text: The Buffalo wondered through the glade. It lapped from the fresh spring. It saw it’s herd moving. It followed. The Buffalo did not smell anything strange that concerned it. The Buffalo walked until he, like the others, stopped. They stood in a field underneath a large cliff and waited until sleep overtook them. When it awoke, it returned to the stream, further up now, as the herd had moved north. The Buffalo felt a release of pleasure as he drank. He heard a bird’s warning, no doubt sung because of him. He did not stop. He saw the water carry a pile of leaves down stream. He did not stop. He heard the sound of a branches breaking. He did not stop. It did not consider the position it had placed himself in. It had, like every other of his fifteen years, followed the Herd. It was older and felt more comfortable venturing further from the herd, in search of his preferred morsels. It did not smell anything strange on this day that concerned it. It returned to his herd. Nothing seemed to get his attention. Something should have gotten his attention. The Bison grazed along the path. It wondered to a small bush, away from the herd. It nibbled from the delicate ends of the branches. It grazed for some time. It watched the birds fly and fight over a tree. It returned to the herd. It slept by a snake den, around a mossy log. The Snakes did not disturb it. In the morning, it returned to the patch of bushes, determined to refine them of their delicious points. The sensation of chewing was pleasant. The food was good. The Buffalo suddenly felt pain. Immense stabbing pain. The Bison ran from the pain. Instinctual, and unknowable in source, the pain could be outrun. Of this it was sure. He noticed the pain was spreading as he ran. He stopped running, exhausted and feeling immense terror. This terror was new to him. He had not been injured since he was a baby. He could barely recall the pain felt then. This was too consuming. He was breathing too fast to lay down. He panted and paced in place. The pain subsided temporarily. He saw the source of the pain. He did not understand it. There was a long, hard branch inside of his skin, just below the hind leg muscle. He sniffed the branch. He sniffed too close. The branch once again drove into his flesh, causing him to flare with pain again. He began to run again. He ran through the foreign forest he had wondered into, howling and calling to the herd. He grew even more exhausted. He eventually was overtaken with sleep, it called to him more than even the pain did. He drifted through a world of fear and pain. He dreamed of his herd. He dreamed of his favorite berries. He dreamed of the mysterious pain, caused by the mysterious painful branch. The fear jolted him awake. The pain was reduced to a dull throb as he didn’t move. So he did not move. A timeless interval marked only by stabs of pain occurred. The hunger pain became stronger than the pain from the leg. He dragged himself upright. The pain dragged him back down. He limply pulled himself to the sound of distant water. He feebly lapped from the stream. He tried to eat the vibrant grass growing near him. He could not keep it down. He slumped over, and returned to his slumber. He awoke after another timeless interval. He had a thought of his herd. He could not remain here. This instinct was as ancient as the pain itself, and he aimed to follow the sensation. He tried to stand up. He heard a strange noise. The direction where The Buffalo had come running from was down hill. It was a random path, steered by pain and desperation, not safety. He could see movement coming from that way. The Buffalo, eyes wide in panic, felt a pang of adrenaline, piercing through his pain and attuning his eyes to crystal clarirty. He could see something that had terrified him to his core. He had seen a pack of predators. The slightly furry creatures, still presumably too far to see him, were strange and completely unfamiliar specimens of the wild to The Buffalo. He could make out they had long hair on their heads, inconsistent dark patches of skin hanging from their shoulders and backs, and large branches in their hands. Branches that the Buffalo feared immensely, though he could not reason why. The adrenaline tore him to his feet. He must run, he knew this. The strange creatures began to shout, hooting with strange noises The Buffalo had not heard before. The Buffalo began to run away from them, as branches flew through the air around him. He had yet another powerful strike of fear as he realized they had put the branch in him. This was the catalyst for his energy. He could not allow them to cause the pain again. He ran through the bushes. He ran along the stream. He bayed as loud as he could to his herd. He feared nothing except stopping. He had ran until he felt the heat of the sun inside his very muscles. He, without any plan or meaning, had returned miraculously to the place he had slept before the pain. He searched for his herd. He fell asleep on the ground. The pain had once again reduced to a dull throb. The branch was no longer in him. He longed for this terror to be over. He awoke to the calls of his herd. He felt a wave of pleasure unlike any of his life. He meandered toward the sounds of his herd. He saw them in the distance, not far from the forest he had run from. He brayed, louder than ever, expanding the last of his energy on the alert. He began, now safe, to eat as much as he could, then lay by the river, sleeping, When The Buffalo came back into consciousness, he was surrounded by his herd. The many strong bodies made him feel as he had since birth once again. Warm. Complacent. Safe. He limped along in the back of the herd. He could not know he was not safe. He could not know he was still in just as much danger as before. The Buffalo walked until he could not. The herd was patient. They sat down among the grass, or stood around the same area as he had. They watched for predators as The Buffalo slept. They spent the night patrolling the river tributary. The Buffalo awoke, feeling weak but not panicked. The pain was now a distant memory, only brought back into full on stumbles or when stepping on hard stone. The Buffalo followed the herd along the river. He saw them stop up ahead. He was further back then any of the rest. When