have your fears been anthropomorphising themselves into wolfhounds? you may be hoping that their prey is a mere facet of you. that’s easily solved, isn’t it? but remember, the chase is already woven into their design.
clasp collar on your thought in time
the wolfhounds are with me and give me form. the wolfhounds are with me taking breath faster than the wind and air moving against them. their strong paws are used to the green fields but their temperament has not changed in the red parched dust. their footfall matches my heart filled with hatred for them and their purpose.
i am above the wolfhounds; i see the ridges of their back and fur snarled by the elements. i am angling above them yet they keep the world from me. i see what they are pursuing beyond the torrents of broken branches and exhausted soil, a single rider that splits from the darkness. i will scream to alert them, noticing the panic in their curved spine, their legs pressed to their horse in fear. they can hear my wolfhounds. they can hear my heart.
my eyes follow the fastest of them all, whose shape terrifies the atmosphere around him, and his coat perspires and throws off ash and silt here and there in contained echoes. the scream from my lips is lost. this chase is empty and my throat cannot make anything.
that is not deterrence for the wolfhounds as they reach their prey in the destroyed gully and meet in a pack to drag it from the horse it rides on. the fastest has one of its feet; the others make a horrible synchronised leap for the mount’s legs. it happens in moments as i thunder directly behind with the hooves of my own horse making small work of dust turned to drowning silt.
the fallen rider has become passive and resigned; perhaps the dispatch has taken them swiftly. it is not a matter of mine now. i will not stop to look or hear or smell anything.