Dropping to my knees beside the tiny kithkin, I find it hard to believe it was only an hour ago that we found her out in the grass, buzzing with flies. She's lying on her side now, breathing shallow. Every so often her long ears twitch, or her longer legs kick. I look into her eyes, and all I see is a blank, unseeing stare. I reach towards the top of the cage to take it off, and she kicks wildly as though to run. I pull back sharply. It takes me a few more tries before she lays still as I remove the cover. She wouldn't be able to escape now, even if she tried. I just want her to die without something on all sides of her. I lean close to her, trying to tell her it was okay, let go, leave this place. But she doesn't. She holds on, and I bite my lip as her kicking becomes more violent. Her sides heave, and as she exhales, bile dribbles out of her mouth. Her breathing stops for a moment, and the only clue that she hasn't left yet is her heart, banging against her ribcage. I want to bring her outside, so she can die as a rabbit should, in nature, as, really, anybeast should, humanity included. But I don't want to hurt her, I want her to die in peace. So I don't move The minutes drag on like hours, but after a long time, I see no movement, and the feeling that I am alone closes in. I place my finger over her heart, but it's impossible to tell what's beating, her heart or my pulse. But I can look in her eyes, and know she has escaped. I pick up the particle board that she lies on, and carry her outside, padding down into the woods and laying her neat next to the pile of brush that serves as a habitat for so many kithkin. I bow my head, listening to the sound of a kindred spirit escaping into the beyond....