Talons, Fist and Teeth

I close my eyes. The breath gently flitters in and then out. I am there.

My meadow beneath me, again, welcomes me home. I raise my fist to the sky and he comes. I need not even look upward for I feel the familiar tearing of my flesh as he settles, talons grasping into my fist. The pain screams within and I welcome the greeting of my ancient friend. The blood streams briefly and stops as talon and flesh merge. I heal.

She strolls to my side, her weight leaning against my thigh. I lower my free hand and find her fur, thick and hot upon her neck. Kneeling, I wrap my arm around her and lower my face into hers, breathing deep upon her myriad of smells: scents of death, decay and fresh blood. I so love her essential primitiveness.

Now we are one, us three. I miss them when I cannot imagine.