The wolves hunt, sun blazing high in the sky.
Its rays gleam on the russet fur blending into the autumn leaves littering the ground. Grass grows between the cracks in the pavement that their padded feet gently tread. The prey is up ahead. A picnic blanket lies, disheveled, in the midst of the park. A child roams near, spindly legs chasing a ball that is gradually building momentum and tumbling to the bottom of the hill where the wolf lies in wait.