She lies perfectly still, listening in case they draw closer, in case these strangers come for her. Listening for the telltale click that precedes the thunder, the whine of something hot and the pain that follows. Listening for the roar of things that would chase her at great speeds through fallen branches and dry scrub, never losing their breath, never slowing down, never stopping. But most of all, she listens for the Men to leave.
High up on this rocky ridge, sheltered in her den from the day’s fierce sun, she had been sleeping when the machine arrived. These metal monsters were not new to her; she had heard them before, had run from them before, but never this close to home.
Is it here for her? She does not know.
She creeps forward, silently, cautiously, and peers out into the bright midday glare. Already she is panting, both hot and nervous. The machine stops, the roar settling to a low grumble. It carries the stench of death and decay. She hears the voices of Men as they climb from its belly. Perched on this granite outcrop she sees two approach. One stinks of fear and looks hurt, and she shuffles back into the shadows, for it is never good to be seen by Men.
There is the click, and then the thunder. She ducks as it booms, shrinking back even further. The smell of hot blood wafts up, filling her nostrils and making her long for tonight’s hunt. More sounds from below, a dull thud, and then the machine rumbles off to wherever it is such things come from.
The dingo sniffs the air once more and returns to her den. She will sleep, and later inspect the area, removing any trace of the intruders’ scents with her own. This is, after all, her territory…
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