he arrived to the stopping place, he saw what they had seen. The River split into two here. The few larger Bison were seen in the front, testing the speed of the water. The water was flowing strong. The herd watched for predators and food as the first few bison waded the river. The herd moved one at a time, waiting for The Buffalo in the back to approach. When he arrived, he noticed they had all been across. He followed. He slipped. The river overtook him, filling his nostrils with cold water. He felt the pain in his leg arc through his entire body. He felt the waves push him down to the river bank and below. He planted his hooves deep into the mud on the edge. He pulled himself, straining his legs in pain and howling to the herd. The herd howled back. They still remained motionless on the other side. Most were watching this desperate struggle, a few were pacing the front of the herd, clearly as worried as The Buffalo was. He pushed as hard as possible to remain above the water. He eventually pulled himself to the shore. He remained panting on the shore until the sun had gone down. He saw the herd sleep across the river. He slept on the bank he had crawled to. When he awoke, they were still there. He noticed no birds were chirping. The herd was not baying. The only sounds were of the river. He could not cross the river. He looked for another way over. He did not see where the river ended or was less wide. He howled to the herd. They sniffed and shook their heads in confusion. Another day of grazing and staring passed. The Buffalo could not risk the river again. He wondered along up the north the side of the river. He saw the herd in the distance. They had grown further away in the night. He knew he would return to them. He did not know it was impossible to return to them. He stood in a flower patch. His leg ached and felt hot again. He ate here, again noticing the lack of bird song. He moved on. He could no longer see the herd. This brought an immense feeling of longing. He was also struck with an indomitable urge to reunite with them. He continued to follow the river. When the sun went down, he stood by a fallen tree and rested under the protection. He woke a mere hour later. He smelled something strange downwind. He could not know the smell was ash and smoke, but he felt unsettled by it regardless. He heard something that set his hair on edge. He heard the same noises as before, in the forest. He heard the predators. He was, this time, frozen in fear. He had no the energy to run, and was unfamiliar with travel in the dark. He looked toward the dim woods in the distance. He scanned the forest, laying as flat as he could, still under the fallen tree. He saw nothing at first, then The Buffalo spotted the strange predators once again. One had come out of the forest, holding a pain branch. The predator crouched down on two knees, and looked below himself. The predator moved his hands on the ground, and then sharply looked upward. The predator stood up and looked far off. The predator ran to the edge of the river, not far from where The Buffalo had hidden. He could see him clearer now. The creature seemed to have skin similar to The Buffalo already on it. This confused The Buffalo. The creature did not smell as his kin in the herd did. The Predator scanned the horizon for some time. He then returned his gaze to the ground, and casually walked in the direction of The Buffalo. Still frozen with fear, The Buffalo’s eyes were wide with terror. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He felt weak in the legs. He felt he would never be able to move again. The predator was nearing closer and closer to him. The predator stopped. He had heard a shout from somewhere behind him. He revealed his teeth, baring them in a strange manner. He turned around and waved his arms. Another predator of his species was doing the same motion. The Buffalo saw them embrace. He heard loud noises, as they walked away from the location of The Buffalo. The Buffalos heart began to subside. He felt energized by surviving the event, and knew he could not remain so close to the predators. He walked for the remainder of the night through the mud along the banks. He could not know that the mud would not lead him away from the predators. He could not know that the marks left in the mud were the very method these predators continued to find him. He awoke, this time unaware of when and where he had returned to sleep, along the edge of the forest. The Buffalo stumbled to the river. He submerged his face entirely on accident, and swalloed in large gulps as much as he could of the liquid. He looked around for the creatures that repeatedly had found him. He did not see them. He had forgotten the herd. He only considered food, water and an end to the pain. He wondered to a slope containing growing grains he enjoyed. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the leg that had been in so much pain. There was no longer a branch there, but there seemed to be a large rock that had somehow found it’s way inside the wound. He did not feel the pain as intensely as before. He did not feel anything as intensely as before. He seemed to not even be as hungry as usual. After his short, meager meal of grains was done, he wondered in an aimless direction. He wondered without purpose. At some point, without any intent or thought, he found himself standing still. He could no longer walk. The pain had become a full body numbing sensation, far beyond anything he had felt before. He realized he was standing still, no longer moving. He turned around. He paced the clearing he had found himself in. He noticed he had been bleeding for some time. This did not strike him as a sign of good, and he felt a brief feeling of fear once again. This motivated him to continue on. He had no concept of time anymore, no intent or purpose in the heading. He simply walked onward. He was aware of the trail of blood behind him, and it did not occur to him that this, similar to the tracks in the mud, would be his downfall. He lost consciousness that day along a pond. While frogs protested his interference in their mating rituals, he dreamt of the sky. He did not feel the second branch enter his body. He was awoken purely by the familiar sensation of adrenaline empowering his