The Huntress and The Pantheress

I knew I was being watched long before I saw her. The forest had gone strangely quiet, the birds no longer calling from the branches above me, and even the small creatures that usually betrayed my passing had vanished into silence. My hand tightened around the shaft of my spear as I slowly turned, searching the shadows between the trees. Then I saw her eyes, catching what little light remained beneath the dark canopy. She was crouched on a broad, low branch, her black coat almost disappearing into the shadows. Pantheress.

I did not run. Running from a pantheress would make me prey, and I had no intention of offering her an easy target. I lowered my center of balance and brought my spear across my body, watching her without taking my eyes from hers. She remained perfectly still, her head low, ears forward, muscles gathered beneath her dark coat. Her tail moved once, slowly, and then stopped. She was not challenging me. She was waiting. I shifted one step backward, and that was enough.

She sprang from the branch, not toward my chest but toward my back and shoulder, trying to knock me off balance before I could bring the spear around. I twisted as she struck, and instead of taking me cleanly, she caught my upper arm and shoulder. The impact drove me sideways. Her weight carried us both to the ground, and the spear flew from my hand. I rolled immediately, trying to keep my back from her. The pantheress was already trying to get around me, her forelegs gripping at my shoulders while she searched for a hold. I shoved against her chest with both hands. Her jaws snapped close enough that I felt the movement of air against my cheek, and I twisted my head away as she tried to reach my neck.

Her hind legs raked across my thigh as I fought her weight, and pain flashed through me. I kicked hard against the earth and managed to create just enough space to roll onto my side. The pantheress sprang back a short distance, crouching low, and for an instant we stared at one another. She could have fled, but wounded instinct and the confusion of the struggle brought her forward again.

This time I saw her coming. I caught the shaft of my spear as I rolled toward it, but there was no room to stand and no time to aim properly. I brought it across my body as she closed, forcing her to turn her head away from the point. Her forepaw struck the shaft, and the impact nearly tore it from my hands. She twisted, trying to get past the weapon and reach me from the side. I let the spear go. As she lunged, I seized the thick fur at her shoulder with one hand and caught her foreleg with the other. Her momentum carried her past me, and I twisted with it, dragging us both down. The knife at my hip was suddenly beneath my fingers.

The pantheress fought violently to break free. Her body was all muscle and desperate movement, claws tearing at the ground as she tried to regain her footing. I held on only long enough to keep her from turning her head toward me. When I found the opening beneath her shoulder, I drove the knife in. Her body jerked, and I pulled back, but she twisted again, and I struck once more before she could regain her footing. Then she collapsed against the leaves, her breathing growing weaker until at last she was still.

I remained beside her for several breaths, my chest rising and falling hard from the struggle. There was no triumph in her death, but neither was there guilt. She had hunted me as a pantheress would hunt, relying on surprise and instinct, and I had fought as any Panther Girl would fight when the choice was between taking a life or surrendering her own. Now that the struggle was finished, the old lessons returned to me as naturally as breathing, along with the realization that the work of the hunt was far from finished.

I looked toward the sky and saw the light already beginning to fade. That was a problem, for a kill this large could not simply be left where it had fallen. The forest had scavengers, and they would find the blood before long. If I wanted anything from the pantheress, I had to work quickly. I dragged her beneath the cover of a broad tree, but even that nearly exhausted me. She was heavy, far heavier than any deer I had carried alone, and my wounded side protested every time I pulled. I stopped several times to catch my breath, pressing my hand against the cut before forcing myself onward.

Then I began the work of preserving the kill. My knife was already slick with blood, and keeping a firm grip became increasingly difficult. I started with the meat, cutting away what I could carry without ruining it. There was no way I could take everything, and I hated leaving any of it behind, but the old lessons of the Panther Girls had never meant pretending a huntress could carry the whole forest upon her back. I chose the best portions first and wrapped them tightly in leather, already thinking of Scar and how he would turn every bit of what I brought home into something useful.

The hide proved harder still. Her coat was thick and close, and the dark fur made every cut difficult to see clearly. I had to work carefully beneath the skin so that I would not slice through the hide itself or ruin the fur. More than once I had to stop and sharpen the blade, and my wounded side throbbed with every pull. By the time the hide finally came free, my arms ached and my knees were stained dark with blood and earth. I could almost hear Scar’s voice in my mind, probably telling me I was taking too much upon myself again, and the thought brought the smallest smile to my battered face.

Still, I was not finished. I carefully removed the great curved claws, working each one loose without cracking the bones of the toes, then turned my attention to the teeth. Some came free cleanly while others resisted until I worked around their roots with the point of my knife. I saved the skull as well, though I knew carrying it would add considerably to my burden, and selected the strongest bones for later use as tools, needles, handles, points, or whatever purpose the forest might demand of them. Scar would understand why I had taken them all. He knew the forest, knew the value of what it gave, and I found myself wondering what he might make from the bones when I placed them before him.

By then the forest was growing dark, and I looked at everything I had gathered with the sinking realization of how much heavier my burden had become. The meat alone was more than I could comfortably carry, the hide was awkward and bulky, the skull knocked against my leg whenever I moved, and the bundles of claws, teeth, and bones had to be secured carefully so none would be lost along the way. For a moment I wondered whether I had been foolish to take so much, but then I remembered what I had been taught: a Panther Girl did not waste a kill simply because using it was difficult. Besides, Scar would be waiting, and now I understood exactly why the thought of bringing something useful back to him made the burden seem lighter. I wanted to see his face when he realized what I had done. I wanted his approval, not merely because he was a skilled hunter whose judgment I respected, but because his pride in me had begun to matter in a way I could no longer dismiss as simple companionship.

I tied the bundles together, fashioned a rough carrying sling from leather, and lifted the weight onto my back. The first attempt nearly drove me to my knees. I shifted the load, tightened the straps, and tried again, managing to stand this time, though barely. I looked back at the place where the pantheress had fallen, remembering how I had entered these woods as the huntress only to become the hunted for those terrible moments, and now I was leaving with the food, hide, claws, teeth, skull, and bones of another creature that had known this forest as intimately as I did.

The walk home would be harder than the hunt had been, and I could already feel every pound of the burden pulling against my wounded side. I tightened my grip on my bloodied spear and started down the trail, carrying the weight of the pantheress upon my back. Somewhere beyond the trees were the cave, the fire, and Scar. I thought of his hands examining the hide, his sharp eyes judging the quality of the claws and teeth, and the quiet satisfaction that would warm his expression when he understood that I had brought all of it home for him. I knew why that mattered to me now. I wanted to please him because my feelings for him had deepened beyond friendship, beyond respect, and beyond anything I could continue pretending not to recognize. I wanted him to see not only that I had survived the hunt, but that I had returned to him with something worthy of his pride.