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“Missed me, my friend?” Dylan leaps atop of it, and we both signal our horses to canter.
The hounds keep up with us as we move out from the habituated part of the estate to the open forest. Long trees decorate the sideways, their fallen leaves crunch under the horses’ hoofs. Humid air sticks to my face, before weighing on my lungs.
“Find us some meat, little beasts.” I signal my hand forward. “Run!”
The hounds’ barks slice the silence of early morning hours as they spurt towards the narrower paths. Dobermans follow close behind.
These moments before the actual kill are always thrilling.
Blood rushes quicker into my arteries as we advance further. The bent trees are like servants welcoming their masters.
The hounds run in the same direction, their barks intensifying.
With a sharp kick of my boots, Jet sprints, catching up to the hounds in no time. When a deer appears, jumping left and right, trying to elude the hounds, Wind manages to speed ahead of us.
Dylan smirks as he passes me. “This one is mine.”
Hell, it isn’t.
One hand on the reign, I slip my other in my jacket and retrieve a knife, kicking Jet. “Go, Jet! Go!”
The distance separating me from the deer is about twenty five metres. The hounds keeping it caged.
I throw the knife, smiling when it lands straight into its neck.
It falls on the ground, and I guide Jet to it. The hounds surround us in victory barks. The deer splays on the ground, blood streaming onto the grass. Its eyes remain wide, still clinging to life.
The beauty of its struggles strikes me. How beautiful. And utterly needless.
“It’s not dead,” Dylan says, Wind halting next to Jet.
I smirk. “It’s still my kill.”
“We’re only in the first round.” He unleashes his Remington 7600, charges it, and fires two clean shots. Each in the deer’s eyes.
“Old habits die hard, huh?” I ask in a mocking voice.
“I don’t like the look in their eyes.” Dylan’s voice and face are detached. Yet, his grip tightens around the weapon.
I twist the reigns lighter, allowing Jet to turn in little circles. “I thought you got rid of that weakness already.”
“What weakness? My humanity?” His voice rises. “I’m not like you. I can’t just cut it loose.”
I smile, mocking. “Look where that got you.”
“It’s much better than where it got you.” He spins Wind around. “You’re becoming more and more like your psycho father. The similarities are disturbingly disgusting.”
My jaw ticks, but I maintain my smile. “It can’t be helped. We share the same genes.”
“Let’s hope you don’t share the same fate.” Without a glance, he propels Wind forward.
Screw Dylan’s provocations. If he wants a reaction then he better try harder.
The stable boys collect the deer’s corpse as Dylan and I follow the hounds. Their noses kiss the ground in search of another target.
“What about Celeste?” Dylan signals Wind to keep up with Jet’s cantering pace.
Of course. Celeste. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s a masochist for obsessing about her after what she’s done to him at The Pit. But since he thinks he hates her, let him continue down that route.
