Overture Downs the lonely last page

The cougar headed toward the mountains.

Her species were not the apex predators, but among what she smelled in the present place, she was. And what was it that the wild cougar scented? A main course, and an appetizer. She had prowled to this point as quietly as an undetected mouse, and if her company was suspected, at present it was not revealed. Quietly, she loitered in the underbrush of thin branches and trees. Her furs helped her blend with the browns not capped in white, and her eyes flit on the going-ons ahead of her. And ever like a cat, she feigned her disinterest in case they had noted her, yawning mutely and behaving as though the only thing for her here was a nap.

It was when the young coyote seemed sufficiently distracted that the ambush predator lunged from her poor cover and lashed out at the others hind. Her claws were sheathed; the cougar did enjoy her snacks to be sufficiently riled up. Solitary life was more than tolerable for the solitary creature. She enjoyed very little in life but for the fear she could summon in the eyes of others. Really, the coyote was not a must-have. But the meal she could scavenge she would claim. The cougar had an appetite for whatever it was her teeth could sink into.