Monday, August 03, 2009
You stand on the sunlit rock and watch me crouch in the ferns. The plants are matted. Fronds torn. You saw the raw signs of disturbance when you crested the trail.
"It's another one," I say.
You don't approach. Not yet. "All of it?"
"Mostly. But this deer is missing one of its front legs. And part of its chest."
It doesn't mentally match the other fresh remains you found. "So that makes six? Including the three skulls we found?"
So many. Impossibly many.
"I don't think coyotes did this," you say, still not approaching my pained expression. "I know we heard the pack last night, but--"
"No, I agree. They left the back end untouched this time. Coyotes don't do that. They start eating from the back end. Something attacked this one from the front."
You shiver at the thought of silvery moonlight. "The coyotes sounded like they were crying, anyway."
"I know," I say. "I know."