Night of the Dhole

A whistling scream.

When mist falls on the forest
and the silvery meadows,
deer turn their heads
and dart into the trees.

Peacocks scatter
into the undergrowth.
The last brave sambar
stands in the grass,
spying the forest's edge.

Screams echo.
The sambar takes flight.
A single dhole emerges
from the trees,
with white teeth bared
and a coat of red fur.

The pack scourges the meadows -
infiltrates the forest
as the night draws in.
Wolves flee
from their hungry growls
and voracious yapping.

Somewhere in the darkest tangle
of bamboo thickets, a sleeping tiger
hears the whistling pack
and twitches.