Catching Dinner

"Okay... one more time," the runner told himself, and approached the deer slowly.

"Grumble," said his stomach. The runner ignored it.

"Patience..." the runner told himself, as the deer fled. He jogged, slowly, after it.

"Grumble," said his stomach in disagreement. "Patience," the runner told it.

"Patience..." the runner told himself as he continued to jog.

"Grumble," protested his stomach. "Patience," the runner told it.

"Grumble," protested his legs. "Patience," the runner told them.

"Lub Dub," protested his heart. "Patience," the runner told it.

"Huff... huff.." protested the caribou. "Patience," he told himself again.

"Patience..." the runner told himself as he saw the caribou slowing.

"Huff... huff..." protested the caribou, as its legs gave way.

"Dinner!" cried his stomach and legs and heart in harmony.

"Stop!" boomed the voice as the runner approached the caribou.

"Huh?" said the runner.

"When we are born," boomed a bearded giant, clad in crimson furs, "The Caribou Mother, whose antlers scrape the stars and cause them to twinkle, plucks two souls from her hide, placing one inside our bodies, and the other inside a caribou's body. Each man may lay claim to one caribou," the giant explained, "and that one is not yours."

"How do you know?" the runner protested. "Grumble," agreed his stomach. "Because it is mine," said the giant. "Oh," said the runner. "Grumble," said his stomach.

"You've run my lead caribou to the ground," the giant continued, "Which is impressive but inconvenient. Now you must take his place."

"But I haven't eaten!" protested the runner. "Grumble!" agreed his stomach.