Wolf's Cry

Her heart was racing, pounding with the rhythm of the blood in her ears; the only sound other than the beating of the blades hovering over the evergreen trees. She never once let herself rest; there was no time to breathe. The ground moved under her paws rapidly as her feet flew towards her safe haven, her home. There was only one place left to hide.

Gun shots rang through the clearing; they closed in around her ever faster, the last bullet narrowly missing her hind leg. She closed her eyes and sent a howling prayer that this would not be her resting place...this was not where she wanted to back down. No, she would die there if it was her fate, but it would not be because she stopped and let the bullet pass through her head. There would be a fight here. There might be blood shed. She prayed it would not be hers.

The blades thudding grew louder as they hovered effortlessly over the trees, once again blending with the pounding in her head. She felt trapped...helpless. The shots rang louder than before, taking out limbs and sending the dirt flying into her face. Her eyes watered, but she refused to stop for any hope of surviving. The cries of her pups resounded in her head as they awaited their mother to return home. Was there any hope of her return? Would they die of starvation, or would they be prey for the fox?

A sharp pain surged through her hind leg. Dirt filled her mouth and eyes as she fell over herself into the soft earth, convulsing heavily to release her throat of the disgusting mix of rocks and soil. Blood seeped through her fur and dripped onto the ground. She felt the warmth of her own body escaping her. It reminded her of the mist of her breath in winter; as it wound its way into the air, it began to disappear and fade away into the chilly wind. In the distance she heard a set of footsteps.

With one last effort, she slid her legs underneath her body and shakily found her footing. It seemed she stood a chance; she would find her way home to her pups to be with them another night. But the heavy blow on the back of her head brought her back down. Her vision was blurred and distorted; a figure on its hind legs reared itself over her, carrying a hollow metal pole. She could feel its cold skin as he pressed it against her temple. Its eyes were wild with hunger and pleasure. She bore her teeth at him with the little strength she had left.

He pulled the trigger.

As the moon rose high above the forest, the cries of her young ones could be heard; their yelps of pain and hunger resounded amongst the wood. They would never again know their mother; the warmth of her fur, the rough caress of her tongue, the nuzzle of her wet nose against theirs...it would be a faint, distant memory--if they made it to remember.

Life, as they knew it, would be a quick but painful end.