The hunters run
no game remains close to camp
out here the trees are sparse but the grass
is taller
it is possible to ambush
the fleet herd creatures the slow and heavy
behemoths prepare them in the field
but just as the best cutter
prepares to make his first incision
I hear. . . something something heavy running
toward us, the swish swish of the grass
the only sound I sound
the alert then run we all run
Cutter stays to snatch a couple
cuts of meat but now I hear
harsh calls the calls of birds
they are 2, 3, many birds
calling and running running and hunting
I am slow one of my legs
was cursed and didn't grow enough
but I am faster than Cutter
strong Cutter but laden with meat and I see the birds
Axebeaks bobbing above the tall grass
stiff feathers of azure and tangerine
making warmasks of their faces.
I see them running
and they see Cutter.
I return by secret paths to the campsite
I arrive empty-handed and alone
but creeping silently upwind
I do not smell blood
I do not find females
their bellies spilling open
I do not find small ones
headless in the ruins of my tent
it is not like last year.