Jagen.

The snow is thick and deep. Ever step a blistering cold crack through the layer of ice on top. Through the trees we search for the taste.

It may have been a week or two since last we felt the warmth of flesh on tongue and embracing teeth. The winter is harsh and grips us in its embrace. One it will not relinquish.

On we go, from frozen streams and perilous rivers stopped and silenced by the coming of the ice. But on we go as we always have, emerging from our home to fill the belly and wake from this fog of slumber which remains around us all.

But there in the distance, a crack. A step not our own, the betrayal of wood, we turn toward the sound. The breeze brings with it more than that fateful step, but the scent of what we seek.

Going this way and that we go, we know, we’ve done this many times before. To surround and ambush, to flush out and chase. I can taste the blood already as we spread apart to come together.

We will strip to the bone and sleep well in our place beneath the ground.

 

 

For a prompt.