Free to Write

Yellow eyes stared at me; black slits in pale amber. The bush rustled and I could hear the animal breathing. Hot, wet breath - rancid and decaying - puffed out, hanging silver in the dawn light. The leaves parted, and Sabine stepped out. There was a streak of grey on her muzzle and new scars criss-crossed the old.
I crouched down and offered my hand - half praying she'd turn and stalk away.
She sniffed. Lifted her eyes to meet mine. And I knew I couldn't turn her away. Not this time.