
Sreda
Under the red wisteria, he holed himself up with the carcass of a doe. He didn't want her to spoil too fast, but still wanted her to get that extra bit of flavour as the rot began to set in. Gross, he knew, but this wasn't about right or wrong. This was something he found a guilty pleasure in doing, and he wouldn't allow anyone to ruin that for him.
One, two, one, two, the count that accompanied each dirtied paw as it sank into the dirt.
