A small, delicate child lay on a metal table, restrained tightly by bands around her wrists and ankles. She whimpered and jerked wildly, struggling to obtain her freedom as her glittering blue-green eyes darted around the white room fearfully. She was no more than four years old but her gaze betrayed a maturity beyond her years. A maturity born only out of fear and responsibility.
The child wasn't alone. In every darkened corner, camera lights blinked, following her every move as she lay there, helpless and vulnerable. Her eyes were wide with fear and she slowly stopped thrashing around, going limp and sniffling pitifully, her body shivering and trembling with terror.
The girl had seen many being taken into this room and they had never come back out again, one of those people being her father. The Room was bad. Being taken into the Room was worse. She turned her head to the side as far as she could to see her mother. The tall, slender woman was being held back by two large, burly guards, her face bruised and bleeding from struggles of her own.

“Daddy! Lacie isn’t going to find me!”
The white pom-pom bounced on her head, shifting back and forth while she clumsily walked over to the large oak tree she had made her target. Snow drifted down from the sky, fluffy clouds piling up on the ground in mounds higher than she could see over, the path only visible from the prints of pedestrians and dog walkers.
“She’s smart, don’t doubt her sweetheart.” Her father stood further back down the path, gripping the pink collar attached to the cream coloured border collie-lab mix, the dog sitting patiently on his feet and watching with perked ears and a tilted head. The dog scouted the younger girl run down the path and out of sight, letting out a whine as if to tell her to come back. Lacie barked a couple times when she had disappeared behind the tall oak tree trunk; however, the snow made it easy for her bright pink winter coat and snowpants to stick out against the white piles on the ground. She did her best to climb fast, grabbing from branch to branch with her small ten year old hands. Usually she had no issue with tree climbing though legends of spiders and bugs often kept her away from grabbing too close to the trunk.

The shop’s ringing bell awoke AlexZander with a start. He swayed back and forth in his large bean bag chair propped in the back corner of his shop, lazily combating sleep with a few blinks of his eyes. He rose quickly, lurching towards the counter to meet the new customer. Without a second thought, he adjusted the “smiley” mask on his face and leaned against the table, groggily taking in the sight of the lady in front of him. His initial thought: her hair would 100% be mistaken for a birds nest. Without a doubt in his mind, he already suspected she would be a nuisance.
“Do you sell any sort of white masks?”
Her voice matched her hair: scratchy and messy. AlexZander’s tail flicked in annoyance.
He gestured to the back wall of the small mask shop, indicating a wall filled his various white wooden masks. Among them, a few more expensive kitsune masks sat. The woman followed his finger to the wall and shook her head, glaring back at him with a nasty form of distaste on her face. “I want a REAL mask. Not a wooden one, they’re too clunky.” AlexZander’s haunches rose in irritation, stepping out from behind the counter and moving over to the wall on his two legs with a few graceful strides. He took a particularly detailed mask off the wall and showed it to her, displaying the emotion expressed on the face clearly. The mask had been garnished with a white paint, carvings of tree branches and twigs framing the outside of the mask. The emotion spread across the wood was one of frustration, the eyes narrowed and the mouth formed into a scowl. The women huffed at him, watching AlexZander replace his own mask with the new one. Her gaze turned from irritated to horror, watching the green goo drip down his chin and onto the floor. She fixated on the hole in his face which was quickly replaced by the fresh white mask. His previous “smiley” mask was then placed on Alex’s right shoulder, perched nicely between “sadness” and “hate”. He pointed to the mask on his face and then pointed at her. In shock, the woman shook her head. Without a word from the woman, he replaced the irritated mask with his previous smiley one and walked back over to the counter. From underneath the table, he offered her a few more choices, all of which were much lighter and glazed nicely. The woman watched him, confused by the interaction but seemingly intrigued by the silent mask dealer. He watched as she took in the new masks, carved finely, priced cheap, and light enough to be indistinguishable as wood. She seemed all the more happy when she found a particular pretty one covered in cherry blossoms. Ringing her up, she left with a smile and AlexZander returned to his beanbag chair to sleep once more.

He was ready. More than ready. His third kill of the day walked 10 ft in front of him, oblivious to the lanky 24-year old man crunched within the bushes. His classic Winchester rifle was perched precariously against his shoulder, the barrel hovering in the direction of the graceful stag. He eyed the scope a few times, watching his prey lean down to munch on the forest floor, making note of the large stump it was standing near. He shifted a few times, irritated by the quick and sudden movement the stag would make when it heard unfamiliar noises. He would get this. He would show his dad that he could do it. He’d shoot this stag, take its antlers as his prize, and display them proudly on his cabin wall. Oh, and when his friends came over, he’d show them too. It would look nice beside the moose antlers he had gotten the month prior. Smirking to himself, he blew a tuft of his dark brown hair out of his face. Behind him, he heard some rustling in the undergrowth and looked backwards for a moment. Probably just a rabbit though the noise startled him for a moment. Looking back into his scope, he noticed the air this time was different. The stag had stopped completely, head erect and eyes darting around frantically. It didn’t move a muscle but Chester knew it had heard something. In an attempt to kill it before it was too late, he squeezed the trigger slowly, releasing the bullet from it’s home and sending it towards the stag. The lead projectile sunk into the prey’s neck in a matter of milliseconds. Hitting it’s mark, the stag stumbled in response, tumbling to the ground without even a moment for it to process what had happened. Triumphant, Chester leaped out of the bush, fist bumping the air on his way over to the corpse.
“Yes! I knew I’d get it! Serves dad right to doubt me, that asshole.”
Approaching the body, he leaned over and tied the legs together. Examining the stag, he noticed a few moose ticks but nothing major that he couldn’t dispose of. Once he had finished prepping the deer for transport, he rushed back along the forest path to reach his campsite. Lucky enough, he had seen the stag close by and didn’t have to walk far to reach the wagon. Grabbing it by it’s handles, he began back towards the body, whistling happily to himself about his recent kill. “Dad’s gunna DROOL when he sees this!”.
When approaching the place he had killed the stag, he froze. Standing over the body was a large brown bear, digging its claws into the meaty flesh of the corpse. His heart sank as he slowly backed away from the body. He returned back to camp with a heavy heart, punching a tree trunk that was supporting his tent. “Well this fucking sucks...”

