The Kill

She watched from the bushes, patiently waiting. It had been 68 hours since her last meal. Food was scarce. Water even more so. The herd seemed oblivious to her presence. They approached one of the last green patches of grass by the the trickling river. The older members looked around for signs of danger. She remained behind the bushes, barely breathing. They didn't notice her and went on to graze. She moved stealthily toward the stream. Getting it right was extremely crucial. She knew she was weak. She must have food soon. The black and gold hair at the back of her neck stood up straight. Still hidden by the bushes she moved closer. A calf had wandered away from his mother's protection. He moved closer to the bushes as he approached the drying stream. She had to pick the right moment. The calf, now closer to the bushes than to his protective circle, was extremely luring. She knew the time was right, her muscles tensed up. And then in a sudden snap she bolted from her cover. Sixteen unbroken strides later her canines were on his black neck. Before he realised what had descended upon him there was blood oozing out of his jugular. The adults rushed toward them. The teeth sunk in deeper. Blood continued to flow. As they tried to chase her away with their horns, she grabbed him and started to withdraw. They swarmed on her harder, ramming her sides. Repeatedly, they came at her. Her skin tore, her blood met his. She couldn't hold on any longer. She let go and ran. They chased her away. They did it for him, she ran for her. But it was too late. He was dying. She must keep running to seek shelter from them. He was gasping. The food was but a drop of blood to her. They tried to nudge him to his feet. She licked her wounds. He got up. She sat down. He floundered with his steps. She began shivering. He fell. She lay down. He shut his eyes. Her eyes rolled back. They lost him. Her life left her.