A Moose on the Loose
A great cry of intense distress sang across the wide plains, as the searing pain of an exploded tooth screams across your brain. Something was afoot. From this vast distance it was a mere speck, but one that appeared to be moving with purpose. Striding out in torn and tattered clothes she headed directly toward the sound.
This was the enigmatic ‘S’. Her face covered, more or less, she appeared, she solved, she moved on. No one knew who, how or why. On this occasion there was none to witness her doings, none bar you and I, dear reader. Together we will try and construct the events from what we find, a story of sorts, a version that holds water.
Water. There is very little of that out here. What do we find? No footsteps, no sign, except the silver-white bones half buried. From the skull we may assume a moose, but how? What on earth would a moose be doing here.
To recap: ‘S’ has been; a scream has been heard; a moose’s flesh has been picked away.
She does not come for no reason. She does not leave until a job is done. She speaks not, she never deigns to explain. She does. She sorts. She saves.
But what? Here? What here?
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