Journal of a Trapper

It’s something like an obsession or maybe an itch I can’t scratch. I keep seeking out the Wild Man. I’ve caught glimpses. Always fleeting. He moves like a panther, runs faster than the deer on all fours. The beasts and the birds, they show no fear of the Wild Man. Even the Angry Earth beasts seem to pay him no mind. I never get more than a glimpse. He always knows I’m there. He hears every snap of a twig, every brush of a leaf. I suspect he can smell my breath and knows what I’ve supped on the night before.