Night Panther

Amber pupils that ignite the night, guard the silence with terrible grandeur, a thunder of ancient vigor resounds within her, a monarch of the mountain, unafraid of stumbling. No one matches her rhythm, her singular dance; the night is her diadem over the wind, beneath the shadows the night that roars within her like its custom.

As dawn breaks and the forest fills with light, it blends with the shadows like a fleeting ray in the mist. Although its soul lives on in every upright branch, its immortality in the story becomes rebellious, for the myth that lives on, the panther does not die; it only waits in silence, an eternal predator of infinite solitude.