Hunted

Each breath passes my lips into a crystallized cloud of white steam. I’m breathing heavy. How long have I been leaning against this tree? I need to keep moving. My left arm is lifeless now, the broken shaft of an arrow protruding just above my elbow. I used a bit of my shirt I tore off at the waist to cover the wound and collect the blood. I can’t afford to leave a red-hot trail to follow.

The winter chill seems to be dulling my senses. But in a counterintuitive way I feel and hear every movement and moment around me. Is this what it’s like for most prey animals? I can’t spend too much time worrying about that now. I must focus on my next objective; I need a place to hide. I am way too exposed out here on this tree. Every second I spend considering my next move is a second lost to my pursuers.

I can hear the rush water up ahead. Where had I heard it before? It’s damn near impossible to track something down a river. Well perhaps not impossible, but at least it should buy me more time. Movement, I need to get moving. I pushed as hard as I could against the tree to be back on my feet. I think the blood loss is starting to get to me. My vision darkened a little and I could feel myself sway in the wind, but it was brief.

The adrenaline kicks in again. I know I’m leaving a massively easy trail to follow in the snow, but if I can get to the water I bet I can buy enough time to think. It’s close enough that I can hear it, so that’s good, but distances can get sketchy when you’re in this state. I just need to keep focusing on each step, one foot in front of the other. Simple movement. The rhythm takes over and I lose track of how long I’ve been stumbling.

A hidden branch or log in the snow catches my foot and I start rolling. All I see is white and blue as the keeps whipping me in the face with each rotation, down the slant of the forest floor. With a slap to the face the water comes rushing into my mouth. It’s an insanely painful and invigorating sensation. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I could possibly be colder until I was soaked through. But water! I had found the stream; freedom is still a possibility.

It was about five feet across and two feet deep, just enough to ensure that I would be totally immersed. Not a time to think about being wet. I need to get moving. I can hear the voices in the distance. How long did I stay at the tree? How slow was I moving? What are they saying?

Pushing myself up with my good arm hurts immensely. Snap! Suddenly everything is a burst of pain. All my limbs no longer take my orders. Time slows to a near halt as I slump forward, my face dropping back into the cool water. The pain dissipates relatively quickly now. As my vision fades in the base of the creek I can see red pooling in front of me.

-V-

Fumpsy (Part 1)

On a cold and nippy night, Fumpsy the bunny went out telling his wife that he was going to forage for nuts and berries. She looked hard at him, then at their three starving children.

“Fumpsy, you are the best, you know just what to do, and when. You come back now, soon as your precious legs can carry you.” His wife said to him. Fumpsy nodded, and with that hopped off.

The wind blew hard on Fumpsy's neck as he hopped down the forest trail. He tried his best not to think about those poor little hares he left behind, and the terrible hunger that was growing inside of him. Snow started to fall from the heavens on him, and the only thing he could think was, oh great, now I have to worry about freezing to death. Luckily the snow was light, and not coming down too fast, so he continued on his journey.

The trees began to thin around him. He came upon a bridge running over a river. The river was known as the Furrfer, but most of the animals in the forest called it the privy (mainly due to bears that used it for, well they just used it, and we can leave it at that).

At this point Fumpsy had no problems with the river, he was thirsty, the kind of thirst that surpasses ones dignity or even their sense of hygiene. He started taking in the water in large gulps. The water was exceptional, well to a truly dehydrated being, any form of libation would be.

Suddenly there was a large crash behind him. Fumpsy spun around to find a shaking mound of leaves in front of him. He wasn't quite sure what could be going on. Then he heard a malignant groan come from the pile. He darted behind the closest tree. Again the moan came. Fumpsy sat shivering behind the tree. The pile of leaves began to lift and grow.

“Please don't hurt me,” Fumpsy screamed.

“Urrrggg...” could be heard from the mound as it continued to grow. It was already twice the size of Fumpsy.

“What do you want from me,” Fumpsy managed to croak out before the sun was eclipsed from his vision by the leaves, which were beginning to fall off like a stream cascading down a waterfall. The creature turned towards him, and took a step in his direction.

Fumpsy had no idea what to do. He thought to himself, he could either run like hell for his life, or... or what, he was too hungry and tired to do anything. He had no choice. He had to stand up and hold his ground. At least if he was going to die, he would do it standing tall. His children would be proud he thought.

The mound made another staggered step in his direction. The leaves were nearly gone, and Fumpsy could almost make out the creature that was concealed by the leaves. Fumpsy started to speak, “Wait a minute, I know what you are, but what is an animal like you doing in this part of the...” when the creature interjected.

-V-

Read Part 2