Eleanor Henderson

Dark Star: The Hare

Light winds lifted branches high overhead. Lacy shapes in the overstory swayed black against a midnight blue sky. Silent death approached. A hare huddled in the forest understory froze. In the midnight forest, two jewel-green eyes glowed; the silhouette of a panther moved almost silently, limping slightly. The feline turned its head toward the hare, and stared, flared its nostrils and sniffed. This morning the hare would have smelt like dinner, but not tonight. The hare was not food tonight. The panther resumed its patrol. It had been pacing along the perimeter of the forest since sundown, back and forth along the edge of a shallow valley that ran between the forest and a white cliff that shone in the moonlight. The loudest sound in the night was the soft, constant lullaby of the young Clear River tumbling to the sea. The hare turned and fled downhill, down away from Death. There was a greater terror than the panther in the valley tonight.

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