He didn't know how he got there, he was just wandering around, taking a "supposed" shortcut, but he quickly realized he was lost. At first he thought he could simply retrace his steps, but every path looked the same. Every tree seemed to stand exactly where the last one had been and the deeper he wandered, the more the forest seemed to swallow him.
He cries for help, his voice comes out small, pathetic. Prey attracts predators, that's when he hears a gunshot, hunters, that's good that means he isn't alone, he stumbles toward the sound.
A shrill crack splits the air and a sharp pain explodes through his right leg. The hunter prey isn't some deer, it is him. His body locks up for at least 12 good seconds, refusing to obey as he stares at the blood spreading through his pants. Next, another shot before his feet, a bullet that strikes the dirt directly in front of him, spraying mud across his boots.
A warning, he doesn't even waste a second before running, agony tears through his leg with every step. He bites back a cry and forces himself onward, injured prey never goes too far, especially in unknown places, the trees grow impossibly dense, the tangled roots claw at his feet as thorny branches scrape his skin, injured prey never goes too far.
His wounded leg finally gives out and he hits the ground face-first, mud fills his mouth.
The adrenaline forces him forward as he crawls, until a boot slams into his side, the impact flips him onto his back and pain bursts through his ribs, oh that will leave a pretty red mark.
A figure stands over him tall and still, the scope of a rifle hides most of the man's face, aim towards him.
"I'm not prey", he gasps. "Please."
He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the gunshot, but it never comes. Instead he feels cold steel press against his lips, and the repugnant smell of gunpowder fills his nose.
"Quit whining," the man says quietly. "Be a man, open your mouth".
He doesn't open it, he doesn't need to; the pistol is shoved against his lips anyway. Cold steel scrapes across his teeth with a nauseating screech, the man just moves the pistol roughly, looking around, trying to force it open, he clenches his jaw as hard as he can, enough that his canines ache from the pressure, every muscle in his face trembles. The pistol twists suddenly and pain shoots through his jaw, saliva runs down the dark barrel and drips onto his chin, mud, blood, and spits mix together across his face, the barrel knocks against his clenched teeth again.
Like a predator nudging a trapped animal to see how much fight remains.
"C'mon I know you can bite harder".
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