Feed on

The Kill

I saw her move to avoid it.

She stepped to the side and steered our walk in a different direction, thinking this would distract me.

Blood-drenched snow—after a day or so, the intensity of its color now fading, like an old bed sheet on a laundry line.

I think it made her shudder, imagining the rabbit the fox had seized under a sliver of moon. Its heart racing, until it all but exploded in a warm embrace. A cry, then stillness. A spasm, then nothing.

I see the pink snow clearly. How lucky, I think. A warm meal, a reward. A hunt well executed. And, the snow—now drenched with protein, a gift left behind for someone like me.

A month or so ago, I would have been so grateful for the leftovers.



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