nervous system to flair back into consciousness. He thought he had run. He had barely moved. The second branch was in his back. He felt where it entered him. He felt where it was inside him. This did not hurt, but it told every atom of his body he was in danger. He knew not what to struggle against, but knew he must. The strange predators were now around him, holding their branches of pain high, shouting to eachother, and baring their teeth towards him. The Buffalo felt darkness come over the sky, even in the morning he knew he was in. He fell to the ground, this time because he felt his body punctured by many more branches. His thoughts and even his vision itself became a formless, primordial mix of color and concept. The Buffalo felt infinitely larger. He felt his mind expand to the size of the great plains he had roamed since birth. He could picture every forest, every stream, every familiar Buffalo. He felt he could see his own herd, and the many herds they had passed before, visualized in front of him. He thought of these strange predators. He finally understood they had wielded these very branches for the explicit intent of harming him. His eyes jolted open at the thought of it. As he barely watched them, he noticed more about these creatures, now close enough that they were touching his skin. The predators had many skins of animals wrapped around themselves. They must have done this before. The Buffalo felt his mind empowered like never before. The world began to have order. The stream raced downward not as a creature like himself running, as he had momentarily thought once in his infancy, but as a natural object of nature, the same as a tree or cliff. He felt a brief sensation of hurt as he was flipped to his back. Another realization occurred, as his eyes bulged and the sun beat down on him. The birds did not understand his thoughts and wants, as much as he could not understand theirs. This explained why he could not ask them with braying to help him find a warmer sun spot to sleep, or a tastier breakfast in the early morning. His mind raced with an overwhelming rush of every sensation he had ever felt. He remembered the strange predators that were feeling his body and removing their branches. He remembered that these were not new creatures of the same species, but the very same he had seen leagues away, when he had first been injured. Somehow, these beings had found a way to him over and over. A single second had passed in the interim between these realizations and the last ones. Another second passed, and a new wave of insights on the world flowed. He felt one of the creatures pull their branch from his belly. He felt his viscera spill. His lunch and bowels alike, draining out of him as fast as the thoughts drained in to his mind. The Buffalo began to connect the timeline of his life. Specifically, his death. The sharp branch had been made to hurt him, by these creatures. He had been stabbed intentionally by them. They had not been dissuaded by the long march ahead of them to get to him. In fact, they must have simply *walked* toward him, as he had seen that night. Unlike the predators he had encountered before, these had known it was but a game of waiting and following. But how could they have followed. He thought to himself?! As he felt pulled forward by the horns by several predators, he had a few more seconds spent pondering. He watched his body reveal a stream of gore as he was dragged. This revealed the answer. They had found him because they had known to look at the ground. This sent a feeling of pure terror, followed by cold numbness along The Buffalo’s primitive spine. The grooves his feet carved into the soft mud, and presumably all surfaces, were followable. This was beyond any sort of cause and effect on the world his brain was possible of understanding until this life event had granted him understanding. He felt like his past self, a noble fifteen years of age, was simply a baby Bison, who had to still be taught to lick from rivers and chew their food for the first time. He felt he knew nothing of the world until these very instances. His mind was ever expanding in these few last seconds, even through the terror, and perhaps empowered by the terror itself. He considered the lights in the sky at night, thinking them to be creatures as well, perhaps also with plans to puncture his body and cause him pain. He considered if the large cats he had seen in the mountains at night would ever learn to make branches of pain to better hunt as well. The Buffalo saw one of the creatures pulling him by the horns stop and take a piece of animal skin out he had been carrying. The creature began to eat the tough food inside. The Buffalo was blasted with a strong scent of minerals and flesh. The scent reminded him of the strange scents from the night before, when he was almost found. He still could not fully process the act of fire making and preserving, but he intimately knew the smell of the meat as that of his own kind. He felt a dull throbbing numbness take over his entire mind, at the thought of being wrapped in his own skin and eaten leisurely later. With his mind racing ever stronger, he had the urge to reason with these predators. Perhaps this was not a fruitless endeavor of running, escape would not have to be the answer. He let out, with the full intent of explaining he understood their mission, a braying yelp. No sound escaped him however. He could no longer inflate his lungs. The Buffalo had only a few miniscule seconds of life left. The creatures brought him to their camp. They congratulated themselves on the successful hunt. They roasted the meat that night, prepared it and wrapped it for return to the tribe, and placed it all on their large sled. They rested well, they had been hunting for The Buffalo for two weeks. They had recounted it’s patterns of straying from the herd every day, learned where it ran and how far usually, and planned this execution expertly. They would feast for months off this harvest, and were struck with an immense sensation of pleasure that they no longer were hunted, but were the hunters. They all talked long into the night. They did not notice anything creeping in the dark. They slept around the fire. They did not smell anything strange that concerned them.