Wulfham
Her long, thick tawny tail twitched angrily as she looked toward the intruders’ camp. The
big cat growled low at her year old cub and hissed, warning him back from where she crouched on the rocks west of the little forest.
The presence of the two-leggeds irritated her, and in several ways. They were camped on the trail the deer often took on their way to the river. The deer would be skittish, moreso than usual. Hunting would be poor tonight and she was hungry, as was her cub.
Beyond that was her hatred of them and their biting, slashing weapons. They had killed two of her cubs. Just two full moons ago. And for nothing more than the two addle-brained sheep she had dragged off. It was her right to trim the herds in her range. How dare the two leggeds deny her! How dare they threaten her family!
She
screamed out her anger and frustration beneath the slivered moon.
Then, her nose took in the scent of the horses . . . their fear . . . and the promise of rich, bloody meat . . .
A sleek, tawny ghost, she moved among the shadows . . . her green-gold eyes intent on her prey . . .