Fickle Flight

     I go to great lengths to protect my lady. As we race through the woods atop the mountain, like Artemis and her stag, I fervently clear the spun traps set by restless arachnids. Should her ankles tangle our onward progression would come to an abrupt halt, I imagine. Her face seems impervious to the nets cast betwixt narrowly bowing trees, she perseveres. Her eyes seem to be her only vulnerability as she occasionally curses under her labored breath when a particularly viscid strand entangles itself among individual lashes.
    This trek is as serious as the speed we dedicate to it. We nary pause to investigate the odors radiating from our surroundings. To think of all the mysterious smells never to be scrutinized, saddens my heart. Yet we advance onward and upward.  As we cantor down this path and that trail I desist imagining my various  complaints since I am granted freewill to be temperamental in my pursuit. I do have a target in mind and acting unpredictable with my chosen direction will enable me to attain my goal. Leading the way I bound over exposed roots and unforgiving crags, penetrate brambles, and wade through fields of wildflowers in pursuit of my most elusive prize.
    My fickle flight technique nearly proves successful this go around. Careening at full speed I hone in on him. Sleek in tone but with garishly textured fur, there he stands. His legs are slightly splayed while he nuzzles the clovers that dot the outskirts of the the rolling hillside that we find ourselves upon. The pattering of my feet give me away within yards of our meeting. He is swift and dives into the thicket refuge. I don't necessarily want to slaughter him. I am more so intrigued by this fanged beast. His appearance I recognize in my own. He stands not much higher than myself and grazes as I do. The curious creature, this Musk Deer, has an impressive set of tusks that I wish to procure for my lady. Perhaps a discarded pair forgotten in the underbrush will suffice. I only need to ask him where I can exhume such a treasure. Wouldn't she be proud to wear a trophy as such that I personally unearth for her? Until that day we will continue to run.
     Dusk is fast approaching and a lone Cuckoo calls out, reminding me of how elusive time is. The sounds of frogs and toads ricochet off the trees and wallow in the rice fields from where they originate. An Asiatic toad, as large as a coconut, ambles across our path. My lady, enthralled by her disputable beauty, saunters to her side and strokes her knobby flesh. She dotes on the toad as if it were a baby. A lumpy, thick-skinned baby. After photographing the absurd creature I decide it's time for our repast. Taking the lead I direct our efforts to the path that will leads us out of this wilderness. As we approach the border between the woods and the town, my lady stops abruptly. Upon inquiring the reason, she turns her back on me and blocks me behind her body. I peer between her parted stance. Her legs are rigid and through them I see is a large, brindle, Jindo dog. His head is lowered and he has been stalking us. How did I fail to realize this? My lady levels her eyes to his and glares. Our stalker retreats. This brute has been spotted tormenting a shitzu. I'm glad my lady has a stronger constitution than he. Our adventure comes to a close as we stride into our neighborhood, the sun setting behind us. There is always tomorrow when we set off to Jeju island. I hear the trails are fantastic.