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It was nearing sunset; the great fire in the sky an orange more ripe and round than any on the surface of the world. All around it the sky was turned to gold and the clouds turned to coal. Its gilded light swathed the earth, making the shadows long and the mountain tops and flowered grass spires in a sea of gems. Wading through that sea, a young buck tromped about, disobediently exploring away from the herd. But how wonderful his daring expedition, to see the golden leaves and the richest flora, all for his taking alone. Why didn't they all come here, where the grass was always ripe and the colors always in bloom? He frolicked to and fro, chasing bees and sniffing petals of red and blue and yellow and pinkish-white. He forced himself to prolong the task he wanted to do most of all, opting instead to explore a little more, to find the best crop he could. He followed only the light, staying away from the thick, black shadows that encroached the land every moment. He would have to be quick and not dally, or else he would miss his chance and the yelling and punishment he was to receive for this venture would not be worth it. At last he came upon the perfect crop imaginable. It was up a slight ways on the slope of a mountain base. There were trees above and below but none at a wide spot, where the ground suddenly flattened and the light pooled and swirled over the grass. It seemed this spot was the perfect place to capture the light of the glowing sun until it dipped behind the ground. No doubt this would be the richest crop, and he would have it all to himself. He galloped gingerly to the center of the glade, turning about and deciding where the best of the best crop would be. Finally he decided it would be in the back, and made his way. He looked about, for suddenly he felt the hairs on his brow rise up. But perhaps it was just his excitement, and so he delayed no further; his neck stretched and he leaned forward just a little, and pinched his teeth upon a dozen blades of honey-gold. The taste was sweet, and dryly so. It lacked only the morning dew and the cool, morning air to be absolutely perfect. But in this moment he would be satisfied if he died right then. He let the blades tickle his tongue as he minced the pieces more and more with his teeth, crushing them into almost a paste. And then he flinched. A bird scattered from the trees. They often did that, but when they did it was often hard to figure out why. Sometimes they were fleeing, sometimes they were just excited; sometimes, it was a warning. The light crept further away, and suddenly the buck noticed he was caste in shadow. He bent down, slowly, and placed his teeth around another dozen blades of grass. They were bitter, chalky, rooted with dirt and mud. He spat them out, dissatisfied. It was time to head home, he decided. He looked about, trying to memorize this very spot so that he could come back one day, very soon. He took a step, but it sounded a bit strange. He had taken dozens of steps before, but this one seemed to crunch the grass a little more than he remembered. He stared down at his hooves. No doubt it was because the grass he walked on was in shadow. Shadow had changed its taste, why couldn't it change the sound, too? He trotted along, his hooves crunching loudly, chasing the light and the warmth of the sun before it fell below the horizon. He came upon the bright grass, but after a few steps in he discovered that his hooves still made a loud sound. He looked down once again, and lifted his hoof. He set it down, but it did not sound loud at all. The gale of night abruptly blew, and on it was the scent of bloodlust. He did not look; he only ran, as fast as he could. His hooves made soft crunches while the heavy crunches were uneven and frantic behind him. He dared glance back, but then regretted the decision. Three wolves were only a few yards away, gaining legs and antlers on the deer moment by moment. They howled and yipped, taunting and boasting all the things that they would do with his body once it was theirs. Panic swelled in him, his chest tightened and his legs began to stiffen. He felt heavy, dense and clumsy. His breath became labored as he tried his best to run through the fog of darkening. But in the end, he collapsed, his heart unable to bear the strain of escape and his mind unable to bear what was to come. The wolves wasted no time. The biggest of them jumped upon him, his teeth aiming with the truest of skills...

