The fox crept quietly across the autumn leaves and slunk around massive tree trunks at the edge of the woods. The shadows enveloped him in darkness and cloaked him from danger. Wild rabbits sat warily nibbling grass at the edge of the forrest, their ears flickering in different directions. The fox honed in on a small rabbit munching contentedly close by. The fox decided this was his best target, because it was still young, at not fast yet. He took a cautious step forward, every muscle tense, but a twig snapped under his foot. The rabbits head snapped around, and for a moment the world seemed to freeze. Everything leapt to life again as the rabbit made a wild dash for its borrow and the fox darted after it.

Suddenly, a single gun shot rang out across the clearing. The fox froze mid-movement and the rabbit escaped to safety. A hunting dogs clear, throaty howl filled the air and the fur on the fox's back stood up on end. The fox could smell man on the air and wondered why he had not smelt it before. And then all was movement. Horsemen in red coats urged their horses onwards with crops and spurs while the dogs ran at their heels eager for the chase. The fox ran in to bush, heart pounding, tongue lolling. He began to lead them a merry hunt as he jumped logs and used the trees to his advantage. The hunt continued for what seemed like eternity but the fox just could not escape. Every corner he turned the men were right behind him, never losing ground. The hint continued and the fox wearied, pushing his legs and straining his senses.

The fox's legs were now like lead and his eyes clouded from exhaustion. But still he kept running. The horsemen gained and kicked their hacks ever harder. Silvery lead bullets narrowly missed the fox as they ricocheted into the ground causing dirt to spray like sea foam. The fox started to depend more and more on the armory of the trees as the hunters drew in closer. But despite all the fox's efforts the men never lost sight of their elusive prey. The fox felt fatigued but fear pushed him on faster and faster. Hunting dogs frothed at the mouth as they snapped wildly at his heels and lunged for his neck. The fox suddenly took a quick turn-off and plunged into thicker woods. Horses scrambled for footing among the roots and dead braches whereas the fox easily skimmed over them despite his tiredness. A horse neighed frantically behind him and the fox shuddered as he heard the sound of cracking bone. The trees started to thin out again and the advantage that the fox had gained in the dense bush disappeared. Running for a long period of time was not what a fox had evolved to do and the fox could feel his energy being sapped away.

The hunt and its quarry gradually came to a gushing river. Froth gushed over slippery rocks and the swirling depths of blue pulled with strong under currants. The fox took the stepping stones one at a time, his claws scraping against the algae covered rock for grip. The men pushed their horses through the river either stepping on what little rock they could, or plunging into the water and relying on their steeds powerful muscles. No sooner was the fox out of the water than the men were on his trail. Up ahead the fox could see a forrest where debris littered the ground and any horse would find it impossible to run in. If he could just get to there he would be safe. The fox drew on ever ounce of energy left in him and started making a wild dash for the cover and protection that forrest would bring him. Every step was taking him closer and closer to his destination. A few more seconds and he would be there.

And then a bullet hit the fox. It was so sudden, and un-expected that the fox could not understand. It embedded itself in the flesh and bone sending a spasm of pain shooting trough the fox. He fell to the ground writhing in agony. The hunt slowed and surrounded the fox, jeering and calling out to each other. The dogs snarled viciously around him and the men kept their dogs at bay to make the glory of the hunt last that much longer. The fox tried to stand and run but his legs shook and collapsed. Pain filled his body and mind, killing all sense of anything. The fox could smell nothing now but the blood in the back of his own throat, bitter and taunting. The blood seemed to mock him, show him that he was done for. Showed him what life he could have had left. He struggled and fought the heavy fog smothering him but to no avail. The fox was drowning, drifting, pulled to something calling his name. So he let go. He let go of his senses. His fear. He let go of the bullet, screaming in his flesh. He let go of the pain.

Everything was gone now. He let go of life.

And he was free.