She watches the deer on the far hill, a veldt of russet stems, rigid, upright in the turgid mist.
Shadows steal and congeal, then scatter, no match for the ponderous assault to come.
He stalks, skimming low, washes of still weak dawn stealing along the ridge, silent, airless.
She thrills as the arrow cocks, tendons pop, shoulder strains, quivering, eager.
He pivots, frowns, intent, so close, eases back, sighs the release.
She spins, startled, a hiss, a whimper, a heartbeat, gone.