“So... we meet again.”
Minty didn't give Craven Lorne the satisfaction of even a small acknowledgement that he had spoken; she was busy smelling a worm.
“It's getting quite close to that time, you know, the time that I mean to kill you.”
The worm proved more interesting. Minty continued sniffing at it while her dress dragged on the dusty road.
“I won't make it quick,” Craven warned her, but it was almost a question, asking if she cared at all.
Minty moved away from the worm and munched on a scrubby piece of dry, golden grass.
Craven pulled at his collar. It was always so hot in the field and there was something unnerving about Minty, the way she looked at the world with vacant intensity, like she didn't quite know what she was so interested in. She was impossible to deal with.
“Rabbit!” he shouted.
Finally, she looked at him. Slowly, she stood up on two feet.
“Do you want to die?”
She cocked her head to the side. Her eye whirred as it focused on him.
“Well? Do you?”
Craven Lorne jumped back. He realized then that he couldn't remember having ever actually heard her speak. Her voice nearly whistled, like a sigh coming through the metal pipe of an electronic organ. There was something tragic about it; it was almost painful to listen to.
Minty walked away, she didn't run. Craven stood in the field, and for a long time after she was out of sight, watched her go.