Even running, she feels the teeth in her neck: a fury
of hunger. Were there time or language, she would reason
with this unhinged beast, lead him to the meadow where the others
are dozing in the shade, and where there is so much to eat, the clan
has lingered here for days, taking slow, patient turns through the grass.
But in his certainty for blood, the arrow of his gaze flies past all vegetation,
abundant as it is, and heads straight toward her, and in no time at all
she knows what’s coming if she stays where she is. And in that instant,
a single demand emerges: Stay away from my children. And that is when the choices
narrow and coalesce, and her feet go flying. Anywhere but here, she breathes. Anywhere but here.