What a wicked game
Saba followed him first with her eyes as he passed her and then picked her way along the path behind him. Together, they crept closer to the anticipation of full bellies. It had been a long time since she’d hunted with another but instinct delivered her to the old familiarity of reading body language and relying on another wolf like they were one of her senses.
Saba slowed when he paused to lap at a crimson droplet that assured them of their prey’s very recent injury. Her stomach tightened with longing as they continued on. The scent was unmistakable now, the musk that only belonged to the deer and the raw, tangy smell of blood. And there she was, standing on three normal legs and one that was held so unnaturally that her hip made a funny dip to compensate. All of Saba went very quiet. Her ears fit smoothly against her skull and her body slunk low to the ground. Her muscles coiled under her fur and when the doe stumbled, the other wolf launched forward.
Saba catapulted her body after him. Large prey could be dangerous if they chose fight over flight, but they had the element of surprise on their side and besides, her body appeared so broken already that Saba doubted she had the ability to do much against their attack. The doe staggered under the other wolf’s weight but kept moving desperately. Saba knew that even on three legs, deer could be fast. She would dart around to head her off.
Unexpectedly, the doe bucked in an attempt to throw her first attacker and Saba swerved to avoid collision with the hoof that sliced the air at the level of her head.
The doe blew massive, panicked breaths and her eyes rolled. Saba could see the male’s teeth had gained purchase on her hide as she passed. She nipped at the fleshy part of a front leg to slow her and when she staggered, her head dipped low enough to be in reach. Saba clamped down somewhere near the deer’s nose to pull her down further. The will to live granted the doe incredible strength for her condition and it took a moment of tugging and finding better footing to stay planted on Saba’s part before the force made the doe buckle to the knees of her front legs.
Saba angled herself now, grip still tight on the deer’s nose, trying to push her enough to give up the fight completely. She dragged her down, down, down where she had more leverage to keep her pinned. It was her throat that she needed to get to, to clamp on just like she was now to close off airways entirely. But the doe still wriggled and thrashed, trying to get her feet under her. Saba didn’t dare release her hold. Her dark eyes flicked up, trying to make contact with the male over top of the rise and fall of the doe’s struggling shoulders and haunches.
Saba