Lyza lifted the plate from her lips; her long, low note still resonating through the air. She took in a deep breath, feeling a little dizzy from the concentration. Her lungs ached a little. Her Indian-style flute was a bit more difficult to play than just a recorder. She really had to work to get the notes sometimes. Her brother looked from his moccasin, the other one completed and placed on the table's bench beside him. "That one sounded kind of sad at the end," he stated. She set the flute in its new case, closing it with a snap. "Is that bad?" She asked. "No," he replied, "Not unless you're sad." She shook her head. "Nope. I had a lot of fun today," she replied, her hand idly fidgeting with the new purse hooked onto her belt, and her eyes looking at the half-completed little basket sitting on the table. "The food was good, even if the line was really really long...and I'm still ignoring the shower thing," she stated. The showers were basically one building with a bunch of doors leading to these small little square rooms with cement floors. It wasn't anything fancy at all, in fact it was kind of grungy. But what made it worse were all the little bugs she kept seeing. The roof was just a mesh of iron strands and of course that was just asking for moths and beetles and...she didn't want to think about what else, to come in. "There," Kval said, finally finished with his project. Lyza giggled as he dropped them both on the floor and took off his shoes. He slipped his feet inside and tied the laces, which were uneven so he had a bit of trouble, and then stood up, walking a little bit in them. "How do they look?" "Kinda silly," she said. "They're like a pair of shaved fuzzy-slippers." "They need a little breaking-in," he said, lifting one heel to feel how stiff and uncomfortable it was to try and bend it. "I kinda like 'em." "Yeah they--" "Excuse me?" Brother and sister looked over to the voice. A tall tiger of a man was standing on the path, two young boys standing to his left. "Permission to enter your campsite?" Kval nodded. "Granted," he replied, and the company entered the pavilion. "What's up?" "Name's Jeremy," the tiger said, "And this is John and Ricky," he pointed to the chipmunk and the rat. "We're from the campsite just a bit away; I'm one of the scoutmasters there." "Oh okay," Kval said, crossing his arms. "What can we do you for?" The boys looked at Lyza, who looked back warily. They were older than she was, but not in high school yet. "We just came to say 'hi'," Jeremy said. "But mostly...well," he looked about for a second, "Did you guys hear anyone playing a flute a little while ago?" "I was," Lyza said, raising her hand a little before dropping it down. Suddenly she regretted it. "You?" Jeremy asked. "You played that?" Lyza nodded. "Huh." Was all the scoutmaster said. "It was pretty good," the rat-boy said. And then when the chipmunk nudged him he corrected himself, "I mean, it was great. John and I heard the whole thing." "Oh..." Lyza's nerves fluttered. "I'm sorry. If it's bothering you I can--" "No, no, not at all," Jeremy said, kneeling down, but even then he was taller than the little girl. "You go on and play it. We just had a mystery we needed to solve; the boys thought there were real Indians around." He chuckled. "Oh..." Lyza replied, "No...I'm not a real Indian," he said softly. "You play like one," Ricky stated. Embarrassed, she managed to mutter a thanks. "So," Jeremy stood up. "Sorry to bother. But hey, if you guys need anything, just let us know. Don't be shy." He extended his hand to the older rabbit. "You got it," Kval replied, shaking his hand. "Oh, by the way, my name is Kev and this is Lizzy." "Lizzy..." Jeremy repeated. "Hey, Lizzy, can I tell you something?" He kneeled down again. "What?" She asked, her nerves put aside to curiosity. "On Tuesdays they have bonfires here. Everyone is welcome, and it's really fun. It's sort of like an open-mic, where anyone can come up and perform funny skits or tell jokes or..." he smiled, "Play the flute?" She looked at him, and then down at the ground, which would soon need a lantern in order to be seen. "Just throwin' it out there," Jeremy said, "I know a few boys that would want to see the person behind the music they heard." He smiled. "Anyway, you guys have a good night." "Same," Kval said, waving as the group departed. He looked down at his sister. "Well Lyz?" He asked. "Hm?" "You think you might wanna do the bonfire thing?" She stepped back, and made her way back to the table. "I dunno..." He followed her, stopping to turn their light-lantern on. "You haven't really played your Indian-style since your solo." He stated. "Maybe you're still a little nervous, huh?" She nodded. At least he wasn't going to tease her. "You know what I think?" He said rhetorically, and when he got her attention he sat back, lifting his moccasin-clad feet onto the little camping stool they had set up. "I think that Rini-girl was impressed by your solo." Lyza shook her head. "No way. Rini hates me, especially about the flute." "Well...I was watching her the whole time. It looked like she was under some kind of spell." "You're just trying to make me feel better," she sniped, turning a little grumpy. He shrugged. "Well, yeah," he stated bluntly, "But...I don't have to be lying, do I?" She sat for a while, thinking. The sky was really dark-blue, the last rays of light fading away right before her eyes. She thought back to the solo, how her hands had been so sweaty she slipped up and botched the whole song she tried to emulate. She stood up. "I'm getting sleepy," she stated. "I think I'm gonna go to bed." She took her flute-case, and headed toward the tent, floating away like a ghost.