Panthera Uncia

If the man could see her, standing on the rock in dusk's fading light, he'd have been awestruck by her beauty. How thick and soft her coat, how gorgeous its markings. He'd have wanted to sink his hands into it, gaze into her golden eyes, brush a thumb over her velvet grey muzzle.

But the man couldn't see her, because he was dead, and half buried in the snow.

Man-meat wasn't normally a part of her diet, but it'd been many days since she'd last eaten, and longer still since she'd had a successful hunt. She has been roaming further and longer to find food, and is beginning to feel weak. The longer she went with an empty belly, the weaker she'd get, and the worse her chances of bringing down prey. Meat was meat. She was tempted. This could be her chance.

She circled the man with wary steps, even stretched her neck to sniff the pinkness of him. He'd already shed some of his outer layers. How considerate. Most animals didn't do that.

She freezes, the scent of more men reaching her on the breeze, their clumsy steps and brutish voices loud in the still mountain air.

"Hey, what's that!"

There's a flash. The men come closer. Too late, they find their companion at last.

His body remains where it is. His wife is gifted an extremely rare photograph. She believes the snow leopard guided them to her husband's body, and watches over him on the harsh mountainside.