To Gorge
The elk’s moment of mortality had arrived and death hovered close by. Time and age had worked their unrelenting influences on flesh and blood and bone and muscle. Worn was the noble beast.
Each step taken by the arthritis-riddled cervid was a painful endeavor. It could no longer maintain pace with the herd and so the crippled creature lagged behind, its fate sealed by senescence. Down by the river it lingered alone waiting for quietus and that final moment of release. For sure the elk would struggle, but the effort would be futile … and so it was.
When the wolves arrived they mercilessly assailed the wapiti with vicious, rending fangs. Relentlessly they targeted haunch, throat and mouth. Tissue tore and crimson fluid spewed the air. The brutal deed was committed with a ferocious savagery, yet the act maintained a sense of pure poetic beauty. The elk’s spirit slipped away. In so doing it left behind a gift in the form of sustenance. What remained were days worth of fare, on which to gorge.
~ Anecdote and Gray Wolf image To Gorge © Jerry L. Ferrara