Snow Leopard

• Grace Webster, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2022

Crouching silently behind the oblivious marmot, the snow leopard let the wonderful aroma of prey encircle her. The ghost of the mountain held her temptation of sustenance for a moment longer, before pouncing, swiftly jumping over the rodent and landing in front of it. Before the marmot could make any sound at all, the she-cat had bitten into the back of the creature's neck, killing the rodent instantly. The leopard haphazardly grasped the recently deceased animal in her mouth and padded through the now blood-ridden snow to one of the only remaining shelters of underbrush.
At closer observation of her prey, the leopard noticed the marmot was underweight, not unlike the other specimens she had been feeding on lately. She let the still-warm flesh roll around in her mouth as she pondered on what she was to do about the so few options of nourishment
She knew why her prey was scarce. Every animal in the forest with even a little intellect knew. The fault belonged to the unnatural newcomers to the arctic land that wore the skins of other animals. The invaders that walked on only their hind legs and used their two remaining limbs to heft monsters of metal that ended the lives of creatures with one click. Since their unwelcome arrival they had shot the snow leopard's prey, and even worse, captured and most likely killed the she-cat’s own young.
The mountain cat observed the scenic valley beneath her for any threats. Seeing no immediate danger, she allowed her consciousness to drift away from her. Falling into a heavy slumber, the snow leopard's mind played a scene that had revisited her every night since it took place.
She had left her kits, only for a moment so the adult leopard could hunt, in underbrush she had deemed safe. She was beginning to track the scent of prey, crouching down, posed to strike. She heard a small shwitt, a rebounding mew, and then silence. The she-cat’s mouth went dry. She quickly abandoned the scent of fresh-kill, to begin leaping as fast as her pounding heart to where she had left her kits. Before long, her ears pricked at the sound of the invader's tongue. Her blood ran cold as she observed a monster of metal. Her kits, barely breathing, contained in cages of wire netting, were being roughly loaded into the machine by three two-legged invaders who then jumped into the unnatural creature. Then, the brick of metal roared and left, faster than the leopard could ever run. The only traces the occurrence had ever happened were the winding tire tracks trailing into the distance and the mother-cat, collapsed on the ground, calling out desperately for her lost young.