It was a nice day. The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees above her, dazzling the forest floor with dapples of sunlight and warmth. She lay quietly on a rock, sunbathing in pure bliss. Her brown hair was scattered in waves around her, her dainty black antlers occasionally bouncing into things as she moved her head around on the rock. With a book propped in one hand, she lightly hummed to herself, enjoying the beautiful day. This is where she was meant to be. She loved listening to the cicadas strum and the rustling of animals around her. She loved the splash of the stream moving in harmony with the fish it called home. She just...loved being here.
With a sigh, she snapped her book closed, finishing a long and exciting chapter about werewolves and love. Perching herself up, she sat and stared into the undergrowth, watching a tiny little rabbit poke it’s head out. With a smile, Mon reached downwards in an act of acceptance and welcome, hoping the creature would find solace in her gesture. Curiously, the bunny hopped forward, sniffing her hand and eventually, bouncing up beside her. It searched around the rock a little and then cuddled up beside her leg to enjoy the sun with her. “You’re a cute one aren’t you?” She pet the rabbit between the ears, a smile so big it could crack her face plastered onto her. She sat there for a moment in silence, continuing to enjoy the day. With a start, the rabbit lurched awake at the sound of a gunshot in the air. It scrambled off the rock and into the undergrowth again. In the moment, Mon jumped too, irritated at the sudden noise and the disturbance of her peace. Without much thought, she jumped to her shoeless feet, dashing through the trees and towards the sound. She figured an animal had been injured and she had a feeling she knew who did it. Getting close to the source of the noise, she hid behind a thick oak trunk, watching Chester tie up the legs of a gorgeous fawn-coloured stag. Typical, he was at it again! She smirked, watching him turn a few times before realising he didn’t have anything with him to bring the body back. Picking up his rifle, he left the scene, jogging back to what was probably his sleeping place. Moving from behind the tree, she approached the poor creature, leaning down to pet his muzzle in an act of comfort. “It’s okay big guy.” In a moment of brilliance, she gave a short, low-toned whistle. After a short moment, a large brown bear appeared and she climbed a tree nearby while the bear spotted the body of the stag. A free meal was better than no meal. The bear, once having spotted the stag, sniffed it briefly and then dug in, happy for the food in it’s stomach. She attempted to stifle laughter when Chester walked back, wagon in hand, and froze at the sight. She could see the frustration on his face! Without a second thought, he left quickly and once he was gone, she burst into a fit of giggles. Serves him right!

The tall, anthropomorphic lemur Archie sat daintily in a large, wiry willow tree, watching the funeral gatherers closely. The role of pathetic fallacy was clear as the rain poured down on the black umbrella’s of the group of 40 or so people, all huddled around the grave. It was cold, wet, and sad; a day perfect for making a funeral all the more depressing. The crows that often called the place home were all huddled under the tree with him, hoping to keep their wings dry for when the rain stopped. On days like this, regardless of the shitty weather, he preferred to be doing his job and watching the funeral, making sure everything went smoothly...from afar. He pulled some crackers from his thick black coat pocket, offering one to the crow perched closest to him. His tail flicked a few times as it got wet but the crow didn’t seem to care. It took a moment to look at Arc, probably because of his large white and black ears turning on his head, and then indulged. After the bird finished, Archie took off his hat for a moment and offered it to the bird. It happily hopped in, walked around for a few moments, and then hopped out, as if suddenly disinterested. He chuckled for a small moment, relishing in his love for the creature and turned his gaze back to the funeral. The priest had his head down, along with the crowd in what was most likely prayer. He took a look at his watch; the funeral had ended pretty much on time. He was grateful for the quick priest who didn’t waste a moment. Watching, he waited for prayer to end, relishing in the drizzling rain that had finally come to a stop. He closed his eyes, looking towards the sky to let the sun hit his face. Sitting there for a moment, he opened his eyes when he heard the crowd of people start to move. There was movement in the corner of his eye and he noticed a younger girl beneath him. This girl had ears like him, tall and white, but her face sported black patches. She looked like a tiny snow leopard cub, eyes wide and fixed on him. He flushed a little, shying away from the girl and hiding his face by his hat. “Why are you up in a tree?” The question hung in the air for a few seconds before Arc looked back at her. She had obviously been crying recently and was dressed in the same clothing as the others.
“This is where I watch. To make sure things go as planned.” He moved his hat up a bit to see the girl better and then began to climb down the tree. The majority of the funeral gatherers had left to the reception. It was just this girl and him. “You watch funerals?” she pondered, watching him land on the ground in front of her. He patted the top of the girls head, sweeping his tail behind him. “Something like that.”
He started towards the reception hall, turning back to gesture at the little girl to follow him. Without another word, she complied.