Ghost in Wood

Tonight , I hope for fine drizzle and soft still air, I will steal with Valentino under the great showery beech's as there last leaves are drifting to their toes. All those year's ago lamping rabbits with my lurcher before the teens and nothing has changed, The hunt rallies up inside and now I know as my blood lust has departed and I can barely hold a ferret: let alone dispatch a wounded rabbit . It is them that hunts us.. I am glad to be wrong, there was nothing worth bringing home. Off I went again, as darkness came , I met the last dog walker going home, up hill and we arrive , lots of digging but nothing, now a large truffle and some more "come on Brenda". I head up to cross the track and there he is, striding at great speed and somewhere to go. He has no dog, what the hell is he doing here , then he turns round and stare's at me and in to me. He is also cross, I decide to go home and he turns walks off at the same long quick gait but instead of following his bridle-way he is going into wood; it is such a small wood fenced with nowhere to go. Today , I return to hunt the very bit he prevented me from going into; I had it like before in same very place, I know before I enter, 3 fat truffles and then I must retire