Jane was worried, thinking of man-not-man watching her house, her den, and werewolves at Booger’s. You haven’t hunted in a while and this is the closest forest to the city, Jane thought. Is it the same wolves? Werewolves? Here on your hunting ground? Asking human questions, like questions of kit.
Same scents. I tried to show Jane traces, parts of one scent, parts of many, but humans are scent-blind, even Jane; deer scents were too many for her to understand, wolves were too many. I raced into the night, deer hunt forgotten, following wolves. Hit new scent. Strong and rancid. Blood. Much blood. Wolves had killed and feasted, the night before attacking Jane in Booger’s. I growled, hacking displeasure. Kill wolves. Wolves die for this. This time Beast will not run.
I padded to kill-site, blood-stink strong on wind. Meat and bones scattered. Half eaten. Blood soaked into ground. Deer wasted. Stolen. Wolf-stink heavy on air. Fury filled chest and lungs. Pounded in blood and heart. I screamed. My grounds. My deer. Mine!
Soft sound, like breath drawn. Stopped. Listened. Again, breath of wounded prey. Hunched to ground, senses reaching, smelling, tasting, seeing, hearing, feeling of air. There. Padded silently to side of killing ground. Found fawn, injured, laying beside body of doe. Dried blood down haunches. Studied fawn.
She’ll be okay, Jane thought. It’s only superficial lacerations.
Has spots, tiny hooves. Too young to survive alone. Fawn panted in fear and pain. Eyes liquid in dark of night. Anger inside grew. Took fawn throat in killing teeth. Jane hid from death in back of mind. Silly Jane.
I wrenched, tearing fawn throat. Drank hot blood. Ate in fury, tearing meat. Fawn should have been food for winter hunt. Doe gone. Cannot save. Waste, waste, waste! Wolves are waste. Ate in anger, tearing, ripping with teeth.
When stomach was satisfied, anger died. Padded away from kill-site. Sat. Groomed pelt. Thinking Jane-mind-thoughts.
Stood and padded through night, around kill-site, around and around in widening circles. Like dog, hunting for scent. Hacked in displeasure, pausing, staring around at dark forest. Put head down, padded on. Sniffed. Big-cats do not hunt like stupid dogs with nose to ground. Brain not right for scent-hunting like dogs. Big-cats hunt with eye and ear, ambush hunt. But Jane in mind with Beast, made Beast do what other cats cannot.
Found scent of another. Stood, motionless, front paw up. Head to ground, breathed in, drawing air through nose and over scent sacs in mouth, scree, scree. Unknown scent, yet familiar. Big-cat scent.
Another mountain lion? Jane thought, startled like bird in bush, rising up.
Big-cat. Not like Beast. I tested wind. Looked up into trees. Saw moss hanging like dead prey in trees. Tasted moss once. Plant. Bad taste.
No big-cat waited to pounce from trees. Found and followed scent. Tracing back through pines in rows, as man plants forest. Paws in mud showing size, showing claws like Beast’s.
Paws almost as big as yours, Jane said. Retractable claws.
Left prints in wet ground. Not good hunter. I nosed prints, sniffing, thinking. Big-cat had followed wolves. Hidden in trees and scrub, off to side, downwind of wolves. Big-cat was young. Female, like Beast, but not like Beast.
A female cat of another species, Jane thought.
Watching. Tracking wolves. Makes no sense. I followed scent a long way, back along wolf trail to man’s road, hot tar and dead things along its sides. Wolf and big-cat scent disappeared. Not on other side of road. Just gone. Smell of magics faint on air, like mist above stream. Wolves changed into humans here. Got in car or truck. Big-cat maybe travel like Beast, on top of same truck.
Jane thought, So the were-cats know where the werewolves hunt.
Too many predators. Not enough prey, I thought back. I went back to kill-site and sat, looking over dead prey, winter-full-belly wasted to summer wolf-kill. Padded around clearing, smelling, looking. Found more big-cat sign, curls of bark on ground. Looked up, into branches; leaped into tree, smelling cat. High up, was limb good for waiting on prey. Hunched and moved along branch, paw, paw, paw, balanced. Her scent rank and strong here. Downwind of kill-site.
Good place to watch. Smart cat. She marked territory, claws raked along high branch, scent marked on limb, claiming hunting ground. But she let wolves hunt. Cat had watched wolves kill prey she claimed. Now she is stupid cat. Makes no sense. And after wolves gone, cat had not gone down to eat. Wasted more deer. Left hurt fawn. Stupid kit mistake.
All predators are trespassers in Beast’s hunting ground. Anger burned hot in belly, like grief when kits killed, like anger when Jane first steal self, like hunger times come again.
Dawn was gray in sky when I paced away, under low tree, where pine needles were piled deep, and thought of Jane. Gray fog grew up around Beast. Pain pain pain, cutting self deep. Letting her be alpha.
I came to on the needles, breathing deeply, being pricked all over. I didn’t know why, but Beast liked shifting on pine needles, which hurt my much-more-tender skin. As usual, I was starving. I pulled the travel pack off my neck and unrolled the clothes inside. They had been there for two weeks and the wrinkles were set in as if I’d ironed them in. I checked the bars and charge on the cell phone. I hadn’t brought Leo’s phone for several reasons: I didn’t want to ruin it if I had to take a swim (there had been a couple of wet close calls and I’d been lucky), I didn’t want Leo to be able to track me via the GPS device in the phone, and I valued my privacy. Leo didn’t know this number. No one did. So no one could call me.