A darkened silhouette, set against a pair of raging suns that each day made another attempt to turn the planet to glass and each day failed. An eternal struggle between sky and earth. The silhouette stood tall and firm against the winds, his desert wrappings blowing to one side in the wind, his shadow cast long against the dunes. The only other shadow to stand against the suns and dunes were an outcropping of rocks in the distance. They were worn and battered with the ages, forming peculiar and intriguing shapes. On this dune, on this day, at this time they resembled a man riding a krayt.
The man who stood resolute against the elements was not a normal man, in fact few would even call him that. He was a monster, as the wrapping around his face came unraveled in the wind an animalistic grin revealed rows of gleaming white teeth, the twin suns catching on the canines, more animal than man. He stared off into the distance towards the suns. He was getting close.
As they suns finally sank beneath the looming dunes he remained. He remained for several minutes, staring into the distance before deciding to continue. He moved on foot, step by step following a course that only he could plot, following a line in the sand that only he could see. Fear did not touch him, did not mar his scent; and the beasts of the wasteland remained in their holes as he passed by. Even animals have sense, and even they know a predator.
He walked like an animal with no heed for obstacles in front of him, towards that outcropping of rock as the night around him came alive. None would harm him, and he walked with the confidence that only a fearless predator could posses. A being bereft of the emotional blockades that sapience brought. His face set in the killing grin. Over dunes and over rocks, past the fermenting flesh of others prey, scavengers disappeared, fluttering or skittering away at his coming. The desert offered him no resistance.
When he did make it to the outcropping the resident creatures fled. He walked around it a couple times and barked a laugh. It would have to do. He set down his pack at the base of the rock that once made the outline of a Krayt Dragon, but from this angle appeared little more than withered stone, subject to the elements. Nothing endures.
He made his camp there, such as it was. Leaning against a rock, legs folded, arms crossed. He shut his eyes, green eyes that shamed the trees of Kashyyk. In the darkness the mind drifted, slowly at first, and then more quick, towards dreams of madness and dreams of death. Dreams of things that had come and things that would pass. Dreams of things that would never come and things that never could. As his mind settled the animals grin was replaced with one of contentment. It had been a long day in the life of a predator.
Night passed quickly around him, in the distance the sounds of death, birth and the feasting of monsters. The predator asleep against the rock would open an eye from time to time, when the noises grew too near, but rest was rare and it would quickly find it's hold on him. He knew that what came the next day would not be easy, nor would it be quick, but every time he thought of it the predatory grin grew and he would begin to salivate. Only another day. Sleep came easy for the creatures that were born without a conscious. He was born, he grew, he hunted, he killed, he ate and perhaps someday when he was old and worn he would be killed and ate to feed another generation of hunters. Perhaps, but it wasn't likely.
