Majority of the chapter edited by Shira.  Some content added post edit as well.

From the trigger breaking, to the bloody aftermath took less than a heartbeat.  The pony tried to run, tried to flee the cacophony of noise, only to find that breath would not come and there was a dull ache spreading from its chest.  It looked down as if to trying to understand why it could not breathe or find the source of the ever-present and overpowering pain.  In the end, it only lasted a moment before the strangely colored animal fell to its front legs before toppling onto its right side.  Knowing what was coming, my hands were already cycling the action of my rifle to prevent what pain I could.  The shot was close to perfect that it could be, but there is always horror in killing.  Horror I strode to prevent as spasms began to overtake the creature as the view through my scope changed to reveal part of the ponies head.  Exhaling softly, my finger tightened on the trigger once more and noise shattered the quiet of the forest yet again.

For what I guessed was minutes I watched the animal through my scope to assure myself that it was deceased.  Truthfully it could have been only a few seconds as time seemed to blur during moments like this.  Either way, I knew my bullets had done their job.  Deftly, I opened the action on the rifle and placed the fired case in one of the many loops embedded in the sling before dragging the tripod fully into the blind.  The mesh window was quickly sealed with a series of loops over buttons before I turned to grab the smaller of my two packs from the wall.  Unceremoniously, it was dumped into what pretty much equated to a two wheeled wheelbarrow inside the blind.  It only took a moment to unclasp the door and pull the cart behind me before closing my temporary home again.

Wearily, I dragged the cart across the dirt behind me.  As much as it pained me, I needed to lean on the cart as much as possible.  A few days might have passed, but every breath still pained me to the point every breath was a struggle.  The soft earth gave easily beneath the wheels more and more with every step until I was standing on the edge of the shallow but calming brook.  It really was a shame I’d have to sunder such beauty with what was to come.

After a minute or two of fussing with it, I managed to get the cart across the rocky bottom of the stream without too much effort.  I'd need the contents within for the task ahead of me.  Up close, the creature was even stranger looking than I thought; the entire body shape was off when compared to the animals I was used to.  It was similar enough that I'd still know what to do, but left an odd feeling in the back of my mind as I kneeled next to the fallen pony..  What could have once been a beautiful coat of auburn fur was matted and muddied from the creatures demise. The short drag to move it up the bank of the stream did not do any favors either.  Many people considered how I hunted strange or just "different" than most, but it reverberated through my soul.  I could no more refuse my actions than a priest could recite scripture.  An outstretched hand brushed across the strangely soft fur for a moment as my outstretched fingers closed the oddly deep blue eyes of the pony.  I tried to speak my thanks, but my voice still hadn't returned.  Internally, I still recited my prayer as always.

"Thank you for giving your life that I may live.  I pray I did my part and your end was as painless as possible."

The small pack lay opened on the sodden grass next to me with contents shining in the late afternoon light.  A variety of knives and sharpening tools was spread nearby as well as a series of canvas bags dangling from the edge of the cart.  Blue surgical gloves adorned my hands as I considered which knife to start with, before settling on a thin skinner.  With two fingers, I found and followed the jugular and carotid in the poor creatures neck as I made the first deep cut.  Blood doesn't well up like you see in movies, but as the vital lines were severed it began to flow freely.  Thankfully, I had placed the pony with it's head toward the stream so the blood would flow down and away.  From there, the hard work began in earnest..

One long slice down and away from the neck slit the hide all the way to the breastbone.    The sound of a blade sliding through skin is nigh indescriblable, both sharp and dull, bitter but rewarding, yet required either way.  From there,  I carefully slid the knife downward, only pausing to roll the pony onto its back and momentarily musing to myself about what the proper name for a male miniature horse was.  Starting low, I turned the blade upward and slid the tip though the thin skin and muscle of the stomach before slicing up toward the sternum.  After the first few inches, my finger joined the tip of the knife inside the carcass to guide the blade and ensure nothing was punctured by my endeavors.  Thankfully my father had shown me a method in my youth that didn't involve completely dissecting an animal to get what meat was available.  Slice after slice, the razor sharp edge of my knife peeled the skin and connective tissues away from the rest of the body.  The sickly sweet scent of fresh blood was flooding the air at this point, despite the trail of crimson that stained the small creek.

