Frost Pack

The hunt begins.
Muddied paws on dead leaves,
false harmony amongst the trees;
pack’s strength in chorus,
intimidation in numbers.
Breath like morning mist,
brown fur turning grey,
air-frost clings to their coats
as it falls to the earth.
Think as one, move as one,
hunt as one, protect as one.

The lone wolf scouts,
others wait for the call:
a howl that startles the hare
and signals the ambush.

Think as one, move as one,
hunt as one, kill as one.
The hare falls to the earth,
clings to their coats with claws,
grey fur turning red.
Panting, breath-mist,
intimidation in numbers
pack’s triumph in chorus.
False harmony fades through the trees,
bloodied paws on dead leaves.
The hunt ends.

By A. S. Ford

A. S. Ford grew up in a small village within Buckinghamshire. Since moving to Cirencester three years ago she has completed a Creative Writing degree at the University of Gloucestershire and has poems published in The Dawntreader and The Copperfield Review. She lives with her fiancé, their pack of dogs, and pet rat.

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