Thursday, February 14, 2008
In the meadow by the river Laver eleven cows graze, taking advantage of the last light of dusk to top up their first stomach before ruminating for the night. By the time the first lifts its head and utters a low of warning Gillian and Felicia are upon them, half starved and desperate. Filth and mud cake their figures, their clothes ragged from premature burial and the tips of their fingers bled dry from scraping at coffin lids. Gillian fastens herself to the terrified animal, teeth extended to the limit to punch through the thick hide to the veins beneath. Felicia has different needs and less finesse, her claws all but severing the head of the second as she swallows great chunks of meat. Sated, they drop the carcasses in the river and make a mental note to write a cheque for the farmer.