I never thought my hunt would end like this. The sun is hot against my fur, but its warmth fades as I slide deeper, past the giraffe’s slick tongue, into the pulsing shadows. My claws scrabble uselessly against the walls; saliva coats my mane, matting it flat. The air grows humid and thick, muffled roars echoing in my ears as the light behind me disappears.

How did I come to this? There were days when my stride commanded respect, when my pride moved as one shadow, swift and silent. Today, the grass parted for chaos; zebra scattered, and my family dissolved like morning mist. The hunt had gone wrong from the first leap—a miscalculation, a stumble, and then the giraffe’s wild, defiant swing.

I remember Nia, her golden eyes flashing as she called for retreat. I ignored her warning, prideful and hungry. The giraffe turned, panic in its gaze, but something else too—a decision, cold and final. Its mouth opened, impossibly wide. I saw the world framed by teeth, and then the world became teeth.

I dig my claws into the walls, but there is no purchase. Each pulse draws me deeper, helpless. My mind races: Was I always destined to fall alone? Would my pride remember me as a leader, or as the fool who chased the impossible? The giraffe’s heartbeat is relentless—steady, unstoppable.

I let go. The last flickers of sunlight vanish behind me, replaced by the suffocating embrace of the stomach. My body slides into a chamber of darkness, slick and warm, the steady rhythm of digestion beginning around me. There is no more fighting; only memory and regret.

I stop moving. The world is small now—tight, enclosing. I think of the savanna above, of the wind and the pride and the chase. I think of the giraffe’s eyes, wild and determined, and the last thing I saw before darkness claimed me. I am alone, but my story lingers, swallowed yet unforgotten.