I saw your trail on the brown earth
Red streaks, mapping your ordeal,
Pausing in longer shadows then others.
Your paw prints telling me to beware
And not to approach – if seen.
The blood had not yet dried
In the intense heat
So you were close.
Moving cautiously in a wide circle,
Away in another direction
But remaining upwind;
Knowing that even in your condition,
You were still capable of attack,
And that I was now the hunted,
Wounded, by fear.
© Fingleton (Septembre 2016) (Löst Viking)