writing_shadows

Christmas dinner will be venison.

It’s cold today, and colder still as peel off my clothing. I start to fold them neatly in a pile, but this takes too long, and I just cast them off in the general direction of the rest.

Then I transform, growing warmer – and smaller. There was no snow today, and I blend in against the mud and the trees much better. I lift my nose into the wind, and see the dark shape of my sister do the same.

We regard each other with yellow eyes, and then, as one, we run.

Times like this, I love her deeply. We’re family; we’re bonded to one another. There is nobody like a Wrenworth in the world.

That’s why Victoria died; I knew she hadn’t just changed her name, but her outlook. It was a tragedy, but I’m not sorry.

And now I gallop through the trees with her twin, her mirror image even more in this form, although they never could be mistaken for each other. Faster and faster we go until the musky scent of the deer came to us and we arc toward the clearing.

There the herd are, noble and mouth-watering.

We charge.

They scatter, panicked. This is my favourite part: the fear, the finding of weakness. I dart between the herbivores, dodging antlers and snapping at ankles.

Then I see him.

He isn’t young, but he doesn’t seem to have realised that yet. He is proud; there are recent scores on his flank to show he’s been fighting. He limps slightly, but doesn’t let that stop him from trying to run.

I want him. I will have him. I will.

I chase him away from the rest of the herd, growing heady with the scent of his fear. He knows he’s doomed.

In desperation, he turns to fight me, lowering his head. I circle around to bite him in the leg, but he gouges deeply into my side and I can’t help but give a yelp of pain.

Without asking, my sister is there, harrying him. She rescues me, and for a moment I hate her for it. I could have done it without her.

Still, we bring him down quickly working together. The temptation to just dig my maw into his underbelly is nearly overwhelming, but I don’t. Neither does she. We just smile, panting, at each other.

Now just to get him home and cooked.

She can do that part.