The Bracken Woods Superstition

Frequently, the feline paused and allowed silence to consume the area. Satisfied with the security of her position, she’d continue eating, crunching through bone and gristle, feasting as quickly as she could knowing that would never, truly be alone.

On one pause, she scented the canine. She sat up, and narrowed her eyes, squinting through the filtered light of the woodlands until she saw the white of the wolf’s fur. She’d seen ones like it in the North before; pale, wintery. Here, the wolf stuck out like a sore thumb against the greens of the woodlands.

She eyed the wolf. She’d never liked the look of their long snouts, and the heavy scent of their fur. She bristled and stared directly at it. After a slow inhale, she hissed. It was the only movement she made as she waited, ready to assess the wolf’s next moves and react accordingly.