I did not kill the boy. But I did eat him. As I stripped the pungent flesh from his arm I saw the rifle and I growled but I did not stop devouring. That night I slept on his bones and I had my first dream of you.
I dreamt that I was the boy. I was close to your face. I could smell your hot skin and your salty blood. I could not stand it any longer and I lunged at your lips. But I awoke whimpering. I clashed my teeth and I growled.
In the morning I was drawn by the scent of the boy’s tears down the mountain. I came to a stream and I smelled where the boy had sat. I smelled where the rifle had been laid and I growled. I too sat and I saw my reflection in the trembling water…
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