human
Giltirau:  It could think of no greater joy than to catch fleeing prey with its claws, plunge in its fangs, and drain the life from its mark to sate its empty belly. What mattered for the hunt was whether the prey was worthy of the fangs of the king. Hunting strong, sturdy, able-legged prey, taking it down through brute force—the current hunt completely failed to live up to those standards. Having its expectations dashed put the Giltirau in the most terrible of moods. Of course, it did not even think of defying the orders of its master. But it would obey those orders and nothing else. It simply owed a debt to the master, who had liberated it from the Curse of the Horn. Accordingly, it had listened to her request.
gpt
Giltirau:  Moving its nose around, the Giltirau pursued the sound of the footsteps as its prey tried to slink away. Defenseless. Thoughtless. Unrestrained. Futile. They were the footsteps of the weak, lacking any elegance whatsoever.
human
Giltirau:  The Giltirau sprinted with shocking agility that contrasted with its huge frame. Its four thick limbs did not make a sound as they trod upon the floor, a feat that brought into sharp relief why it was also called the Shadow Lion. Like an assassin, the Black King of the Forest was a silent nightmare as it raced, seemingly leaping through the halls of the moonlit mansion. The footsteps it followed gradually became less guarded, betraying no sign of noticing the death stalking so very close. The one making the footsteps was right around the corner. The king swung a claw just beyond that corner, a single blow that would rend the prey’s back apart, throwing its corpse to the ground, and expose its humiliation in full.
gpt
Giltirau:  “—?” Right after swinging its claw, the Giltirau paused, sensing something was off. The presence it was certain was there had vanished, and the only one standing in the corridor was the great and dignified king. The foolish, fragile, disgustingly weak prey had vanished, nowhere to be found.