The Hunting Party

The operation had been planned for some time, there was no going back now. The elders had made their decision, their very survival was dependent on a successful mission. Owing to a harsh winter and severe floods, crops and food stores had been severely depleted and small game that were normally available at that time of year were virtually non-existent. There were several families; most with youngsters to provide for and unrest was simmering throughout the reclusive population, concentrated in the higher reaches on the north side of the small remote valley.

They set off at dawn with a sense of foreboding, not daring to look back. They made good progress through the shelter of evergreens down onto the valley floor, where long grass still provided cover down to the water's edge, and after a half hour steady pace were now warmed up and ready for action. Waiting first to check for movement, all was quiet and still. In single file they crossed the river

The group comprised five young adults, three males and two females, one of whom was pregnant. The south side of the valley was much steeper and twisting rocky paths made for slower progress. They were now becoming desperate as the morning light made them more visible, especially to their intended target, the farmhouse sat higher up on the south side of the valley under the lee of a hill, sited there for shelter from the severe winds that were prominent in exposed places away from the valley floor.

Using a copse for cover, they continued up the hillside and to a casual observer it would have looked, real easy, as the group slowly crept forward, professionally moving up out of the copse the last few yards to the fence surrounding the farmstead, where a quick check of the outlying buildings confirmed that all was quiet. The farmer was absent, he had risen early at five thirty a.m. to make the fifty mile round trip to the nearby market town of Centerville, where he was taking one sow and three piglets to auction, hopefully to raise enough hard cash to make it through the rest of the winter.

The farmers' wife was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for herself and the two toddlers fast asleep upstairs. Still in her dressing gown and ensconced in a celebrity magazine, for the right predators they would make easy prey.

The attackers rested up and waited, checking for any movement or sign that their presence had been spotted. There was none.

There were hungry mouths to feed back home in the remote valley, their fate depending on the success of this mission. With sheep and cattle three fields away over the hill, safe under the watchful eyes of a farmhand and dog, dispatched at dawn with winter food, and with the pigs and chickens safe and sound on their way to auction, choice of prey was somewhat limited.

There must be no living thing to tell the tale, moving swiftly and as one they struck, and the slaughter was swift and brutal, there was a frantic barking from the other awakening farm dog, alas locked in the barn but by then it was all over, everything was dead.

The group moved off at an easy canter over the fence back down the hill and over the river. They stopped to rest for a moment and resettle their spoils before making their escape.

Each with a chicken in its jaws, and with the big red dog fox in the lead, they loped off up the hill, there would be chicken tonight in the foxes' den.

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