The Butcher of the Forest

by Premee Mohamed

The further in she went, the thicker and stranger the light became as it filtered through the leaves; after half an hour it was like syrup where it fell on her hands and the pale sleeve of her sweater, or like the orange sun after a forest fire.

The rules were vague but should not be broken: don’t cut living wood; don’t shed any animal’s blood; trade if you must, but do not negotiate. And certainly never accept any “gifts.”