I stood up on paws on tree limb and watched as night dropped darkness over all of earth. When shadows were long and human men left from killing trees to go eat food, I leaped to ground. Wesa hid in dark of mind den, afraid.
I raced down from ledge and trees on sheer part of gorge, place where white man could not get to easily, place of stunted trees and snakes and rock. I leaped straight down, thick tail whirling for balance. Halfway down gorge fall, I twisted like snake, and whipped tail. Changed direction, and landed on tiny ledge. There was small cave in back of ledge. Had once used this place for den to have kits. Liked this place long ago. White man had ruined it. Killed it. I did not go to den now, but pawpawpaw down across tiny ledges, leaping from ledge to ledge, which white men called outcropping, until I reached bottom of gorge. Then I moved in shadows for train car of white man, den of white alpha devil.
Night vision came as sunlight left. Earth turned into silvers and greens and grays. Liked this time of day/night. Wesa called it beautiful. I called it safe. Shadows were dark and deep, and wesa had explained that humans could not see in dark. I padded through dark over rutted bare earth to den of alpha devil. Curled into darker shadow beneath train car. I waited. I/we are good at waiting. Time passed. Night was dark. No moon stood in sky. Moon had died and would be reborn as kit moon in one night, tiny and shaped like thin claw. I/we had chosen this night for this reason. Wesa closed her eyes, afraid.
When night was full, I alone crept up stairs and leaped high, onto roof of train car. It was warm from sun of day. Was good place to ambush hunt. Looked over edge of train car, to path white man took for food. Was like ambush hunting on ledge in high hills before white man came and sent prey away.
Heard man paws on earth, loud and scuffling inside dried skin of cow—boots. Man was not balanced and graceful and should not walk on two legs. Would be more quiet and graceful on four legs. But I was happy that white man was stupid and noisy. Listened and watched as he came closer. He carried in one paw much meat. It was cooked, which was bad, but it was meat and I/we had not eaten in two days. We hungered. White man came closer.
I gathered paws close under belly, balanced and steady as rock on flat land. White man came closer. He put one foot on step, one foot still on ground. Was unbalanced on one foot. I leaped. Landed on white man. Hard! Tumbled to ground, tangled in his upper legs. Landed on top of white man. With killing teeth, I ripped out his throat. Then held him by throat as he thrashed. He died. His blood was hot in my mouth. It did not taste good, but I hungered! Wanted to drink!
But wesa put her mind on top of my mind. Tlano! she said. Do not eat!
I snarled, but I did not drink blood or eat white man meat. Wesa was smart. Blood tasted like blood of buzzard, full of dead things. I took his cooked meat and carried it into night. In shadows, I ate. And listened to sounds of white men when they found my enemy. They gathered together like wolf pack. Like pack hunters. They shouted into night, many white man words. They grabbed white man sticks and made loud noises.
Guns, wesa whispered.
When all the white man’s cooked meat was in my belly, I turned and walked into hills. But that night, the foolish white man pack let fire go free. The hills began to burn and burn and burn. Hunger Times were upon us.
I would not come back to my old hunting grounds for many, many years.
The Early Years
Careful of the big gold-toned hoops that pierced my earlobes, I strapped on my helmet and straddled the beat-up Yamaha. It wasn’t my dream bike, but it would do until I could afford the one I really wanted. I glanced back to make sure my saddlebags were latched. The teal compartments were secure, held in place with leather straps tightened by Bobby, who now stood to the side, his face long and his eyes downcast. Everything was in place and ready. A thrill of excitement raced along my skin, prickling like fur. Despite the heat, I pulled on my leather riding jacket and tucked my hip-length braid inside it, out of the way. I touched the gold necklace that I still wore like a talisman and reached for the key to start the engine.
“You don’t have to go,” Bobby blurted.
I looked up at him: his red hair catching the afternoon sun, his freckles a spatter of cinnamon. He was standing with his arms crossed, his hands tight under his armpits, eyes staring at the asphalt. Afraid. He had always been afraid. Prey, the insistent, soft voice whispered in my mind. With long practice, I shoved the presence down deep, ignoring it. It hacked with amusement but subsided, watching. Waiting.