Start Time: 3:08 PM
End Time: 3:17
Maturity: The hunter has a gun.
Fantasy: None
The fox stepped out of its den cautiously, sniffing the air around it for a hint that someone was nearby; gunpowder, the stench of a human. He flexed his right front paw and tested the ground, deciding that the snow was safe to walk on.
He sprinted to the other side of the meadow like lightning, orange tail billowing in the breeze behind him. Pausing, he sat, completely straight, like one might find a statue. His ears twitched at each sound; a cricket chirping in the background, the crunch of leaves of some clumsy animal, and the louder crunch about a dozen paces to the north.
A shot was heard. Birds sprinted out of the trees, flapping their wings as fast as they could go. The hunter moved around clumsily, snapping tree branches and tripping over rocks. The fox leapt off the rock and looped around the hunter to the west, avoiding a gunshot by inches.
The hunter had him now. The fox could feel that he was being chased. His instincts told him to keep running. He pushed his paws harder. The hunter was now running too, wasting bullets by shooting at trees, causing more animals to come out of their hiding places.
"I've got you now li'l foxy!" The hunter bellowed in a deep accent. He raised his rifle again, preparing to aim at the fox.
The fox sprinted away as fast as it could. His lungs were burning, air deprived. The snow was cold on the bottom of his paws. He circled around the hunter, keeping low in the rasberry bushes to avoid being seen. He dodged every branch on his way around, trying to get behind the hunter without being noticed.
He succeeded.
"Where are you li'l foxy?" The hunter asked stupidly. "Come out and play." The fox didn't hear him, or understand him. He rushed forwards, now behind the hunter, and dove into the safety of his den.
The hunters footsteps came closer. The fox did not realize that snow left tracks. He saw the barrel of the gun come down into the den. He dove into the tunnel, farther, and farther, until he was all the way up against the back wall.
He began to dig, furiously, not caring about how much noise he was making. The only thing that mattered was safety.
A shot made the entire den shake. The hunter had missed and hit the wall of the den. The fox kept digging forward, and then started to dig up, to create a new hole.
He broke through the top of the earth and sprinted out of his new doorway, away from his den and the hunter, toward the safety of a set of caves on the southern end of the meadow.
The hunter didn't see the fox go.
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