Most people would have taken a break at some point through the entire process, but years of practice streamlined the work significantly as bloody canvas bags began to accumulate inside the cart.  At first it was little things like the flank strips from the firm stomach, or even the thin strips of meat from the breast.  This is where experience wins out over tradition, when a small set of bolt cutters filled my gore encrusted hands.  Then again, most deer hunters don't have to worry about Alaskan grizzly bears.  The worn stainless blades slipped into the notches I carved into the meat of the ribs with little issue and only a slight sopping noise.  There was always some resistance when pushing the handles together, always a sickening amount of give for just a moment before the first rib split under the pressure.  The wet crackling sound is always cringe worthy, but the animal would never have felt it anyhow.

While I worked, my vision floated over the nearby brush warily as fresh blood was always a sign for predators.  Sometimes you get lucky, other times you don't.  Snap by sickening snap, the ribs came away in one giant section that I awkwardly slid into one of the many bags I had unfurled earlier.  They would need a significant amount of trimming later, but that was a problem for later.  I had intended to salvage what meat I could from the heart, but my shot was slightly lower than I imagined.  With the ribs out of the way, the true extent of the damage was evident.  The Federal Fusion bullets I was so fond of had done a spectacular job as there was a large hole through the top of the heart that severed the aorta and punctured both lungs.  At least I could reassure myself that the critter was only in pain for a moment before massive blood loss set in.  There was little more to do than sigh and go back to work at this point.

In the end, it took the better part of an hour to completely process the body of the miniature horse.  Its wasn't glamorous like you see in movies, but it was a necessity.  As I worked, I made sure to cut away the skin that carried the odd painting or branding.  At the very least I'd hopefully be able to find the owner of the animal and make reparations for killing his stock.  I'd never heard of anyone painting a logo onto their animals though.  Weirder still was the fact that the coloration was clear through all the fur I could find.  Odd that someone would go through all that effort to paint a berry on a horses ass.

These were the things I mused on while taking care of the remains.  The offal I gently pulled aside and slid into a deep point in the stream.  It was an old trick from my childhood, but being able to easily catch fish near the entrails might be useful.  Not to mention it helped what was left of the creature return to nature quickly.  I was reaching for the small pile of bloody bones to do the same when a voice shouted from deeper in the forest and startling the hell out of me.

"Hey Clipwing!  Clipwing!  We can smell the blood.  What did you get?  I swear if I have to eat changeling again..."

Immediately my mind went to poachers or something else crazy going on.  Who else would use names like that?  For being injured as I was, blood was still pounding in my ears as I leapt across the stream and sprinted toward the shelter of my blind.  Every step brought new agony through me as the burns and marks across my body made their presence known.  I never felt the branch that whipped across my face, but the wet heat that spread was obvious.  Still it was the last thing on my mind as I scrambled the last few feet into the blind before my mind gave up on me.

I had to have lost what remained of my mind as something that didn't make sense dove through the treetops and settled into the small clearing near where I had been working moments before.  All the mythology I read as a kid screamed griffin as the hybrid was part lion and part eagle, but nature doesn't work like that.  It just can't.  All I could do was try to slow my wheezing breaths as I hoped the thing couldn't see the blind I was hiding in.

"Clipwing!  Where are you?"

That is when I realized that the majority of the game bags were still hanging from the branch I tied them to near the carcass.  Thankfully the cart and the few bags I had loaded into it were already back in the blind with me.  It had taken a painful trip but I had managed to get my knives and the more sensitive meats into shelter minutes before. There was no way the thing could miss the dripping canvas bags though.

"Whatever.  I'm going to chow down.  Great job on letting the meat bleed like that.  What did you get anyhow?"

...fuck.

I watched every action the hybrid made with great interest and the hope of not being discovered.  There was just no way in the world this made sense.  It was too vivid to be a hallucination though.  The golden and ivory plumage all the way to the way light shined against the beak and talons of the...thing as it untied one of the bags was just too realistic.  I must have hit my head or am in a coma.  Only thing that can explain this.

"I love ribs!  Thanks Clipwing!  This is getting kinda old though.  Where are you?"

The sharp beak of the so called "griffin" tore through the bone with a series of wet cracks as it chewed.  At least one of us was able to eat as the noises made the gorge in my throat start to rise.  That was until the meat fell from the outstretched talons of the creature and onto the sodden ground with a dull thump.  The gold colored eyes of the animal were wide for just a moment before it bolted to the skies screaming.

"Clipwing!  You killed a pony!  What is wrong with you!"

Slowly my eyes tracked to where the griffin was looking when the meat fell, only to reveal the glassy eyes and still screaming face of the creature I had skinned just a few minutes prior.

I tried to speak but it only came out as a wheezing rasp.  Internally there was only one thing to say.

"What the fuck did I get into?"

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