He liked to stand at the very top of the hill and look at the landscape from all angles. It was nice, quiet, and lonely. Just the way he liked it.
He turned around to look at his catch: a squirming sack. His prey had managed to spit its gag too, he noticed. The creature was barking strange noises at him. Talking to him, he assumed. This particular prey always tried to talk to him. No one talked to him. He grunted.
He hefted a club and hit the sack once with it.
The quiet returned, and immediately he felt better. With no one but just himself he began to prepare his supper.