The Hunt

 

Wandering ghosts through hushed aspens

Creatures dare not stir

A pack of wolves move swiftly and silently

As death itself

Huge paws lick the surface of the snow

Amber to stone colored eyes stare straight ahead

With dexterous ease they move

Stopping only a mile or so, seeing who faltered

From blacks to rare whites

No two are the same

Hunger and determination flicker in their eyes

Knowing their positions without rehearsal

The pack secretly continues on