Fly

The smell of earth permeates the steam and heat rising from the sweat of shaking horses' necks.

The cold numbs the faces and exposed skin while the exhaustion of the run and dampness of the air allows sweat to seep through wool coats.

Aside from the breathing and snorting of the horses, no one dares utter a word. 

There is only Silence through the manicured yet wild woods; then, there is an echo of screaming hounds. 

All too suddenly, electricity of the morning surges through the group and hits my heart, making my breathing speed increase at an alarming rate. 

My horse’s feet seem to levitate off of the ground and carry me through the woods with the others through trails of brown, wet earth and low limbs. The hounds scream and the wind screams in my ears and I concentrate on the steadiness of my seat and the pace of hooves below me. We come to an obstacle.

I brace myself for the launch. I breathe. I fly.

I hear a game holler. We shift directions, jolt around corners for eternity. My horses and the others around me breathe heavily as we stop and wait.

After the horn resonates, we know a kill has been made, and we are joyous.