The First Of Spring

• Mikki Finn, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2012

Graceful, elegant, beautiful. There were many words to describe her, but not enough to paint a picture perfect enough as the one reflecting in my eyes. She splashed the water, diving in the shimmering pond in such a way it was so distracting, so admirable but encouraging. The cold white powder consumed everything it could touch. Winter’s bitter bite had left its scar, as the contrasting spring began to heal over the glassy wonderland. I felt a growl rustle in my hollow gut, until it reached my throat. I opened my jaw wide and let the howl escape my parched mouth, its vibration shaking the cold air, its sound echoing through the dead forest around me. A flash of white attacked the blackness, rushing past as quickly and unpredictably as a flash of lighting reaching from the dark sky to the still earth. To my left, a red smear darted through the dead and lifelessness around me, like fire consumed a lone dried tree. With my bloodline hungry for attack, my children starving for experience and my famished eagerness for the first kill of the changing seasons, I advanced forward.
In swift motion, I released my tight muscles and pounced in large leaps and bounds. I saw my pack regroup around the escape routes for their own kill as my paws finally broke the thin layer of ice kissing the surface of the water. She turned to look, her eyes wide with surprise and her long neck twisted in a graceful turn. My legs continued through the below 0 liquid, the shape of the flying drops froze in the air and settled on the surface behind. She lifted her long, sleek wings and took her first stoke, I sprang forward before her second. A cluster of white flew like clouds around me, others escaping the scene the moment they realised I was predator. I felt my claws rip through the bottom of the pond, the crunch of the ice as it broke around me, and the softness of her feathers in my mouth.
The warm blood flowed out of the swan and trickled down my too clean of chin. I saw my pack gather around the edge of the partially frozen lake. I carefully laid the delicate bird down, her heart still weakly beating, her chest barely moving, her eyes praying. For a solid moment, everyone lowered their heads and I locked my eyes on hers. Her eyes pleaded ‘Take me, may I be of use to you.’ I pressed my large paw against her neck and waited for a crack. Her chest stopped shuddering and everyone raised their heads. As nature must go, sacrifices are needed to achieve. Normally, I would take the first chunk of my prey, but three little pups playfully made their way to their first meal. They ripped under her wing, instinctively, and began to eat. Her spirit floated above us, and the warm drops of red melted into the last layer of snow.