Wilderness #64: Devil Moon David Thompson
Cat and Mouse
Fear clutched Evelyn’s heart. The cat could see in the dark and she couldn’t. It would catch up and spring on her. She ran another dozen strides and stopped and spun. Better to face it, she reasoned, than have it take her from behind. She never heard a sound yet suddenly there it was, a darker black than the night itself, its eyes glinting in the starlight. Evelyn swallowed and brought the Hawken up just as the mountain lion sprang. She had no time to cock it. A heavy blow to her left shoulder spun her halfway around and pain spiked her body clear down to her toes. A raking forepaw had slashed her. She turned to confront the beast but the mountain lion hadn’t stopped.
It was after Bright Rainbow.
Part One
The Call of the Savage
Chapter One
The moon was a white crescent in a sea of stars when the female left the ledge and came down the slope of boulders to the aspens. She was swollen and slow from the new life inside her, the same life that compelled her to hunt more often than she normally would.
The leaves of the aspens trembled in the slight breeze, their slim boles a silvery hue. She glided with her body low to the ground and her ears pricked. It was her nose that told her deer were in the meadow, and her belly growled with need.
She was more golden than tawny. Her mother had been golden, too; her father a great copper slayer who held sway over twice as much area as most males and was brought low in a clash with a grizzly. Her mother died when she was but a winter old, taken by a pack of starving wolves in the deep snow when she could not move as fast. Her mother had been defending her and her brothers and a sister, all of whom had long since scattered to live lives of their own.
That was the nature of their life in the wild. A life that was hard and brutal. There were the quick and there were the dead, and for eight winters now she had been quick enough to go on living and to give birth to two litters besides the young now taking form.
She was in her prime, all sinew and muscle. She was bigger than most females, but then her line was nearly always bigger. She did not know why that was.
She came to the last of the aspens and flattened. The meadow was awash in moonlight, and there, in the middle, five deer were feeding. Three were does. One was a young spike buck. The last was a king of his kind, large and strong, his antlers still in velvet but no less formidable. Ordinarily she would ignore him and concentrate on one of the does. But the new life demanded more meat, and the king buck had the most. His antlers were dangerous. They could kill. But her need eclipsed her caution. She would go for the monarch.
As yet, the deer were too far off. She instinctively gauged the distance. It would take five or six of her prodigious leaps to reach them, and by the second they would wheel and flee. It was unlikely she could catch them, not swollen and slow as she was.
She bared her fangs but didn’t snarl. She must stay quiet and still and wait. She was good at waiting. She could lie in wait for prey for half a day or more if she had to.
The deer scent was intoxicating. She loved to slay deer more than she loved to slay anything. Badgers were plump and elk were succulent and squirrels were tasty treats, but nothing compared to the sweet juicy taste of raw deer meat. She craved it as no other.
The monarch and the others were drifting toward the aspens as they grazed. It would be a while before they were close enough. She held herself rigid with expectation, poised to released her power at the right instant. She was focused on the deer and only the deer, so when the bobcat scent reached her, she ignored it until she realized what it meant. She raised her head and turned it from side to side, testing the wind. The bobcat was to her left, but how close she couldn’t be sure. She had seen him from a distance a few times, a big male who dared to hunt in her territory, but she had never been able to get close enough to kill him. Now here he was, stalking the same deer. He was probably after one of the does or the young spike. If he charged before she did, he would spoil everything. The king buck would be gone in the bat of an eyelid, and she would not have her meal.
She almost rose to stalk the bobcat, but the deer might hear or smell her. So she lowered her head and waited as they came slowly closer. Now she could reach them in three bounds, but she wanted them nearer still. She mustn’t miss. Not with the new life she must nourish.
The moon rose higher and the wind grew stronger and she never twitched a muscle. She might have been made from stone. Her eyes were fixed intently on the king. She saw every flick of his ears, every quiver of his nostrils. He was wary, but then his kind always were. Wariness was as much a part of them as her need to slay them was part of her.
The spike and one of the does were now only two bounds way, but she didn’t want them.
The bobcat scent was stronger. She flicked her eyes to the right and saw him; belly low to the ground, body primed to spring, concentrating on the deer as she was. The wind was from him to her, and he did not know she was there. She could be on him in a single leap, but the deer would bolt.
She watched the deer and the bobcat, both. She must be ready in case he charged.
The large buck was almost where she wanted him to be. A doe was so near she heard the crunch of teeth on grass. She could practically taste the warm, delicious blood that flowed in the buck’s veins, and it took all her self- control to stay crouched.
The king raised his head toward the aspens.
She heard it, too. The
A golden streak in the night, she exploded into the meadow. Her first leap covered twenty feet, her second almost as much. She swept past the startled spike and a bleating doe and launched into the air as the king was turning to flee. She had judged perfectly and came down squarely on his back with her legs doubled under her and
