After the kill, there is the feast. And toward the end, when the dancing subsides and the young have sneaked off somewhere, the hounds, drunk on the blood of the hares, begin to talk of how soft were their pelts, how graceful their leaps, how lovely their scared, gentle eyes. Anonymous submission.
Added: 2 Mar 2003 | Last Read: 28 Apr 2017 12:03 PM | Viewed: 4767 times
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