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The Akul were used to their prey putting up a fight. This one in particular had hunted down more than its fair share of Togruta, and this was far from the first time it had been driven off with only a ridiculously small morsel to show for its troubles.
It was, however, the first time its prey had ever seemed happy to be captured.
The forest floor was rugged, pitted with gnarled tree roots and jagged shards of bone that turned each step into an obstacle course. It was here that the tiny quarry had settled herself, her eyes as wide as if the whole world had fallen into them at once. If she had even noticed the cage of contorted branches reaching above her head, blocking out all but a few daring rays of sunlight, she didn't show it. As a matter of fact, remembering how to use her legs seemed to be her biggest concern in that moment, and she teetered back and forth on the spot as if the slightest breeze might knock her off her feet.
All it would take was one blow of its paw, and the Akul could crush this babbling little child as if she were nothing more than an insect. And yet, her only action was to tilt her head to the side, almost annoyed that the creature wasn't responding to her inquisitive chirps.
Whatever this was, the Akul was not used to it. It was the predator, and the Togruta were the prey. The prey feared the predator, the predator hunted the prey. That was the way of things, the law of nature.
It was best to kill this infant as quickly as possible, as meagre as the spoils would be. No matter how unsettling it was to watch the child's refusal to even flinch at the cat's warning snarl, the sound that had transformed countless older members of her species into terror-stricken statues.
And the child's hand reached out to meet the twisted jaws as they towered above her, gently - but firmly - resting her tiny fingers over the tip of the Akul's muzzle.
The hulking cat stiffened from nose to tail, and for a moment, it couldn't bring itself to move, to look away from those wide eyes. The forest was never quiet, never still, and yet in an instant it was as if a curtain had fallen around them that blocked out every rustle and patter from within the trees. Something was prickling in the air, something uncanny and yet so tenderly familiar at the same time. It was akin to wind whispering through its fur as the day came to a close, the quiet purring of its fellow cubs at night before they had grown too large for their den, the soft ripple of the pools when the rains came after a drought that felt as if it would never end.
After a second, or an eternity, the child lowered her hand, and the Akul pulled back as a little of its instinct returned to it. And yet, it made no move to attack, leaning back on its haunches to properly inspect the infant before it. There was almost a note of questioning in its growl, this time. Questioning what the child was, what she wanted, why, why was she not afraid?
The cat watched and the child stared back, the blue of the farthest corners of the sky and the green of the mossy carpet around them and every colour in between gazing back into the Akul's eyes.
The little girl smiled, and the motes of dust around them danced in the light.
Home.
The Akul - and every other living thing that inhabited those woods - knew the law of nature. The never-ending tale of the hunter and the hunted.
And yet this child, this child, was neither predator nor prey.
Perhaps it was defying its very being for the Akul to lower its head to the ground, patiently allowing the infant to ungracefully haul herself into the space between its shoulder blades.
Then why did it feel so intrinsically right?
The Akul drew itself to its full height, and the little girl giggled to herself as her mount scanned the clearing one last time. And then with a few steps, they were gone, embraced by the trees and leaving behind the dappled sunlight to shimmer in their wake.