Under the cover of moss

Eyes scanning the forest

The hunter strings his bow

Gingerly she creeps

A shadow, a wood nymph

Picking her steps carefully

He watches

A glimpse of emerald

Her cloak ripples behind

Sharp hiss of air

As his arrow flies

Missing her delicate throat

Finding purchase in a trunk

Startling a fawn

She smiles

Ducking low she runs

His attempts at tracking useless

As she is elusive once more

Last arrow lost in the canopy

He sighs in disgust

At his failed attempts

A growl in his stomach

Pushes him home

As he breaks free of the trees

Into sunlight and pollen

He feels the sharp prick under his chin

And looks down into her

Terra-cotta eyes

The hunted now the hunter

The day turned to twilight

The wise old owl watches in silence

As she sings a song of thanks

And skins his soul


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