Ancient Predator

Old muscle on old bones, it hits like a boulder rolling downhill. Its hide is thick and stony, scarred from centuries of fights it somehow survived. The air hums with its slow breathing before it charges, each step shaking the ground like warning drums. It doesn't hunt for need, only habit - a relic of an age when everything alive was prey or rival. Eyes dull with time, but its instincts are flawless; it knows the sound of fear before it hears the scream.