Overture Downs ✢ Tipvigut

he moves like water, silent and sure. the calf lingers too long in the bush, separated from its mother, and that’s all the opening he needs.
coväh strikes fast, fangs sinking into tender throat. there’s barely a struggle—just a sharp, startled cry that dies as swiftly as it begins. blood fills his mouth, warm and rich, the taste of victory.
he lifts his head, calf limp between his jaws, and that’s when he sees her.
a shadow among the trees, stiff and watching. not part of the herd. not his.
his ears twitch, but he doesn’t drop his kill. instead, he straightens, eyes narrowing with something between amusement and warning. caught you.