NaPoWriMo Day 2 & The Sunday Whirl - Wordle 50

The Hunt

A soft rain drizzled down
as the winds whisper through the trees.
The smell of prey weakened
while the wolf pack hunts.
The trick is to wait -
wait and watch
as wary deer
gracefully prance nearer.

A young wolf, new to the hunt
paws at the ground, nervous
nose pointed to the sky -
sniffing, sensing the shape
of deer as it ambles past the bushes.
The deer pauses as a twig snaps,
ears pricked high and twitching -
the pack attacks.

Savage teeth rip into delicate hide,
the taste of blood washes down throats
as sinew, string-like, snags against fangs.
The pack feasts well
leaving a desiccated carcass
as a waking sun shines down.
They leave the remains
for the crows and the bugs.

A continuous cycle of
life and death.