The Hunt

The woods are filled with the ghosts of shadows appearing and disappearing at random intervals with the lightning. The shadows that are cast are but shallow reflections of their owners. The Hunt. A game of life and death. Ying and Yang. The Doe is aware of the war that weather is waging, she does not understand it nor does she see the Hunter.

The Hunter,

picking his steps methodically,

licking his teeth,

stalking.

The Hunter lets the cool rain wash over him, steaming off of his solid frame from the red hot passion. The events from the eventual kill run on loop through his mind's eye. The Hunter knows the importance of Praying over the prey and asking Mother forest for taking this gift, but he intentionally neglects harmony for this midnight hunt. The Hunter sees the forest, truly. He takes the shape that is necessary for this dark evening. The Doe walks cautiously, but she'd never suspect the mother forest to take advantage of her. The Doe stumbles past the Hunter, not seeing him for his true form. The Hunter sees his opportunity and plunges a solid wooden spear into her heart. A spear made of a tree from this very forest.

The Doe lets out final cries of passion,

of pain,

of spiritual release,

and goes limp.

The Hunter removes the bloody spear and casts it out into the dark, never to be used mercilessly again. He feels nothing. This was not for the result, A slain Doe left in the woods, but for the hunt itself. The Hunter leaves an empty corpse, devoid of a pulse or a functioning heart, in the forest. He assumes it will be absorbed back into our Mother Earth.