Bounding through the trees,

Graceful as the wind, yet noisy as it bounds through the bush and bracken.

On its two hind legs, Mother Roo bounds along merrily, enjoying the landscape, drinking in the sounds and sights. Pouch open, with a tiny head popping out. Full of hope for its life ahead, with Mother teaching him all she knows.

Mother stops, raises her head, catches a scent, hears a noise, Starts running for the trees. A shape out of the blackness, chasing, pursuing, never giving up, always running. Scrambling through the woods is the Roo, but the wolves are faster.

Always, always, faster. Only 100 meters between. A gap the fox will soon bridge. 70 50 The Roo is desperate now, running like the wind, pupils dilated in fear. Her pouch swinging wildly, joey screaming in fear. This is its first time being hunted, it has no idea of the horror to come.

The fox catches. Mother keels over, still running, and tries to get up. Gaping gashes fill her matted hide with blood.

The joey runs, unnoticed, from this terrifying sight, its small legs working, tiny heart beating.

Escapes to run another day.