Crows cawed, and winds blew and every broken thing knew, more cold was coming. It was all creeking. Her back spoke sharply as she straightened it. She had been a loyal, good soldier, no matter what. Those psychiatric folks could say whatever they cared to, her family, brown and beige and mixed up with white had bled for this place and been bred in this place and would never leave. NEVER.

​

Tracy looked around quick, something in the corner of her eye and the need came back; the need to hunt. She resisted briefly until the shine of fresh red pearled like an irresistible ruby in the distance. Blood.

​As her nose pointed the way, the scent told her - 'finish the prey' . . .

& she followed the scent to obey . . .