The wolf feels the arrows. It feels the pointed ends sticking into the flesh between her shoulder blades. Damn, how did the hunter find her only soft spot? The tenderest part? The hunter was skilled; the wolf feels the arrowheads stab her sharply with every movement…every lifting of the paw, every crane of the neck. Every movement, a reminder of coming death.
She looks down at the skull in front of her, a face that had once been so soft and loving and now hard and empty, reduced by death to near nothingness. The arrows seem to dig deeper underneath her skin, blood matting fur.
There is only one word for this feeling: hopelessness.
Utter, despairing, pervading hopelessness.
—
Creds to Amelia for showing me this:
Cat Zhang 
Reblogged this on Windchimes and Dreamcatchers and commented:
WOW – I really love this!!
If you’ve been following the adventures of Lyla, THESE words hit home to a time in Lyla’s life when she was so lost . . . had to incorporate it somehow. More to come on that – it’s developing
Beautifully written Catherine!! Brilliant!! Bravo!! :-) ☮☮
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WOW – I really love this!! Your words hit home to a time in my life I was so lost . . .
Beautifully written!! Brilliant!! Bravo!! :-) ☮☮
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Thanks so much! Believe it or not I wrote this all after just seeing the picture on my tumblr feed…I just instantly knew what the wolf was feeling. Glad you liked it. :)
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