Feral

She awakens ready to hunt. As she rises, she feels the loose pine needles dig into her hands and feet. Her nostrils take in the scent of prey. And him. She stands up completely unaware of her nakedness. All she cares about is finding food. And feeding her other, hunger. She runs on feet hardened by the elements. There is no pain felt as she makes her way over rocks and sticks in her path. She is agile, strong and wild in her beauty. She stops, lifts her head, and sniffs the air. There is the scent of rabbit. It is close by. But the draw of his scent is more powerful than her need for sustenance. She continues to run. Her dark hair is strung with leaves, snarls, and twigs. Her blue eyes vibrant, even in the moonlight. Her hands, arms and legs move to push her further; faster.

There he is in her path. The ONE. He is standing there, blonde, brown eyed, and naked. She wants to devour him. For she is starving. But not for food.  There’s a need for touch, want, release. He runs to her. She to him. They pounce. Kiss, lick, bite, and taste. Their coupling is urgent and extreme. They grasp at each other to hold onto the moment for they know it’ll be over too soon. They can’t stay in one place for long or they will become the hunted. Out in this wild world where it is kill or be killed.

After their desire is sated, it is time to feed. With the moon shining above them, they stand and look at one another. He shakes his blonde head at her. She touches his face. They turn and begin to run. Together they will satisfy their need for food. Then feast on each other. Again.

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A Crisp November Morning

Crisp morning, November 15.

red-yellow sunrise, opening day of rifle season.

His gun, rests against the tree.

The Hunter stands with a Thermos of coffee.

Steam rises from it as he unscrews the lid.

He places the cup to his lips and drains it.

Places it back on the Thermos and sets it on the ground.

He is clad in blaze orange, quilted coveralls to hold in warmth on this brisk morning.

There is birdsong, and he sees an eagle take flight above the low lying mist.

He hears the call of wild turkeys in the distance.

The mist shrouds the dormant corn field and the lower branches of a tree.

There is movement.

And in the distance, the Hunter sees him.

The Buck.

His majestic head is lowered to the ground, eating leftover  husk.

The Hunter reaches for his rifle, still against the tree.

The Buck hears the sound of the hunter’s sleeves.

He raises his head, and the Hunter looks at him in wide wonder.

All eight points of his rack reach for the Heavens.

He resets the safety and lowers his weapon.

The deer nibbles on the husk still in his mouth, and watches the Hunter.

The Hunter watches the Hunted.

There comes a snap of twig, birds take flight in the rising sun and the Buck leaps into the mist.

The Hunter grabs his Thermos of coffee, refills his cup and waits.