- Vol. 03
- Chapter 05
Mine is an ancient hunt taught in its infancy by these snowy hills, which are older still; formed from duller teeth, taught the art of survival, my jaws carry an offering from the earth; my legs are clothed in warm fur and claws to defend against the cold and the spear. I’m young and old, like winter giving way to spring, renewed the same by time’s churning, again and again, year and after year, stretching my body back into the days of stories, when my form was etched into the walls of a cave.
I haven’t forgotten; I’m just not as familiar with the new face in the side of the mountain, or the blackened, rotten carcasses of the salmon that bob up and down in the icy river. The trees I have known since before my birth, and I remember the names of the ones that have been cut down; I sleep where the mountain dips to meet the earth, forming a womb from which I awake to hear cracks of thunder in spite of the clear morning sky. After this, the earth becomes a stranger.