The forest. That's all I could see; all I've ever known. Tall, dark green pine trees on every side of me, here and there a rock larger than the rest. At night, a sliver of moonlight would filter it's way through the needles of the trees and find its way to the ground covered in dead and dying pine needles, and the forest seemed to come alive with a dark, eerie feeling. During the day, everything was silent with the exception of the occasional whistle of the wind through the trees. Everywhere it's the same: woods, woods, and more woods.
But I've lived here for 15 years now, since the day I was turned, and I know every nook and cranny of this place. It's a dog-eat-dog world, eat or be eaten, survival of the fittest, whatever you want to call it. No hunter has ever escaped from this forest, and no hunter within his right mind would dare enter for fear of not returning.
Even still, there are those seldom few, those few whom I survive off of, who think they can conquer this forest, can outsmart it.
The idiots. I thought to myself.
Once again, I readjusted the skulls on my shelf I had chiseled out of the cave wall with my bare fingernail, which had been sharpened to a point over the years. A low rumble escaped from deep in my chest, almost like a purr, my senses going haywire.
There's another idiot hunter nearby. I thought with a smug grin.
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