I sniff the night air and twitch my tail. A flick of my ears helps me pin point the heart beat of a tiny, scurrying mouse. The wind blows against my soft black fur, blowing my scent away from my prey. Crouching low, my belly only an inch away from the ground, I make each step carefully through the shadowy forest. I place each paw lightly on the ground. Slowly, I make my way closer towards my soon-to-be lunch. Finally, I see it. I see it’s furry body, so plump, so tasty! My desire for a long deserved meal, however, gets the better of me, and I become careless. I pounce too soon and the mouse escapes with only a scratch. Nothing that won’t make him wiser. I sit up, angered with myself, and start to lick roughly, the back of my right paw. That’s the fourth failed hunt in a week.

          Looking around, I notice that which I ignored when I was stalking the mouse. I take in a deep breath of the cold night air as the breeze pushes itself through my fur once again. I close my eyes a moment before I exhale, then glance around at my surroundings. Trees to my left, trees to my right. I look ahead of me; more trees. Behind me are less trees. Behind those trees are mountains, and I can smell my warm den from here. I shake my pelt before turning to pad through the fading trees.