Installment the Third

Third part of my short story. Only one more part until I have to write more.

That night, I dreamed. I found myself once again surrounded by towering trees, clad in loincloth, and toting a spear. This time I was not a total stranger to this strange land. I quickly scanned the forest near me and did not spot any phantasmal fantasies or transient thoughts. I would have to track my prey this time. I set off into the woods with determination and a goal.
As the sky grew darker, the forest came alive. Ideas flitted from branch to branch on wings as swift as those of a bird, but these small thoughts were not what I searched for. Their speed and size made them a difficult target. On the trail ahead of me, I spotted a more substantial prize. I must have gasped, for the creature turned and looked in my direction. Surprise and fear showed momentarily in the intelligent eyes, but they quickly turned to resolve and hunger. This idea was not an animal to be preyed upon, it was a predator in its own right, and if I were not careful, it would have me. I snarled my challenge, and the creature howled in reply. It lowered its head and charged. I held my ground as long as I dared, and at the last moment, I threw myself sideways and stabbed out with my spear. Wood sank deeply into the flesh of the beast’s hindquarters, and it growled wordlessly in pain. Whirling quickly, it lashed out and struck me. The blow knocked me backward, but my grip was strong upon the wood of my weapon, and my spear came away with me. Gathering my legs beneath me, I lowered the point and lunged. I felt the blade go deep into the wounded idea, and it died there on the end of my spear. Standing over my prize, gasping in air desperately, I knew then what triumph was. This idea was one of size and strength. It had meaning and purpose. I bent to skin it and butcher its carcass, but my recent failure was fresh in my mind. A new approach was necessary.
Rising to my feet, I pruned some stout branches from the smaller trees near the trail. I also harvested many large armfuls of the aromatic plant that grew in dense patches on the forest floor. With patience and care I bent myself to the task of mounting and stuffing the body that lay before me. I’m not a professional in this area. The closest I’ve ever come to the art of taxidermy was in 5th grade when I’d made a piñata that looked like a donkey for Cinquo de Mayo. Despite this, my attempt to restore a semblance of life to the dead idea and instill it with shape and form was not unsuccessful.
I woke the next day, refreshed and optimistic. It was midday, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Lewis, must have already come and gone because the kitchen and living room were spotlessly clean. My dog was nowhere to be seen however. I glanced out into the yard, where the open gate and empty expanse of emerald lawn lead me to conclude that my canine compatriot had gone AWOL. Fortunately, the fickle animal usually returned home when his stomach told him it was lunchtime, so I was not overly concerned. The open state of the gate troubled me more, however. Mrs. Lewis always closed the gate after herself when she left. I’d have to call her later and see if my dog had been in the yard when she’d gone for the day.