Kill

A balmy breeze had hitched a ride with early dusk and whispered to the sleepy trees encircling the meadow. A pair of hairy ears played in the current, sensing solitude as night had come, imposing silence onto the valley. A moose will rarely eat by itself, as it prefers like-minded company. He had been isolated, shunned, and stood alone. Only a yellow, worried moon for company. When morning broke an urgent buzzing at first light had woken birds and squirrels. The sky was black with flies, attracted by the blood. The wolves, in deadly frenzy of restraint, had brought him down, with all finesse and skill that only wolves possess. Yet they had killed with kindness. It is the way of animals. And something humans never, ever will understand.