Hunted

The sky was greens and yellows, the treeline was black, and the snow reflected the sky. The air was sharp and vision crisp despite the dim. The footprints dodged left and right towards a gully. When they caught up there would be meat and fat and only bones would be left for the wolves.

He clenched his spear in his hand. The prey was gaining ground. His youngest pointed her own spear at a lone pine on a rise. Perhaps from there she could catch a glimpse of him.

She called out. She could see the trail. It ended suddenly in an open field.

There was a sound like a rushing wind, and the aurora flared. A flurry of needles fell.

She never came down from that tree.