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Bear-Traps and Crows

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His heart hammered in his head. It felt like a drum was drowning out the swift boot falls of his pursuer. The only reason Dwight knew he was close to being caught was the flood of red light drenching his back. Trapper grabbed a hold of his shirt and yanked him back. Dwight screamed, writhing on the forest floor as Trapper pressed a knee to his chest and raised a cleaver. 

Dwight screamed again, louder and more desperate. He didn’t want to go through any more pain. He’d been here for what felt like forever. Alone, always running and dying and waking up just to start running among the endless trees again. 

But this time, the cleaver sank into the ground by his head, not ‘ in’ it. Dwight’s breath hitched, screaming stalled, when Trapper’s rough fingers grabbed his chin. His face was turned to and for aggressively. His glasses tumbled off into the grass. Dwight instinctively tried to grab them, but Trapper pinned his wrists into the wet earth. 

Dwight breathed heavily, staring at the terrifying mask that was layered in his old blood. He’d never seen Trapper this close. This long. This… not in pain. Dwight could only stutter on his breath as Trapper’s hand idly fondled his face. His glasses were picked up and slipped back onto his nose. One of the lenses had cracked. 

“W-what a-are y-y-y-” Dwight couldn’t even finish his question. The cleaver was thrust out of the ground and a thick arm curled around Dwight’s back. He yelped as he was hefted up and over Trapper’s shoulder. 

“No! L-let me go! What are you doing!?” Dwight shrieked. He kicked and thrashed. The iron grip on his middle was like steel though. 

“Taking my reward.”

Dwight was carried into the thickening fog, the first survivor completely bewildered why he wasn't yet dead.