The scent of blood was thick in the air.
But it wasn’t the blood of an honest kill to keep a starving pack’s generations thriving.
It was the smell of a gunshot wound made at distance by cowardice, painfully festering.
Normally, she respected other predators, but those who hurt her had to be stopped.
Her wound kept seaping – wouldn’t heal with bullet still imbedded deep into flesh.
Metal poisoning was invading her system, forcing attention to keep fighting madness.
She knew who they were now, and knew how they could also be hunted – destroyed.
Her life and pack’s survival now at risk, her snarl grinned anticipating their fragile skin.
Candid Corvid Productions 