it was his own. Such a horrifying sight, it made him strangely sick as well. It was a feeling he had never felt before. To be horrified with what you had done, but wanting to do it again, and again. It was a dangerous feeling, and even now, Barou never wanted to chase after it. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t capable of going around and attacking a large herd. It just seemed so unnatural to do something like this.
He remembered staring at this sight, as silent as the carcasses on the ground. And then, he took a step forward. Felt his paw against a corpse. He raised it and looked at the pad: red. He kept on prowling, his head turning slowly to take it all in. That was, until he heard a crack. A snap of a branch.
Barou gave a start. Something, other than him, was still alive. And for a moment, for just a fraction of a second, he felt an odd sense of relief. It was strange, but he reasoned that it just wasn’t satisfying if he was the only thing alive, and everything else was dead. If he had a choice of hunting every single prey that breathed and prowled, he would not take it. He would have been so easily bored. There was something alive out there.
Then, Barou saw a flash of color. A blur of dark brown. A deer, that he had not killed yet. A deer still alive. All he could make out was his round eyes, so strangely beautiful. It had to be just a fawn, so delicate that it hurt to look away. Before Barou could even react, it began to sprint off. He watched it leave.
Now, why had he done something like that? Barou knew that he could have caught up to him, killed him, just like Barou had killed the rest of his herd. Finished the job. It was just a fawn and he would be especially easy to kill. But Barou never ran after it. He hadn’t even tried to. He had no reasoning for this decision.
That incident passes. Barou takes over his pride, becoming king. He matures into a formidable lion, and he continues to hunt. That is how he lives. Of course, he still thinks about that herd of deer. It’s often that he relives that bloody sight. And whenever he relives it, the memory of that fawn is always on the back of his mind. He supposes that he isn’t a fawn anymore, but a mature deer. Is he still alive? Maybe Barou had hunted him already, he just doesn’t know. Will Barou be able to recognize him as that fawn he had let go, if he gazes into those round eyes—only they would be lifeless—again?
As it was, when they crossed paths once again, Barou did recognize him. He surprised himself with how deep that recognition rang; how every single part of his body seemed to be so attuned to the fact that yes. This is the fawn I saw all of those years ago. It was as if Barou had always been looking for him. His mouth had yearned for his taste all of this time.
It was like any other day. The same routine. Prowl through the woods, until he catches sight of a prey whose hunt will give him that fleeting sense of satisfaction. Oh, he remembers. It had been a sweltering day during summertime and honestly, it had been such a drag to get up from his comfortable spot under the shade to hunt. But he was sure that he would change his mind once he felt that adrenaline and rush.
A hot day, he was smart enough to station himself near a water source. Animals were sure to come by and dip their heads into the water, quenching their thirst. He made his way to a stream, the water muddy but the location popular. It was a waiting game after that, and he hid behind a cluster of bushes, waiting for a deer or gazelle to come by. And then, he would make his attack. It was all very inevitable.
But that day, he got more than what he bargained for. Barou waited, and waited. When he hunted like this, when he only positioned himself by a strategic location, this was the boring part. It was passive, something so unlike him. He loved it best when he could run with the wind, feeling the air against his mane and chasing after a prey so close he could taste it. But at least, that day, he didn’t need to wait for long, because soon after, he heard movement. And… that familiar flash of color. The same colors he had seen so long ago. Fur that was so brown, it was almost black. There were lighter spots along his back and the top of his head. The spots on his head made the shape of a leaf, like the sprout of a plant that was just so young. Delicate. Barou has always liked to use this word to describe him. Prey, deer, they all look so naturally fragile to him, but this is especially true in Isagi’s case. How can an animal like him exist?
And Barou recognized him immediately when this deer made his way to the stream, obviously wanting a sip of water. It was that same fawn from when he was a cub, only he was a mature deer now. And he didn’t look much different at all; he was only larger, with thicker fur. Even his antlers weren’t so obvious: they were rather small and branched. When the deer shifted, coming closer to the stream, that was when Barou caught sight of his eyes. They were so round, just like he remembered it. Just as beautiful now as they were all of those years ago.
Could Barou ever admit to himself what the first thing he thought was? Because it was just that; he thought of how beautiful this deer was. How could a creature so lovely, so winsome, be created and sent down to this cruel world? It made Barou, the proud lion, the king of the woodlands, feel so ugly. His fur was dirty and an unattractive color. His mane stuck out so much and he didn’t think it suited the rest of him. His teeth and claws were too sharp, and only knew violence.
He wanted to eat Isagi so badly. Still does.
Barou waited again. It was a fine game he was playing and he needed to play it well. There probably wasn’t much necessity to be so careful; after all, when has he ever failed to catch a prey? He watched Isagi languidly, waiting for him to bow his head down and start drinking. As he said, usually, he was bored during this part, but at least now, he had something nice to look at. Waiting.
Except… Isagi simply stood there, stopping in his tracks. He hadn’t walked close enough to the stream to drink. Only standing, silent and immobile, but he seemed to be full of thought. It was unnatural and Barou was struck by it. Animals were governed by instinct and instinct alone. Who knew it better than Barou? He would never have thought about it before. Just anything that satisfied his primal urges.
