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…