*A Change of Seasons

Intro: Once again this idea stemmed from an idea Moose had. We saw a cat and he wondered if that was the shrinking one. He them made the comment that maybe while some animals shrunk in the winter others might grow, therefore changing who was hunter and who was the prey. I pay my husband in cookies if anyone was wondering.

Seth gripped the bone spear in his hand. Sweat dripped from his forehead to the leaves and he let out a breath. He felt torn between wiping off his face and risk them hearing, or leaving more of a scent trail for them to follow. Instead he stared up at the trees letting the moisture run down his neck and soak into his shirt. Not perfect.

The bushes to his left rustled and his heart stopped. A fox stopped in front of him. He prayed for the mammal to move on. A gunshot echoed behind him and the fox tore through the underbrush. Seth felt like running after it. Instead he counted his breaths. When he reached five thousand he took a step forward and paused again. Another shot rent the air, this time further away and towards the waterfall. That was how he had planned on escaping but instead he would have to head towards the cliff. Not what he planned and he would be a flare at midnight. The hunters' dark earth tones were perfect for this time of year. His white and gray skin just didn't cut it in the forest or against the red rock of the canyon. A third gunshot split the air, even fainter.

The rabbit pelt wrapped around his feet muffled his steps as he tore through the forest. Branches whipped his arms and face but he focused on the animal paths. The forest ended with twenty feet until the edge of the cliff. The river wound around the area giving it a labyrinth feel. He took a moment to peer over the edge and breathed a sigh of relief. He was downriver from the waterfall. He calculated the drop already knowing it was too far of a fall.

"He's there. Across the chasm."

Seth's head snapped up and he stared across the gap. Three hunters stood but as a few more moved he realized there were closer to ten if not more hiding among the rocks. He scrambled over the edge as a cloud of dust signified they were shooting at him. The sound of the shot came a second later. Rocks cut through his moccasins and dug into his palms as he slid down the almost sheer cliff. A bullet cut into his shoulder and he lost his grasp. When he hit the water a boulder pierced his side and he gasped. Water filled his lungs and the current dragged him down. He fought for air every time his head broke the surface of the water.

The river washed him up on a sand bank and for a moment he stared at the gray sky. Fear told him to get moving. They would have lost sight of him in the rapids but they knew to check down the river. His spear was gone and it could take months to form a spear, even if he could kill a large enough animal. Within a month he would die. Simple fact. Prey died.

He pushed himself up. But the pain from the bullet and boulder pitched him forward and he lay gasping. It would take a miracle. A breeze pulled at him and he shivered. With his cheek pressed against the sand and rocks he felt hope as a snowflake fell to the ground. Winter was coming He would no longer be the prey. If he could live that long.