The Butcher of the Forest

by Premee Mohamed

But it was beautiful in a way the south woods were not beautiful; it held this quality of age, weight, of mass and depth like a mountain. Maybe the roots of the trees went down as far as their branches went up. Someone here probably Knew.

The light had absorbed all the shadows around them; they moved through a syrupy golden haze. Still, a shadow stretched across them now, crisp and black, crackling along the edges as if it were on fire, as if a flame itself had learned to cast a shadow. And the beast cast it, and it was great and terrible, and its head rose to nearly the canopy of the forest, and the single horn scythed from its forehead curved and gleaming as a sword.