A hunter stalks her prey in a forest of bare trees, the blowing snow mostly obscuring her vision, but not his. He can see the hunter clearly, though she cannot see him. He treads lightly, still weary of the arrow nocked on her bow. Even if it couldn't kill him, it would still cause a great deal of discomfort to his current form. The Hunter felt an unsettling presence, she glanced over her shoulder, but saw nothing. Little did she know, that her prey was shifting through the trees straight towards her. The creature did not make himself known until the last possible moment, and in that moment, the hunter became the hunted.
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Nasty, Brutish And Short Stories
ContoAn anthology of incredibly short stories, (snippets really) the only format I can write even somewhat well. The title, an allusion to Thomas Hobbes, doesn't really have anything to do with the stories themselves other than that it includes the word...
