His head turned aron done paw eyes fixed on something… He is no longer a gray sculpture made of clay, but a predator alive as life itself. His smooth, silky, fur covers his slender body. He speeds through the jungle His head turned aron done paw eyes fixed on something… He is no longer a gray sculpture made of clay, but a predator alive as life itself. His smooth, silky, fur covers his slender body.
He speeds through the jungle at 60 miles an hour. Just an orange blur to the other animals. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks. His ear perks up. His gray, pale, clay ear now real, hears a noise. A predator? Or prey? He listens.
He lifts one paw up, ready to dart away at lighting speeds. But his hind legs set, ready to spin around and attack. He slowly turns his head. His furious eyes, not the pale clay eyes of a statue, but the eyes of a predator, on fire, alive, staring fearlessly into the eyes of whatever is behind him.
This so called ‘sculpture ” made of clay, pale, gray, and still, Is alive. Is a predator. Is real. at 60 miles an hour. Just an orange blur to the other animals. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.
His ear perks up. His gray, pale, clay ear now real, hears a noise. A predator? Or prey? He listens. He lifts one paw up, ready to dart away at lighting speeds. But his hind legs set, ready to spin around and attack. He slowly turns his head.
His furious eyes, not the pale clay eyes of a statue, but the eyes of a predator, on fire, alive, staring fearlessly into the eyes of whatever is behind him. This so called ‘sculpture ” made of clay, pale, gray, and still, Is alive. Is a predator. Is real. His head turned aron done paw eyes fixed on something… He is no longer a gray sculpture made of clay, but a predator alive as life itself.
The Essay on Vincent The Vampire Blood Back Eyes
Vincent The Vampire The darkness breathed in the cavernous tomb. The walls of granite that formed their underground catacombs had served as a shelter and a symbol. They were carved with the ancient rites and laws that governed their species and glowed now as if alive through the inconstant flickering of a single torch blazing in the center of the central cavern. To those in the room, the darkness ...
His smooth, silky, fur covers his slender body. He speeds through the jungle at 60 miles an hour. Just an orange blur to the other animals. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks. His ear perks up.
His gray, pale, clay ear now real, hears a noise. A predator? Or prey? He listens. He lifts one paw up, ready to dart away at lighting speeds. But his hind legs set, ready to spin around and attack. He slowly turns his head.
His furious eyes, not the pale clay eyes of a statue, but the eyes of a predator, on fire, alive, staring fearlessly into the eyes of whatever is behind him. This so called ‘sculpture ” made of clay, pale, gray, and still, Is alive. Is a predator. Is real.
