The hunter blinked as he watched the Native American maid transform back to the golden doe. She stomped and blew a warning before leaping into the air in a spin and darted off rightly.

He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Dare he to look. Nope, he’d seen too much already. Thinking his sausage biscuit had been tainted, he determined to remain still until the poison passed.

Unfortuntely, hands of fate dealt the cards and he was but a player. A player that was bound to go bust.

The moon had tired and was starting to give way to the creeping sun. What an odd time of day this was. Moon still hovering the western horizon while a sliver of sun peeked over in the east.

The pack of coyotes bounded into the small clearing. One, two, three; six in all. Snarling and slobbering. Definitely on the tail of something.

The hunter stayed still as a staute. Only his breathing giving him away.

The largest coyote stalked to just below his treestand. Yellow teeth glinting as he snarled.