I look up.
I see a patchwork of speckles on the ceiling of my world.
Stars between branches.
The forest gobbles their morsels of light, sparing none for me.
Darkness engulfs me.
I fill my world with the sound of myself. Leaves rustle beneath my feet as I sway with each breath.
I close my eyes. I see no less but I hear more.
A breeze rustles the top of the trees. A rustle might be a foraging fox or a stoat in a careless moment.
I place my right foot in front of my left. My left foot completes the pace.
I stop. Walking in circles will not help.
For a moment, I stain to sense the earth’s magnetic field. It refuses my touch.
I hold my breath and close my eyes again.
I hear it.
If it’s quiet, it’s because it’s muffled by the forest. The hunt is not furtive.
My legs quiver. My feet itch to be moving. I order them to be staunch.
I do not allow myself to move until I am sure of which direction I can hear the hunt approaching from.
I turn my back to it.