The Hunt

         The Hunt

         The wind rushed into my face as we sped through the forest as fast as our feet would take us. Branches whizzed past just inches away, and I caught the scent again. Someone howled. They had the scent, too. My heart beat a little faster and I launched myself over a fallen tree. This was what I lived for, adrenaline in its purest form. This was the Hunt.
         A brown flash burst through the bushes to my left. I looked and saw only the panic reflected in the stag’s black eyes. This was the moment it would realize that all this was a trap. I headed it off, and it darted the other way. Two hundred pounds of muscle and bone disappeared into the forest as if it were nothing more than a ghost. I followed. I could smell the fear it left behind, could feel the body heat. Ah, the perfection. The others would be waiting for him on the other side of the gully. Nothing was as beautiful as a flawless plan of attack.
         A branch snapped and something crashed to the ground. Something big. I hurried over the last rise and searched for the scene. My nose told the story before my eyes did. Blood, rich and heady rewarded my senses. My pack mates made the kill, and our voices carried our triumph into the night.