THE HUNT by Billy Roberts

The early morning mist rises with shame, to reveal the flash of crimson coats.

No idle chatter from the hunters’ lips can conceal the deathly smiles, nor magic away the guilt that is yet to come, but even now is felt.

Excited hounds, hungry yet fed, filled with eagerness for the chase, mingle with impatient horses whose frozen breath disappears with the rising mist, but still the guilt of the hunters’ deathly smiles remain.
Already the blood of the hunted flows, but only in the minds of the hunters, as they rub the cold from their frosty hands and don their caps with pride.

The misty sky reveals a curious sun, who peeps slyly, then retreats with shame, as the signal is given and the hunt begins, but for the hunted it is already over.
A wide-eyed creature stares from the safety of the hedge, but its safety is soon to be broken by the crimson coats, howling dogs, sounding horns, and horses at a gallop, but led by the hunters’ deathly smiles.

Confusion! And with hesitation, the gentle creature surrenders. No prisoners taken in this gruesome war, as a curious sun peeps once again, and with outstretched hands the crimson coats congratulate each other; but the hunters’ deathly smiles slowly disappear, and the crimson coats turn to coats of bloody shame.

The journey home is always dark, but only in the minds of the hunters.

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