 
DAVID SHATH SQUARE Chapter Twenty-four
Thoreena had decided it was time to kill the two stags.
The moon had risen and the first wolf howls haunted the night. She advanced toward the stags cautiously, holding her homemade lance in front of her like a fencer prepared to thrust and then parry an attack; but the animals lay on the ground motionless, their fighting spirits quelled by exhaustion.
Thoreena was within a few feet of the closest deer when the animal tried to kick her with its front legs, a feeble attempt that lacked power and resolve. The other animal just lay on its side and didn't move. The animals were so spent that Thoreena managed to get herself between both of them; she could have reached down and slit their throats with a paring knife, she was that close.
That's when she hesitated. She looked from the gleaming blade to the helpless animals. She raised the lance as if to strike, but from were I was standing I could tell she had lost her resolve. Just then one of the deer snorted and tried to get to its feet.
"Get the hell out of there," I yelled at her.
She didn't waste time. Seconds later she stood beside me, pale and shaken.
"I couldn't do it...I know what this means to us. But I couldn't do it."
I put my arms around her and held her close. In some ways, I was relieved that she wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Killing is a terrible business, even when accomplished at a distance with a rifle.
Women aren't born to kill like men. They lack the genetic makeup. Men have been killers for thousands of years. We have a cold dispassionate side that allows us to perform the most grisly tasks and then walk away with a clear conscience. At least that's what I told myself as I continued to hold Thoreena in my arms. Her stomach was pressed against mine and I suddenly felt something kick my stomach.
"What was that?"
"I just felt something kick me in the stomach."
Thoreena looked at me, astonished. She began to examine her stomach, now was round and full.
"Hardy, you don't suppose the baby is..."
"Is what?"
"Moving in my womb. It's much too early for that, isn't it?"
"Well...I wouldn't know."
Maternal joy and wonder combined on Thoreena's face as she continued to examine her stomach
"It's a miracle, Hardy. I think I can feel the baby moving."
I felt Thoreena's stomach. Sure enough, every few seconds I could discern a small movement that felt like a weak kick or punch. I smiled, the proud smile of fatherhood. It had suddenly become clear to me that I would have to kill the deer so my family would live.
With deliberation forged of desperation, I bent over and picked up the lance. I walked toward the deer and stood over them with the terrible weapon poised to strike. I cut their throats with clean, precise strokes of the blade and watched as blood began to gush from the severed arteries, a river of red washing over my tennis shoes running down a slope to the base of a bonfire where it began to boil and bubble. I was mesmerized by the sight of so much blood. I watched it continue to flow over my shoes into the fire until I bent double and wretched.
A howl in the night brought me back to my senses. The wolf pack had arrived, lured by the scent of death. The pack surrounded our position and stared down at us; their eyes burned gold vermilion in the firelight. I knew they wouldn't attack us, but their presence was unnerving all the same.
Thoreena was at my side.
"Hardy, we've got to butcher the deer now. We've got to save everything; hides, meat, liver, brains, and ligaments.
"Okay, but I've never butchered a deer. My grandfather always did it."
"I can do it," she said, unlashing the bloody knife from the poplar pole.
Thoreena had just started her first incision along the belly of one of the deer when a scream that sounded like a person in terrible pain ripped through the night.
On the opposite side of the clearing from the wolves, I could discern two golden eyes, white fangs, and tawny body that moved toward me with deadly grace. The cougar stopped about twenty paces in front of me and went into a crouch; its raised tail began to twitch, a sign that it was about to charge.
"Thoreena, give me the knife."
"Are you nuts? You can't kill a mountain lion with a knife."
"If you've got a better idea, I'm willing to listen. Only make it fast because that feline is about to charge us."
Thoreena handed me the knife and I began to advance slowly toward the motionless animal, holding the knife in front of me as it were a great sword and not a pathetic little skinning knife.
I watched the cat bunch its powerful muscles. The next thing I knew it had launched itself into the air and covered the distance between us in a single bound...
To Chapter Twenty-five
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