The Hunted

On a quiet, sunny day in a large field just outside the great forest lived a mighty bison. He was greedily chowing down on the luscious grass, still covered in morning dew—a refreshing treat to start the day, surrounded by the entire herd. What a life!

This bison was no ordinary one. He was handsome—dashing, even. His muscles scared off any foe!

“Wow, Dad, is that true? You must be like a hero or something! When I grow up, I want to be just like you!”

“Everything is possible when you eat your greens. Now eat up and enjoy my heroic tales of triumph!”

“As I was saying: Suddenly, a low roar interrupted the chewing frenzy. Danger was close! Movement rippled through us. Like one giant mass, the herd huddled together, not yet knowing what awaited at the edge.”

“Just my luck—I found myself right at the edge of the herd. But with my majestic stature, I wasn’t scared one bit. What could possibly challenge me, especially with the herd behind me? So, I squinted to see what the fuss was about. You won’t believe it—I saw a group of puny creatures. They were naked and walked only on two legs. Their arms could detach and had sharp ends. And—”

“Stop it, Dad, you’re scaring me!”

“Don’t worry, son. These things were no match for my gigantic horns. Seeing how small they were, I decided to charge at them head-on. The ground shook as I dashed toward them. They were so impressed with my speed, they ran back into the forest. All I heard were faint squeals—like tiny rats.”

“Dad, look! Over there—the small creatures you were talking about!”

“Don’t be silly now, boy. There’s nothing over there.”

But the child was right. Just on the edge of the great forest stood a band of small, naked things with long and pointy arms. They waved slowly, moving closer into the tall grass—until they disappeared.

“It was nothing, boy. Go back to eating your grass,” said the dad, trying to convince himself he wasn’t lying.

“Dad, I swear I saw them. But it’s fine—you’ll just charge at them, won’t you?”

“Yes, son. Everything will be fine,” he said, calming himself in the process.

Suddenly, panic swept through the herd. Dad and son were pushed into the center while the strong males formed a protective perimeter. The herd began to circle around them.

“Dad, go out there and show them who’s boss! You’ve dealt with this before, remember?” the son said, full of hope, still in awe of his father’s tale.

With a heavy heart, the father said goodbye to his son and made his way to the edge. The confused looks he received were not unwarranted—any bison should be grateful to have a place in the middle of the herd. But he couldn’t disappoint his son, despite the infection in his leg slowly spreading upward.

Soon, he was on the outside. There was no going back now. As he circled around, faint rustling in the grass caught his attention. Suddenly, something flew toward him—a spear. It narrowly missed him. But there was no time to relish that stroke of luck.

The herd leader let out a loud roar, signaling a retreat into the great forest. That was the final nail in the coffin. Being at the very edge, with his injured leg, he would never outrun the danger.

No time to think. Adrenaline surged through him. His heart raced. Tunnel vision set in. The herd was on the move. Either keep up—or die. The ground shook with the rhythm of hooves. Mist from their great breath cloaked the herd.

Behind them, the small, naked creatures didn’t charge into the chaos. They had found their target. Dad was falling behind, ever so slightly. Soon, they would catch him.

Watching the herd grow smaller in the distance, he knew what was coming. Looking back, he saw them—winding through trees like spirits. Dark silhouettes glued to him like shadows. No matter how far he ran, they remained on the horizon.

Hours passed. His hooves were worn down, his leg a throbbing mess.

“Just a short break is all I need. I think I lost them anyway,” he said in an aching voice.

He collapsed onto the soft forest floor. The moss in the small clearing felt like heaven.

Just before his head touched the ground—Snap!

“It’s just a twig. Maybe a mouse or something,” he whispered, trying to sound convinced.

The rustling continued. His mind wandered—to days when his son was a tiny calf, frolicking in the autumn leaves, making the same rustling sounds.

While he rested in the clearing, the dark shadows caught up. As they surrounded him, one of them let out a quiet chuckle. His tribe would eat for weeks from this huge hunk of flesh.

As their mouths watered, they closed in until they could almost touch him. One of them crept close and used a leaf to tickle the bison’s ear.

“Stop it, son. Daddy’s trying to sleep. I’ll play tag with you soon… just give me a couple more minutes,” Dad murmured.

The creatures found his sleepy grunts hilarious and burst into laughter. Some rolled on the ground. Dad finally stirred, waking from his dream. His body ached too much to move.

Then—sharp pain. In his stomach. His back. His neck.

The spears sank deeper. He felt the muscle fibers tear and the warmth of blood flow out. Looking up, he saw the naked creatures baring their teeth, making hellish noises.

He turned his gaze to the sun. Light filled his vision. The pain faded.

In his final moment, he thought of his son. A tear escaped his eye as it slowly closed.

The naked monsters secured themselves weeks of food—while a son lost his father.