She moves with all the grace of a predator. Enough time has passed now that she moved beyond limping, and she has enough grace to be able to hang onto her tiger for a longer period of time. Arete's signature yellow tiger - instead of orange - blended perfectly with the grass of early fall. Her keen eyes search warily. The meadow is quiet today - too quiet. 

No matter, she is not caught unawares as she focuses her attention on a midday meal of a pheasant or two. The heat of the day had burned off, but had as yet to start setting, and she stalks silently. First food, then a nap. Sounded good to her. She was healthy, she was strong. 

Everything was perfect. 

Arete

Some like beautiful, perfect and pretty.
I see the good in the bad and the ugly.