Big wolf country: the gunsmoke sky darkens as men go out to hunt.
My grandpa always said instinct is a list you carry bonedeep.
– ribbons of scent in the treeline
– the soft imprint of moss
– the shadow that flickers through the light
– the hot stink of the earth
So, I chased it down, over hill and dwindling day, until all the world was still.
It looked at me, curious, as I raised my gun.
But as the light gathered in its eye I turned away. Forever.
For finger on the trigger, with no witness to it but ourselves.
I’d seen my brother.