Near the center of the field was a single walnut tree bedded in a crop of limestone which had so far fended it against axe and plowshare. Among these rocks she nosed, in their small labyrinths undulant as a ferret. Odor of walnuts and ground squirrels. But she found nothing.
When she left the rocks, was clear of the overreaching branches of the tree, there grew about her a shadow in the darkness like pooled ink spreading, a soft-hissing feathered sound which ceased even as she half turned, sow unbelieving the immense span of wings cupped downward, turned again, already squalling when the owl struck her back like a falling rock.
I tried to get a good picture of this but it was a little hard. The cat has a shadow over it, although not yet at its head. It also has a some blood splattered around it and a gash, representing things to come.
3 comments:
Yay an illustration from Erik!
This was my least favorite scene in the book...the poor cat!! I have a strong stomach for all the dead people and violence in McCarthy's work but sympathize so much with the cat. Why is that?
I like it!
It's so ominous, having that burst of blood, when there's no predator in sight, and the sky is so friendly. But that cat is so good, Erik. It's head is just exactly like a cat's head.
Post a Comment