The stiff, northern breeze pushed the strong scent of deer up into the nostrils of the crouching beast. His prey was so close; so unsuspecting; so perfect. The grass moved only slightly as the predator pushed his nose through. The wind was shifting; blowing from the northwest now. He lay frozen with anticipation as the head of his prey swung around and held, suspended in air, with wild eyes searching for the figure that lay hidden in the spring grass.

            The wind whiffled through the pine bows and sent the yellow pollen from a nearby flower onto the wet nose of the crouched hunter. But still he sat; unmoving; silent as the grave, watching his unknowing prey. An ant ascended the summit of his nose, stopping only once to look up at the amber eyes staring down at him before he began his descent to the daisy on the far side of the furry hill. A bee buzzed in the motionless animal’s ear, but still the hunter lay like one dead. Only the rising and falling of his lean sides gave evidence to the life that was in him.

            The wind shifted again. The young doe; inexperience as she was; lowered her head to resume grazing. The winter had been long but the new grass that had begun growing in abundance at the first sign of spring had revitalized the lean bodies of those animals that had survived the long winter. The beast in the grass licked his chops and began his advance slowly; calculating every little movement that was necessary in reaching his goal.

            Inch by inch; centimeter by centimeter; closer and closer he edged. His muscles coiled; ready for the spring. The silence was like a wall surrounding only the hunter and his prey; nothing penetrated that wall; not the bees; not the birds; not the wind; not even the hawk that swirled in the air above their heads.

            Gathering himself, the hunter made a lightning leap toward his prey. At his first roar of attack, the young doe jumped in terror toward the safety of the thick woods. The wall of silence around them was broken. The falcon wheeling on the northern thermal let a shriek that was mingled with the doomed cry of the pursued prey. The beast tore at the stumbling prey with his strong jaws; searching for the jugular and the pulsing life blood that he knew flowed there.

            Slashing; grabbing; he was tearing at the warm flesh that struggled beneath his lean body. The fight was almost over; he could feel his prey weakening under him and he sank his teeth deeper into the soft neck. The doe struggled violently once more; shuddered and lay still.

            For a long time they lay there; the hunter and the hunted; blood staining the spring grass that waved around them. Only after the twitching body of his victim lay still did the predator dare to loosen his death hold.

            The moon was rising when he finally began stirring himself from beside the mangled corps of the doe. The northern wind that had helped him how drove its icy fingers into his yellow eyes. Tearing and scratching at them like an angry woman. The falcon had long since stopped her screaming and roosted in the tree above. An owl took her place in the sky; keen eyes searching for movement in the dead pine needles.

            He left the body behind him; lying in the shadows of the trees. The urge to run was now strong upon him. Faster and faster he raced; bounding over boulders and ducking in and out of shadows. The ridge was drawing steadily nearer. A rock stuck up on its peak like a sentential guarding a valley. His feet struck the cold rock and the sharp nails on his paws scraped loudly on the granite. And then he stopped; motionless he stood there silhouetted against the dark night with the wind ruffling his silver mane. A statue of cunning and wildness for all to see.

            And suddenly the wind stopped; like the breath of a dying man it slowed and then ceased to be. The owl hooted passed over the moon; its blue light reflected on his silky feathers. The predator stirred slightly and then putting back his head; he howled at the moon.