But what stuck Barou more was what happened a moment after. Because he kept watching the deer with hungry copper eyes, watching the stillness, until the deer wasn’t still anymore. Isagi began to turn his beautiful head, the movement gentle and slow, until their eyes met. Round brown eyes, with Barou’s sharp copper ones. And Isagi watched him back without a care in the world. He saw through his hiding place in the bushes and showed no fear or trepidation at a predator eyeing him.
Something like this had never happened to Barou.
There isn’t a single creature in this forest that is as effective as him. That’s simply his nature. A king got his job done without a single flaw in his work. The same is true for Barou, especially so. Each and every prey is killed cleanly without any fuss. He was so good at what he did, so stealthy, that he had never had a prey see him before. Not like this. He relished it when a prey looked at him with pure fear in its eyes, and it was especially fun when Barou could see what they were thinking so clearly. I’ll be food today. There was a distinction to be made between animal and flesh. Carcass on the earth, rotting away. Nothing remains. This is what they are all thinking.
But Barou saw no such thoughts behind those eyes. And for the first time, he felt something that was identical to what a prey might feel in the jaws of death. Not fear, because it was wrong to say he feared for his life at that moment. No. It was that sense of helplessness that was always followed by a fate that could never be changed.
Isagi made no move. At the sight of him, he did not run away. He only stood there as he had been doing, only this time, he was looking straight at what was supposed to be an omen of death. Didn’t even try to make a single move. A look without fear. That was what he had never seen before.
Naturally, Barou charged. He attempted to do what he normally did. He leaped over the bushes, hoping that this was all a mistake. This couldn’t be it. This had never happened before, and it couldn’t happen now. He opened his jaws wide, letting out a deafening roar that he was sure the entire woodlands could hear. He tried to pounce on Isagi, to deliver a bite at his spinal cord. But his attempts were futile. Barou was slow, too slow, and Isagi had managed to get away. His slender and agile legs carried him away and Barou could only watch. How had he even done that? Just a moment ago, Isagi had been standing immobile. The next moment, he was gone and there was really nothing Barou could do. He only saw that flash of dark fur again, until it disappeared and he saw nothing but harsh nature.
Barou had never felt loss before. He never knew what it was like to lose. Now, he knows, though. It’s a bitter feeling, and after you lose once, you can never forget what it felt like. A loss always follows you. Barou has managed to hunt hundreds of deer and other prey animals after Isagi, but Isagi is all he can think about. Blood has a bitter taste when it isn’t his blood in Barou’s mouth.
Isagi. His beautiful, his most formidable prey. His rival, if he is being honest. It sounds like a shameless thing to refer to mere food as a rival, as something equal to him. Barou’s claws should have been red with Isagi’s blood. But reality is cruel, and he has no control over it.
Barou calls him Isagi in his head because the word means pure and undefiled. It fits the deer well, despite everything.
That was their first meeting ever since childhood, but it certainly wasn’t their last one. The woodlands were huge, and to this day, there were some areas of it that Barou hadn’t completely explored yet, despite ruling over it all. Barou could have lived his entire life without coming across Isagi even once. Cruel, cruel reality. Because he saw Isagi again, and again, and again. It always went the same. Barou tried his hardest, and he had even adapted so that, just this once, it could be different. That he could get him. He pounced, lunged, charged, and roared with all his might. Isagi was too stubborn to be prey. He always got away, and he always left Barou wanting. Oh, Barou wants him so bad. It’s a kind of need that makes him forget everything else. Takes away all of his interest and destroys everything that he has thought and built. Hunt. It’s not instinctual anymore. The goal isn’t satisfaction. The goal is Isagi, and only Isagi. Every prey he hunted after him was just to survive, or to get better at his craft so he could catch Isagi finally.
It had been a dark morning when Barou had discovered a sight that, as long as he lived, would never leave him.
Winter time, that day. In the woodlands, winter mornings weren’t so different from the rest of the seasons. The weather was always mild and sunny, albeit dry. Vegetation grew sparsely, not much green anywhere. The nights were harsher, with the temperature dropping suddenly. Thankfully, Barou had never endured a difficult winter. During the mornings, he basked in the sun to absorb warmth. During the long nights, Barou hunted.
A dark morning it was, colder than most mornings during this season. There wasn’t even enough light today to bask in, so Barou decided to simply have a lazy morning. Prowl through the woodlands; if he came across prey, he would attack, but he wouldn’t go looking for it. His stomach was full and he wasn’t in the hunting mood today. These kinds of moods were now usual for him, ever since he had come to understand how he was nothing at all. King, but couldn’t kill a deer. Who kept escaping and escaping and escaping. When would this ever end? Isagi had taken the joy out of everything, but Barou wasn’t that hopeless quite yet. He knew, at least, he used to know, that he would get Isagi someday, and when that someday came, it would be the best day of his life. The wait would be all worth it. Barou was only being tested, and Barou would win. That was what he always did.
