There you are, so suddenly out of air, out of the longer grass, your ears black rods, sharp as shards of glass, and darkened with black bars, isotopes exposed. You are off and running again, and Oscar has seen you, going after you, just as Sophie went after you, racing for dear life, across the years, across the field, across my helpless vision. It is the full moon again, climbing the sky, light fading, and my black dog is running, running, running. Screams do not bring him back. They echo emptily into empty air. I see Sophie by the roadside, lying quiet, at peace, so still, tongue hanging from her mouth to tell me she is dead.
Oscar did not die today. He stopped before he reached the road. No hole in the hedge for him, no gateway to eternity, no way out of time today, as lunar hare ran on into the bright full moon. Perhaps if you had stopped to stare me, out as you did that day in December 2013, then you would have taken Oscar too. But you did not look, you only ran, leading my dog astray, but not too far away.