I the hunter run, feet dragging through the thick, damp carpet of leaves. A stench of sweat and blood hangs in the air. They are after me, the cries of excitement filling my ears. The howls of the dogs swirl through the dark forest. Trees reach out, claws dragging into my skin and hands. Falling, the rock hard floor reaching up to grab me. The iron tang of blood fills my mouth. I lie, suffocated by the canopy of those dark figures. The pitter-patter of feet grows louder and louder. I scream silently, hands tearing at my ears. They are all around me. Glowing eyes that stare forth from crumpled darkness. Hands that seem to grab at me from all directions, ripping me to shreds. The forest is alive, groaning winds dancing through the trees. I am alone, the only witness the pale orb of the moon that stares impassively down on me. I crawl along the floor, tears blurring my eyes. Flickers of light dancing through my eyes. I sense them, their lust, their craving. A silent scream rips me apart.

The hunter’s eyes open. The sun shines weakly on him. He lies, feeling the pale rays on him. The floor beneath him is wet and cold. He is alone. Standing, his red t-shirt a flash of colour in the winter forest. Only then does he see the stag, framed by the frail sunlight. Lying, scrawny legs splayed. The hunter watches, mesmerised by the rising and falling of its chest. The stag’s fur is dusty, stained with rusty red streaks. Antlers like spindly twigs. This is the worst part, thinks the hunter. The brief moment between life and death, seeing the shell, the shadow. The stag lifts it once regal head. Marred by the unmistakable gunshot wound. Its eyes are dilated and fear rushes through them. The hunter stops and shivers.

I am lying on the floor. A roar tears through the forest. I lift my head weakly, choking down the sobs that fill me. A shaft of moonlight pierces the night sky. Then I see it. The stag. Deep brown fur that glistened. Strong intricate antlers that rise towards the sky. It walks gracefully towards me. For a brief second I catch its eyes. Golden, they hold me with derision. Slowly it rises, dwarfing me. I stare at its hooves watching them fall towards me. I am frozen. The pain rips through me…

The hunter winces, and his calloused hands touch his head. He shakes his head, dismissing his thoughts to a dark place. He turns and shoulders his black gun. He glances at the deer, then disappears into the desolate forest.

The deer hears the hollow bang of the gun a few minutes later. No-one hears its shallow, desperate last breath.