hear the tale
Wyoming. September. Late in the cold, blue evening.
By the time I found the trail back home… it had found the trail I’d been leaving. I had been hunting many times before. This was the first time I’d been hunted.
Here is what I heard: A rustle in the undergrowth. A shriek in the dark. The thundering of my heart’s own panicked refrain.
Here is what I saw: It bearing down upon me, a ravenous six-point hare, fangs glinting through the gloom. A flash of moonlight in its eyes – a look that pins you to the fears from which you’ve run all your life.
But I didn’t run that night.
Here is what remains: This beast. This American Chimera.
Felled. Mounted. Available for sale.