The faint scrape of his claws completely faded under the downpour’s crash. Padding across the mud, he smelled the rain and the fresh wounded wood of their walls. The storm brought an old wildness back to the cleared deadened land. Ridged black lips peeled back from his teeth at the cacophony.
The clusters of shelters here now shuddered under nature’s onslaught. Like their tree-flesh houses, the humans did not like the storm or the things that came with it. For all their blind vicious cutting, the soft creatures still knew to fear the rain and crash. His rolling lope around their borders elicited dolorous sobs from their young and a nervous hum from the grown.
His ire rose, rebuffed by iron worked fence holding strong in the wind and rain. The human’s slow creep into his lands was an act of attrition. Soft skinned and blind to the world they stumbled through, he’d once thought these creatures prey. They had worshiped him and feared his coming. It was not so anymore.
They feared him, and so they’d built walls and stinking metal to keep him out. Though his adversaries quailed at the sound of his paws, he stalked just beyond their thresholds, banished by the rooves made of killed wood.
Amidst the pour and crash of the sky he sat back on his haunches and howled, feeling it reverberate the culled ground. The smell of sweat and fear filled his nose through the rain. He breathed deep their terror and loped deeper into the rolling storm.