Dance of Death

Dance of Death

His slight movement drew the far-reacher upward. Tail flick-flick like a metronome. Her eyes narrowed as she became a stone. Brzzzz! A fly heavy with carrion flesh rotates around her hairy ears, a minor annoyance she easily ignores. She zeroes in on her final foray for the day. It has turned late and she is tired.

The smell of the grass-hewer is intense. Growing bold, she slips down like a jet black fire and aims her fury toward the evening meal. Screaming like a woman scorned, she makes her move, leaping for the hairy beast’s throat, but she miscalculates his hooves, which are aimed for her back. Three blows and she is bruised but not deterred. Her trajectory slightly altered, she grabs his shoulder with her teeth and wraps her claws around his neck. The beast bellows and spins around, throwing her off like a black bowling ball.

She springs to her feet and growls at her adversary. The beast, weakened by its shoulder wound, which is laid open like a poorly made shift dress. Its edges were ragged and torn and her claw marks served as ugly red ribbons.  The two eye each other like gun-slingers at 20 paces.

Far-reacher decides that this beast is not an easy enough meal for her and slinks away in the growing shadows, becoming one with the approaching night. The beast sniffs the air and heads off to find his herd, limping. Within minutes he has forgotten the encounter.