The beast strains at the irons wrapped around its legs, its been at it for a while. Blood stains metal as it bites into flesh, but the beast seems unaware of the pain. It never rests, the times it lays still serve a mere purpose of physical recuperation, its spirit is tireless.As it bares its fangs and gnarls, its agitation could be easily mistaken as harmful intent. But I think it has more to do with captivity and less with malice.The chains are strong and won't break, wrought iron forged and welded to serve a purpose, a leash for beast or man, whoever has to be reined in. Does the beast realise this? I move closer to the beast, I stand merely an inch away from the farthest the chains would permit its fangs to reach. There is undying rage in its eyes, it glows. It stares back with all its fierceness, every muscle straining, every claw drawn out. I look deeper.....
The beast......I recognise him.
