The pack feared no one but her, that berry-bright cloak fluttering through the woods ever a harbinger of the last wild run.
He hid, not daring to make a sound lest she hear, yet wanting to watch as she skipped along, his mate’s fur ruffling, tossing back that familiar scent, his beloved reduced to nothing but a trophy and he too cowardly to take revenge.
Let’s face it, the stain on her basket does look like blood, like she’s got something sinister in there. But maybe it’s just berries in your mind.
What two line story would you write for this image?