Neil Celis

Th Hunter and Her Grandfather

She strides through the ashen field, her midnight fur undulating as she slides into a stop, casting monochromatic dust into the air. There is a disturbance in front of her, she scents the sky in response. Starting from the top set of eyes, she blinks the first pair, then the second follows suit, the third gleaming pair concludes the motion as she exhales hard through her snout. There is a rumble in her throat, an ancient calling to moon, known to her D.N.A. for centuries, even if mutation set upon her lineage for a few centuries more. She lets it out: A howl, long with grim intention, coming back to a snarl. There is something moving ahead in the stripped undergrowth, its intention clear as well, as it lays still in wait, a tactic very familiar to the wolf.