Short Fiction - Sweet Promise
The rustle of it’s caramelized fur swills through my nose and over my tongue. It’s close. I howl to Mama and we reserve the day for it. My belly growls in anticipation. Hour by hour our pack tracks this week’s supper through the blazing snow. The frozen sparkles gracefully crunch beneath our paws. Hidden by the woods furnishings, Papa and my siblings silently stalk ahead. My aunts and uncles move to the flank wet and driven. We all make sure to stay downwind inhaling the sweet scent of the savory elk. But I stay with Mama. I always stay with Mama.
Suddenly, my eyes catch what my nose detects. Through the broken trees and out into the wide clearing I see them. The gang of elk gingerly mosey along the knee deep snow. Their antlers ascending to the blue above. The dew basting their brown fur. Papa saunters over to us. His grey fur stands at attention and his yellow eyes await directive. I look to Mama. She stills. Bowing her head. Staring intently. Calculating. Her midnight black fur dances in the icy wind. I do the same hoping to summon her strategy. Mama snorts the order and, concertedly we advance.
Lifting their heads from the earth, the wine stained elk quickly wreath around the veal. They bark to each other and at us as they stand their ground. In concerto, we arrange ourselves measure by measure, dancing to the rhythm of Mama’s orders. The elk reluctantly waltz to the music. This is my favorite song.
Mama sends out the notice. One is on the run. All that’s left is to bring it down. I run with her. Side by side. Our simultaneous pitter patters gather triumph. The pack decreases the diameter around the lone elk as we say grace before our meal. Mama turns her snout towards me. Her river ice eyes commission me to make the first move. I hungrily accept and accelerate forward. The sweet promise of Mama’s approval propelling me.
Bound by bound the sunset roasts the last of the elks rump as my mouth salivates. With one exultant leap I sink my teeth into its sirloin, setting the table for Mama to put food on. She delivers the final blow. We did it.
The rest of the pack joins us. We feast on a job well done. Mama’s burgundy breath lingers in the twilight air as she nuzzles my neck.
