it is like they'd conjoined.

her pulse is the kudu's pulse. her ferocity its. their eyes are pinned to each other, her blue and its black.

the soft meat of its snout pushes in, crushes the frail cartilage within. blood pours down the passages, and the throat chokes on it.

she sees every emotion, from fear to pleading to last, desperate anger. she thinks she hears something gurgled through the blood. it is spat at her feet, fresh and bright.

like a curse.

the kudu stills.

sancha still has her jaw locked in place, still breathing with full lungs. cannot see how wide her own pupils have gotten.

the feeling when she unlatches is part relief, part yearning.

the hound licks her flews, turning then to the lion.

saying nothing, but expecting something. her breathing is still heavy.