A red-suited hunter shuffles through the frozen tundra, musket in hand. The frigid winds blow on his frost-laden beard. He tugs the fur trim of his coat over his ears. There is a valley ahead where he can escape the rising winds. Though the man is heavy enough to drop right through the fresh snow, he is familiar with how to move quickly over the frosted landscape.
The red-suited man ducks behind a rock, pulling a cookie from his coat. Just a snack until the winds pass, though that could be hours. He bites down and makes a sour face. It’s frozen. What he wouldn’t do for a plate of warm cookies and a nice glass of cold milk. Knowing not to stay in one place for too long, the hunter warms up his joints and moves deeper into the widening canyon. Hopefully, the valley comes through to the other side. If the wind changes direction, he could be caught in a sub-zero vortex.
The hunter begins to doubt the wisdom of his decision. He’s never been this far away from home, and even if he did find something to eat, he wonders whether he will have enough energy to take it back to his house. He should probably turn back. The sun will be out for another three months, but he knows his limits. He turns around and finds himself smelling the frozen breath of a beast taller than him. He stumbles back, raising his musket in defense. An animal that size could easily break every bone in his body. His breath hides his vision, so he holds it. The thing, with its long snout and cloven hooves, is a deer, only massive in size. In all his time here, he had never seen a deer around the North Pole. And what’s more, the creature was as silent as a saint in a snowstorm. For something to sneak up on him like that, it would have to be a ghost. The monster deer looked him in the eye and the hunter could almost believe there was intelligence in it. Its brown eyes were so engaging that when the creature looked up, his own eyes followed.
Above them both, seven deer were flying in circles like vultures. They drifted toward the ground and the man lowered his musket. He was screwed. The animals or spirits, whatever they were… they could pound him in the dust if they saw him as a threat. He dropped the musket on the ground and offered a gloved hand to the alpha male who had landed first.
“Ho there, boy. Ho. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
The deer backs away, snorting. It doesn’t trust him. The man grits his teeth, keenly away of the other deer flanking him. He’s never been good with animals and now was probably not a time to start; but if he can show the animals that he is dominant over their leader, the rest will follow suit. The man lowers himself down. In a snap, he grabs his musket and charges the beast. It snaps at his head, yanking off his cap by the fur pom-pom. No time to worry over spilled milk! He shoves the musket into the frozen ground and props it up as leverage to vault onto the deer’s back. The creature bucks so that the man’s entire body shakes like jelly. He holds fast onto its neck as it flies into the air. He wonders whether this was a good idea, but he can’t turn back now.
Awesome Pie! 