A family of ravens circles high.
Silence descends before the bullets ricochet and echo and echo.
Hoofs tearing the tundra, legs pounding fear. The living herd moves on. Elaine shows me how to slit the belly, roll the entrails out. Blood seeps into my gloves and my flannel sleeves. Later, like Lady Macbeth, I soap my skin but in sleep I still am rolling out entrails, still covered in blood.