Each inch of her a dancer. Ear to tail
language of moving gesture strut and stance.
She runs and darts through space swift as the lance
or arrow she avoids. One day she'll fail
but not today. A single hunter runs
through briars after her. She smells his sweat
and keeps on running. Sometime, but not yet,
this won't be fairy story. He'll have guns.
Or hounds or falcons. When he strikes her down
She won't get up a princess. She will bleed
and cough her life as blood. A hero's deed.
He will parade her skin and guts through town.
No magic princess, twenty pounds of meat.
She pirouettes, flicks ears, high steps her feet.