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He rested in the concealing shadow of the garage and watched her moving in the garden. He breathed lowly, controlling his exhale so he wouldn't startle her. He had watched her for almost an hour, waiting for the right moment to come. She walked gently along and collected flowers as she went. He sniffed the air. She smelled good.
She kept her eyes to the ground as she moved, her lithe legs stepping slowly and her bare feet leaving gentle impressions in the dirt as she concentrated on her task. All the while she sang a low tune to herself, unaware she had an audience. He liked her voice. It was small and pretty, just like she was. Suddenly she spied a twig. She pulled at it, but it refused to move. She followed the length and saw the other end entangled in the weeds. She pulled harder. She was consumed by the task, focusing tightly on the twig, on her grip. He knew this was his moment.
She heard him before she saw him. His large body whisked through the grass with a sound like a scythe cutting wheat. She released her grip on the stick and turned to his racing form. She tilted her head, not understanding what she was seeing. He pressed his muscular legs for more speed as he ran to her. Her eyes widened in horror. She turned to flee and took a single step before he was on her.
NEXT
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