A woman stands in a warmly lit, rustic cabin at dusk as three deer graze in the misty field outside, where unsettling, multi-toed tracks are visible in the grass.

The deer are grazing again in the field in front of our house. The night was cool and clear, with a gentle breeze whispering through the overwhelming pine trees that fade into the distant fog. Every night as mum drinks her tea on the front patio I sit on the end of my bed watching the deer through my window, her rocking chair creaking quietly through the glass. The deer were peaceful and gentle, noses to the ground looking for the best grass to eat. Every night they appeared and every morning gone; without a trace. The next day I wake to the smell of bacon and eggs and stumble downstairs. Mum is at the stove top, a cup of tea sitting next to her on the bench, a flow of steam shining in the sunbeam through the window. “How was you sleep sweetie?” she asked with a glance over her shoulder. “Alright.” I spoke. “I woke up during the night though, think something was making some noise outside last night.” “Probably was just the deer, nothing to worry about,” she said. “Common, hurry up and eat breakfast, the bus will be here soon.” After breakfast I pack my bag for school and give mum a hug goodbye. Walking through the field up to our driveway I notice a bunch of dirt and grass had been dug up and overturned. In the dirt I see deer hoof prints and what I at first thought were wolf prints, then realised that the claws were too long, almost finger length. I look around and saw the looming forest on the edge of the open field, my old wooden beamed house with the corrugated iron roof Mehr sehen