The Branch Above

You only notice her when the fog shifts. 

High in the ancient tree, she crouches on a thick, black branch, pale as porcelain and crowned with wild red hair. Her eyes burn a soft, hungry red in the moonlight. A ragged fur mantle and scraps of hide cling to her like something taken from a kill. 

She doesn’t snarl. She just watches. 

One hand grips the bark, claws sunk deep. The other is already half-open, ready. Her tail hangs still. For a long moment the forest holds its breath with you. Then she leans forward, just slightly, and the branch creaks. 

Somewhere far below, something small and foolish is about to learn it was never alone.