His belly was pressed against dry, searing earth. Everything was brown, and he only saw green grass in some areas of the forest. It didn’t really matter to him. Grass was not a part of his diet, and he had a habit of caring about nothing himself. Everything here could burn down, and Barou wouldn’t give a damn, as long as he was still, somehow, king, and as long as he could hunt. But maybe, if it ever came down to it, Barou would be willing to give up his title as king in exchange for the flesh of a certain deer.
Barou’s surroundings were devoid of any other animals as well. He supposed that they all hung around in shadows. When he wasn’t trying to be stealthy, his footsteps made a noticeable sound against the earth, and all the prey in the vicinity would pathetically warn all the others. As if that was any help. As if it would save them from the fate that was guaranteed to arrive. It was only a matter of time.
And then, suddenly, a sound. Something soft, subtle. Like something tearing. He stopped mid-stride. Barou knew exactly what was being torn. Meat. Skin and flesh of a carcass. He was familiar with such a sound because he had made such sounds before. Barou soon began to be aware of a strong, repugnant smell. His nostrils flared in mild disgust. Flesh of a carcass, Barou was sure of that, but it couldn’t be newly killed. It was a rotting kind of smell, thick, oily, and overwhelming. His tail flicked in irritation. The carcass was a few days old, by the smell of it. Probably a scavenger enjoying it, a hyena or a vulture making a mess. He didn’t have a very exploratory and curious mind, but he was sadistic. Maybe he would just scare them off and go along with his day.
He pushed past a thicket almost lazily, expecting to see a sharp beak with black wings, maybe, or an unkempt mongrel howling like a fool. Anything but this. Anything.
For a moment, Barou imagined that he might have hallucinated this. In his cloud of thoughts about that deer, he might have started to imagine something so ridiculous, yet so despicable and heinous. How else could he explain what he saw?
Isagi, with his head bowed down. Standing over the bloated carcass of a fallen animal. A wildebeest, by the looks of it, but there really wasn’t much to look at. Most of the animal had been eaten already, leaving more bone than anything. Isagi. He was the reason for it. The flesh was in his stomach, Barou was sure of it. He had never been so sure in his life. Isagi was feeding on the flank now, his movements slow. Still so gentle though, still so enchanting. It was such an odd sight; Barou was used to the gore of it all. It was seeing Isagi in the center that was getting to him. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right. Deer eats the green. Lion eats the deer. That was the natural order of things; this was always how it was supposed to go.
His antlers clattered against the ribs of the animal, and Barou could hear cartilage pop against Isagi’s flat teeth. These teeth were not made to eat such things. Flies swarmed around the carrion, and Isagi would sometimes shoo them away with his hooves.
Isagi must have heard Barou behind because, suddenly, he looked up. And that… that was a sight to witness all on its own. His dark fur was stained a slick, muddy crimson. Barou couldn’t tell where his spots were. His muzzle, once gray and so pretty, was just as red, with sinew dangling from his teeth. The worst part, Barou still found him so pretty. Isagi looked at Barou with wide eyes, the color darker than he had ever seen. Just everything. His eyes were the roundest Barou had ever seen, too.
For a moment, just for one pitiful and feeble moment, Barou was scared for his life.
But of course, that was a ridiculous thought to have. Isagi did no such thing when he caught sight of Barou. He looked him dead in the eye as he always did. Still no fear, especially not in this situation. After a moment, Isagi only shifted away, breaking eye contact as he walked away. Didn’t run. He only walked away, leaving his meal behind. When Isagi had truly gone away, out of his sight entirely, Barou realizes with a start that this is the first time he has ever passed up on an opportunity to run after him and hunt. Well, the second time. The time when he was a cub, and Isagi was a fawn. Such a long time ago. A full circle moment.
Barou wonders if Isagi had always been like this. If he had always had a taste for flesh. Devouring animals just like Barou was doing. They are one and the same, and that thought scares him more than anything.
Barou may live the rest of his life like this. Exactly like this. The hunt continues because there will never be a point in his life when he wouldn’t want to kill Isagi and eat his flesh. He really can’t help it. At this point, it has turned into a biological drive. But it’s different still, because he wants it. But everybody wants something that they will never get. Barou knows deep down what the likely outcome is. There’s no universe where he’ll be able to eat Isagi.
The likely outcome is one where Barou goes his whole life without tasting Isagi. He dies because everything dies and ceases to exist, even Barou. He’ll die by old age or starvation or a disease. Or he dies because of a conflict with another predator. Or a human being hunts him and kills him. It doesn’t matter; he’ll be too dead to care. He dies. That’s the point.
And then, maybe. It’s unlikely, but there’s more than enough chance that the beautiful and still-alive Isagi will come across his carcass. Barou has never been sentimental, but he hopes that if Isagi does, he will recognize his body as Barou’s. And then, Isagi will bow his head down as Barou has seen him do many times now. Isagi dips his head down, and with tentative hooves, he will tear apart his almost-rotten flesh and take a taste for himself. And Barou hopes that he will eat his fill and remember how Barou was never able to do the same with Isagi.