S N A P ! !

lol

There were rules. A shared understanding between the hunters of their realm that if it was your blade that drew blood, the life was yours to claim. Respect those that killed before you. 

A concept that Evan had valued from the very start.

He had every right to be pissed when he caught the shock of white fabric draped over HIS catch, which weakly attempted to pulling itself away, clutching the loose intestines that had slipped through the gashes marring their torso. 

He had pretended to be listening, but truth be told, Evan didn’t understand a damn word that came out of the rotting pig’s head. Who the hell would. 

ENOUGH – tools hit the table forcefully, enough to shock a room into silence.

The narrow descent of stairs creaked under the trapper’s weight, his hulking frame outlined by the light of the Thompson House that had found its way into the basement. Calloused fingers slide over the blunt edge of the butcher’s machete in anticipation.