Lowering my head, I settled into a defensive position, muscles coiled as I tracked his movements. He circled me, his paws kicking up dirt with each step, tension crackling in the space between us. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and hungry. He snapped his jaws at me, but I remained still, unfazed. If he thought I was intimidated by him, he was dead wrong. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
He wanted my attention on him alone, but I refused to be distracted. My stance stayed low, balanced, grounded. When he finally pounced, I saw it—the telltale shift in his shoulders, the tightening of his back legs. His target was my neck. He wasn’t going to get it.
At the last possible second, I jumped to the left.
He slammed into the ground with a grunt, a sharp exhale forced from his lungs on impact.
