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15 Open Season Having starved for months, the fox means business. She is wisp-thin and serious, following marks indelible as lines on an open palm that sing rabbit, rabbit. Her world has narrowed down to what she leaves behind. Given the chance I would side with her heart, its terrific kick and the hot taste of survival, but this is a matter of motherhood. In their warren rabbits cringe, some abort their young, and I remember what it meant to want. Hunger was the spot where a pulse leapt up to meet the tongue. ...

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