The Final Strike

silence in a misty wood
               damp like tears from God
a firm fist grips a stone
               ready to aim and throw
the prey is there and grazing
               innocent to its killer
leaning around the tree
               the stone is thrown across the clearing
His prey turns away
               he approached from behind
doesn't make a single sound
              slits its throat, watches it collapse
and leans down to drink up the blood