As if within her, beneath the span of her own days, there are other
hunts going on continuously, giant elk in flight from the pursuit of hunters
other than herself, and the birth of other mountains being plotted and
planned other mountains rising, then, and still more mountains vanishing
into distant seas and that even more improbable than her encountering
that one giant elk, on her first hunt, was the path, the wandering line, that
brought her to her father in the first place, that delivered her to him and had
made him hers and she his the improbability and yet the certainty that
would place the two of them in each others lives, tiny against the backdrop
of the world and tinier still against the mountains of time.
But belonging to each other, as much in death as in life.
Inescapably, and forever. The hunt showing her that.
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