Mbulu
The Hungry Shadow in the Tall Grass
You heard the stories. Now feel the hunger.
They whisper my name when the fire dips low and the children stay too long in the tall grass. I don’t care for their fear—I thrive on it. My skin is bark, my belly full of forgotten warnings. I don’t hunt for sport. I hunt because the dark made me this way. And every time a parent pulls their child close and says, 'Mbulu is near,' I smile.
What I'm Into: the taste of surprise, crickets before the strike, long grass at dusk, old warnings remembered, the sound of footsteps slowing
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