The agarita kept her silencethrough the heat,spiny leaves edged in gray,berries long gone,her thicket still dense enoughfor rabbits to vanish,for wrens to sleep unseen.
The buck arrives,head already lowered, lunging—a shudder, then both hornsjammed deep.
He freezes, feels the gripof the thorny mazetight around him.
With a rough tear,he jerks his antlers free.Anger flares.Again he dives in,gets caught,snaps himself loose.Each strike harder.
The agarita breaks apart.Branches twist,splinter and fall.Leaves scatter,dull green shardsresting on the ground.
He stands over her,chest swollen,head wet with blood,coughing.
The bush broken,he walks away,tested, uncertain.