The loud crunching footsteps were known by all of the forest. Nothing else walked on two legs so slowly, as if it knew nothing would try to hunt it down. The little red fox hurried after his mother through the forest floor, running away from those terrifying footsteps. They ran back towards their burrow in the hopes that the hunter wouldn’t find them there. Their little paws made barely any sound as they raced over dried leaves and leapt over fallen branches. The little fox was beginning to fall behind, his small legs not able to propel him at the speed that his mother was going. He was still a pup, learning what it meant to be a fox. His heart beat rapidly, filling his body with adrenaline, urging him to go faster. He had seen the furs of his friends and family on the hunter’s neck like a mane of orange, red and white furs. He did not know how they became that, but he knew it was painful because he had heard their cries of pain always accompanied by the hunter’s arrival. He knew if he didn’t hurry it would only end in pain. He tripped on a large root from one of the massive trees towering above him. His mother had continued running forwards, desperate to save herself and her other pups. He scampered across the dry leaves trying desperately to find footing. But the leaves felt like they were trying to stop him from getting up, they caused him to slip every time he tried to rise. He didn’t know which way to go, he had only been this way a few times in the past. Once he finally won the battle with the forest floor and began to rise, he looked around. He heard a light ruffle of leaves not too far from him and hoped it was another animal desperately trying to escape the hunter. He picked a direction at random and sprinted as fast as his little legs could carry him. He saw large birds flying overhead in the treetops, wings flapping rapidly, propelling them into the sky. Rabbits around him raced by towards their own burrows, their long hind legs shooting them into large leaps and bounds. He wished he had those same back legs so he could leap into the air and away from the hunter. Another rustle of leaves came from behind him, it didn’t sound right, it sounded far heavier than anything in the forest. He skidded to a halt as he came to the edge of a lake. His only choice was to run along its exposed edge or double back and hope he could find shelter in the small shrubbery at the base of some of the trees. As he stood motionless like a deer in headlights, troubled with the thought of which direction would save his life, the forest stopped. Everything went silent. Nothing but the sound of the occasional leaf hitting the forest floor broke the silence. There was no wind, no chirping from the birds, not even an insect fluttering past. The fox looked both ways absolutely frozen with fear; where should he go? A very strange sound came from somewhere back in the forest. The fox turned to look at it, his black ear shifting towards it. Filled with curiosity he fully turned around in time to see a small metal object coming straight for him. His body exploded with immediate pain, he cried and screamed hoping his mother would hear, that anybody would hear. He writhed in pain, so much pain. None of the animals came to help him. The forest stayed silent as the man walked up to the little fox. The fox thrashed around, throwing leaves and dirt everywhere. He tried to run away, to tell his body to move, but nothing worked like it should. He tried to move his legs but they just flopped around uncontrollably. He didn’t understand. He felt warm liquid underneath him and saw a dark red pool forming in front of him. He couldn’t stop his limbs and head from shaking, everything was ablaze with pain. The hunter leant down on one knee with another metallic object in hand. The fox looked into his lifeless eyes; he saw the mane of fox furs surrounding his neck. They were beautiful this close to him. He could just make out their heads, their black ears laid flat. All the reds and oranges of the furs reminded him of the cries of pain he had heard them all make. The same noises he was now making. He could feel his heart trying to accelerate faster than it ever had before; his breathing was rapid. He could feel hot liquid coming out of his muzzle, dribbling down onto the now red leaves. Nothing made sense to the little fox. The hunter grabbed the fox by his neck and used his other hand with the object in it to bring it to the fox’s throat. The hunter used a slashing motion with the shining object. The fox felt pain and then was greeted with oblivion. His last thought was of those beautiful corpses lining the man’s neck, praying he wouldn’t join them. The sky opened up and a light mist of rain began to fall. It was as if the forest was crying for the poor little fox who had lost his way. All the creatures remained hidden in their burrows and nests, feeling lucky that it wasn’t them who had met the hunter’s blade today. The hunter left the forest that day with more than one fox in hand. Later he would skin the handful of foxes and add them to his collection, his trophy case worn proudly over his coat. The little fox was added onto the very edge of all the skins, near the bottom, like a small afterthought. A small patch of bright red fur was all that remained of the pup, his remains fed to the hunters’ vicious dogs. The fox would always return to the forest, not as a pup learning what it meant to be a fox, but as a corpse, to remind all little foxes to run, run because the hunter is here.
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