The fox of terror
flicks its tail, smells the wind,
and slinks toward its prey.

She is a woman
with years strung on
her neck instead of pearls.
She knows the hunt and chase
they will do.

Pricking its ears
the fox slinks closer,
breath stinking with rage;
blood lust pumps in its veins.

She feels its eyes upon her,
hears the vague exhalations
of its panting.

Ever closer, the fox toys with her.
Its ruff engorged, its jaws open,
ready...

She shivers as she
silently waits to see
its feral eyes reflected
in her own.

When it pounces
the world explodes in fists,
knuckles and the teeth of terror
that tear here flesh until...
she is no more.