Running With The Pack

The breath is hot in my lungs yet
I course ever onwards
Thighs straining, blood struggling to
Feed every fibre of each muscle

Listen to them call
The children of the night
When the world is silent
There is no sweeter sound

Than the music of rampant
Furry death, charging across
Icy ground, the tundra opens up
Yet my fur doesn’t match theirs

An intruder, a pretender
Undercover and undetected
Yet the flash of iridescence
Must have caught their attention

So lets tear across this wasteland
Claws cutting into sharp snow
Howling, scenting blood on the wind
We go for the throat

Jagged teeth sinking into soft flesh
Paws and claws tearing through the skin
Claret drizzles over their noses
I sit nearby, licking lips

Silently I skulk away
Soft padding steps into the trees
For this is not my hunt
I’m not one of them and we both know it

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