The Hunter Poem by Aimee Pruitt

Hidden in the sigh of the wind
a low keening cry reverberates
off the craggy hilltops.

Heavy breathing and snapping branches
puffs of smoke in the dark.
Blood pounding in her ears she stops,
trusting her senses to guide her.

A miasma of rotting leaves, wet wood,
and something darker floats in the air.
Throwing her head back she lets out a primal laugh,
she knows she's close.

Glancing through the trees and scrub,
she catches her first glimpse.
The beast crouched over its prey,
blood dripping from its gaping maw.

She feels her blood begin to heat.
All of her senses coming to the fore.
Her muscles tense and bunch preparing to strike.
She unleashes an earth-shattering roar and lunges.

The beast looks up yellow eyes gleaming,
its victim rasping for air,
clawing at the gory mess where his throat and shoulder had been,
he gurgles his final breath.

The woman springs, landing feet from her prey,
the beast acknowledges her with a grunt.
She circles, waiting for it to make a move.
They watch each other ever moving

Tiring of the game she leaps forward,
landing a blow to the creatures throat.
It doubles over gasping, she turns away
and slides in a pool of cooling blood.

She hits the ground, stunned.
The beast makes its move,
landing on top of her, its mistake.
She sinks her teeth deep into the beast ripping and tearing.
She assuages her hunger and watches as the body cools.

Gathering herself she stands,
Smiling she wipes her mouth.
A sense of justice fills her as she walks away.
Knowing this time the hunter became the hunted.

(02/07/08)