Sharp sound. A shot and the furred lifeform crumbling into earth. A weapon? I collapsed breathing too hard into a shrub. Stay low.
How many others in the world as we know it would help another in such immediacy? I felt a heady suspicion that I was not out of danger. I wanted to have a chat very soon.
Cloudy remains of the cooncat splashed the pathway. Red covered grey and paws everywhere. Beauty past the danger of killing laid to rest. But I could not make out any other movement. I called out quietly, "And?"
A regular dusting of clothes yet again, and I swivveled around sharply to catch a view from behind me. Still nothing. Still.
Cooncat made for tasty eating. I'd skin and cook later. Gathering the body in a short loop around the legs, I would carry this small meal to dinner. A bullet might become an indicator of ownership.
There were so many people once that bullets were more valuable. Vaguely green stalks brushed my knees as I pushed forth. On high, bird song, a melody of morning, still morning singing of one less predator in the neighbourhood. My journey touching his. Thinking of growing older by the moment, an analogy which boldly parted my thoughts from the absent weapon holder, I had resumed the walk upwards. Ever on.
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