Biting Cold
Biting Cold By Rhys Causon The moon looked down into the forest like an inquisitive neighbour. Its light bounced back off the snow covered ground and branches bringing some much needed comfort to the hunter laying on the frozen ground as he aimed his rifle at the unsuspecting stag across the river. He tried to remain comfortable as a blanket began to form on his back as the snow began to fall again as a cold wind kissed his glowing nose and cheeks. Through the infrared scope he watched as the caribou moved carefully through the bushes, its antler just showing above the tops of the shrubbery, roughly one hundred feet away. All he had to do was wait for it to reveal itself and it would be his in seconds. “Come on,” he whispered to himself, “get out from behind there.” The stag approached t...