by Tracy Davidson
She guides hunters. She knows these woods well. Every tree, every trail, every spot the bears have passed. All the well-hidden dens. Sleeping mothers and their cubs. Easy prey.
She says she doesn’t care such hunts are illegal. If they tip well. In advance. The hunters happily do so. They don’t know she loaded all their guns with blanks.
The hunters hear the growling of a grizzly coming from the woman’s throat. They stare in disbelief as she throws her head back and shifts. Tooth and claw cut short their screams.
The nearest werecubs wake. Momma’s home. With fresh meat.
Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, and In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.