Predation is the incompleteness of the world. The cat hunts out of its pain. The world groaned for its daughters and its sons to be revealed. When we at last found peace,
it was on the other side of weariness but not yet to an end in exhaustion. Past one and before the other is a breath in which to linger indefinitely. We found the way of our grace, power without force. We found again our birthright, our place, and something other than our own understanding. The name of this beast is lion. The name of this soul is regency. We love him, remembering well the days of our own pain. The despair, the appetite, the aspiring. The laughter.