cshenigo
The fawn lay peacefully in the meadow, hidden from the prying eyes of unwanted strangers. Dangerous strangers. The crickets, the tall grass blowing in the wind, the sound of the stream trickling across your earlobes; it's intoxicating. Startled, the fawn's ears perked up as quick as a bullet fires somewhere from the south. Panic. Terror. Adrenaline. Think. Act. Run. Run as if your life depends on it because it this particular situation, it typically does. Panic. Terror. Where to do? What to do? Panic. The strange boom came from the trees. Not safe. The other side of the clearing is centuries away. Run. Dash. Sprint like your life depends on it, because animal instinct knows, life does depend on it. Run. Terror. Act. Thoughtless action. Death feels close to this place.