Genre Short Story. Page - 70
Burning with no choice but sadness
The scent calls me in
I listen to then calling
Chiming their symphony of hate
Dew wets the grass
I walk a deadly path
Slipping through the trees
I do it all with ease
There stood before me
Is the prey that I desire
Now I feel the hunters fire
I circle closer
Keeping him in sight
I circle closer
don’t want him to put up a fight
I take my fill
I leave him still
I am the hunter
And my job is done
"As she turned to open the car door she froze as she saw on the silvery ribbon of the road three dark shapes close, and for a moment, menacing like grown men with their hands held up. Then they shifted position and she saw the sheen of the moon on their flanks and the antlers, branch like, against the sky. Red deer stags, cautious, stopping to check her out as they crossed the road. One of them coughed. Their hooves clicking delicate steps they moved off slowly, a faint swishing of the undergrowth marking their progress.
What was it like to be them at night, stepping dainty on hooves through this landscape, nostrils keenly alert, ears vibrating to the slightest nuance of sound?