Last Autumn a dead horse lay, tucked away, hidden amongst the thicket which boarders Red Rise Brook; it looked old and I imagined, probably to make me feel better, that it had chosen this secluded sport for a final resting place, dying in peace amongst the stands and sound it had known during its life. A year later virtually nothing is left, beyond a few scattered old bones. The land has reclaimed her own, the physical remains absorbed, consumed and used by the living, whilst the spirit runs free joining the spectral herds of the worlds beyond. Nature wastes nothing, a great and most efficient recycler.
Most likely the carcus was taken. No reason they are the only two bones remaining. The skeleton would still be there kept together by hardened cartilage.
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