Phoenix Maplewood b is for basil assaulted by bears

note 2 self: set before his raid

a single eye in its flat ugly set saw not the beauty of the maplewood, but what it could provide for him. the brush of leaves might have been fat birds settling in high branches. shifting of verdancy to autumnal color only provided breaking cover for the multihued foxes, shedding summer for fall.

insects were crushed underfoot, others winging from his hateful tread with self-preservative speed; finches and catbirds quieted. yikaas was a blight upon the splendid wood, hunger and irritation driving him to hunt for those caught in his lair.

someone drank water in desperate gulps. the caribou hunter knew that sensation of complete empty dread, forced to stop only when your body threatened its collapse.

water splashed from weakened stomach and open jaws, flowing in sloppy waves back into the mud. yikaas regarded the boy with the remaining slate-blue eye, thrusting his muzzle close.

ghelan would be this age now. and like the leg of his son, nature had twisted this boy too into a trick of itself; two tails. an treacherous sense of loss gnawed at yikaas, invaded him. 

and there it was again, some glissade of recognition, the same he had experienced upon capturing the young woman and seeing her near the injured wolf. he said nothing more, only watched the child with some sternness.