A Hunter & His Prey

I am the Hunter. It is my prey. I seek it, but for reasons it cannot comprehend.

Ah, the sense of wonderment before me. I lay myself down upon the cool mountain’s face and breathe in the air of the valley, rising up to me so far above. The wind blows calmly, its touch familiar and soothing. And as I rise I see it standing there. A majestic creature in all its glory before me. Turning to face me it spreads its wings and flies directly towards me. What is it that I am feeling? Fear? Of course. Shock? No surprise there. Excitement? Maybe just a little bit. I’ve spent the last fifteen years of my life chasing this bird down. Following it from mountain to mountain, valley to valley, across lands and kingdoms, into the deepest and darkest reaches of the forests, and now here it is before me. I wish it knew why I chased it. My reasons are not like the others. We all chase it for one reason: It is the last male of its kind. It’s feathers are priced at nearly $250,000 a piece. Why? For fashion obviously. We humans slaughtered and butchered them, tore their habitats to pieces, and then used them to make ourselves more attractive. I’ve never understood that concept. Destruction equals beauty? Nevertheless I hunt him, but for reasons he cannot conceive. I don’t want his feathers, but his seed, for little does he know he is not the last of his kind. Just the last male. And I? I possess his mate.

The End

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