I move through the forest with the easy confidence that carries me across any terrain, ears attuned to nothing in particular and everything all at once: the constant chattering of birds, a cool spring breeze through the leaves, my own footfalls against the earth. This latent ability of mine is what allows me to hear the beginnings of a conflict from some distance away. It’s a subtle change in the woodland soundtrack more than a specific sound of its own; the insects gradually go quiet, and the canopy above it all fades from a cacophony to a racket. Out of curiosity, I stop, turn my head, and listen.
Though it isn’t especially loud, I know the sounds of combat, no matter the species, and I’m drawn to it like some bug to the moon’s reflection on a glassy lake. I move toward the scuffling as if in a trance, pupils dilating as my adrenaline rises. I crouch, tucking myself into the undergrowth as best I can; I’m no waif, but hiding comes as naturally to me as breathing. I catch the scent now, and I know it immediately for rabbit. A personal favorite. There’s challenge in the catch and so much satisfaction in the muscular flesh under all that fur. And there are two of them. Their paws are dragging through the leaf-litter, tearing into the warm earth, mingling the scent of blood with dirt and mildew. The warm thud of meat against meat draws saliva across my tongue and I can practically taste them.
Even as I’m imagining crunching bones between my teeth, they burst out of the green in a struggling cloud of dust and fur and flailing claws. The larger of the two pins the smaller rabbit, tearing at his opponent’s belly with his own powerful back feet. My breaths come shorter, my muscles tighten subconsciously as I prepare to end their lapine drama, but before I commit there’s something else. Another scent snakes its way into my nostrils and then solidifies into another wolf, deeply black: the embodiment of a shadow, though somewhat lacking in a shadow’s subtlety. At first I’m bemused, but as he lays claim to both of my targets I can feel the anger settle in my stomach like a weight.
No fucking way.
I back slowly out of my hiding place, collecting and calming myself lest I do anything rash. I focus on his breathing: as it steadies, so do I, though the sound of this stranger enjoying my meal leaves me somewhat…irritated. Irritation I can deal with. And I’ve decided I’m not leaving this place without at least one rabbit. I take a deep breath, shrug my shoulders to work the tension out, and let myself pass through into the stranger’s line of sight. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else buried this deep in the trees,” I say by way of greeting. “Certainly not alone, anyway.” My voice is coy, my movements purposefully lithe, but I keep my distance, granting the so-called hunter his personal space.
I go quiet and lock my inky eyes on the pearly white irises that meet me. Were I another girl, I’d find them disarming, but I’m me and I’m not easy to disarm. They’re interesting, I’ll grant him that, but I came prepared and, if all goes as planned, he’ll be caught off-guard. I’m always prepared. Anyway, I’m more focused on averting my eyes from the uneaten prize at his feet. I think if I distract him, I can make off with my meal after all. The one covered in his saliva I’ve completely lost interest in.
The other one, though, I will have, one way or another.
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