The pursuit was not some unnaturally fast effort, or at least to the eyes it would not be. In reality however, that apparent truth was nothing more than an illusion and the convict was right to flee its pursuer. It seemed to be nearer or further still at intervals that were inconsistent, but it remained running rather than whatever other presumable talent it had; after all, it [i]had[/i] apported itself before and likely could again. Perhaps it was enjoying the thrill of the hunt? Fitting for any cat, so that was a reasonable conclusion.

When the man came to a halt, the great feral figure followed not long after, ending its bounding, lumbering stride. There it stood at the crossroads a few paces away, the very bristles of its hair on end and its jowls snarling with vicious display. It let him speak for a time before it began circling at a slow pace, elaborate fangs still displayed in threat with each paw laying itself quietly on the ruin of the street, barely set to disturbing any of the debris.

"The bag does not so much concern me as you." It paused, cupped ears drawn back, "You assume I had no distrust of you from the start."

"So either test your mettle against mine now or flee to face it later. Whichever you choose, it changes nothing for me." The snarling voice ended.

[@BrokenPromise]