Shimmering in layers of mist while accented only as an outlined shadow, the giant sycamore threw its branches towards the turmoiled canvas of sky. Gnarled limbs stretched far beneath the reaches of all that surrounded it - the sycamore had won. It was magnificent, spectacular, a survivor. But the growth had not been easy. As if to testify the great tree’s bark bore the knobs and dents of an ancient species - the prevailer.

Plummeting down the trunk of the wide tree - all the way down - something much more fragile was nestle in the crook of a massive, curving root. As gently as they had in days… weeks it seemed… small blonde flanks rose and fell to allow foggy breath in and out in soft sighs. Although the youngling’s face was half hidden in its shelter against the tree, it was still possible to distinguish the mocha freckles that dotted her visage akin to earthen jewellery. For the moment, the girl’s expression held nothing but innocent slumber.

Nebraska was dreaming. Every now and then her thin limbs would twitch and jerk in an uncontrollable reflex to the world of sleep. It really was another world, for compared to the image of serenity that enveloped the pup in the woods, the show behind her pretty lids was far different. Perhaps it was too soon after the incident to become accustomed to the plague of nightmares that marred her scarce moments of sleep… but the dreams were already becoming a blueprint on the inside of her small skull.

The shadows. Everywhere. A shock of longing - desperation to find comfort in the woody landscape. But here the trunks shot out of the ground in thin hard lines. There was no break in the dreadful surroundings, just an endless forest dying trees. And the ground, the ground was sticky - it stuck to her paws, turning them black with mud. On cue, when she strained against the tar like liquid, a terrifying feeling impending danger took its path. It became worse with every breath her small lungs gasped in, as if the panic was in the air itself - tangible. Drums hammered inside her ribcage, anxious eyes even shot downwards - that couldn’t be her heart… there was no way.

And without looking she knew, they were there. Yellow eyes glimmering in the dark. They knew. How could she have even hoped that they wouldn’t find out. But it wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t erase what she had seen, it wasn’t her FAULT! Run. RUN! Losing all control, Nebraska gasped for air, struggling against the mud that held her captive. She threw every ounce of her strength into it all the while knowing it would never be enough… it would never, EVER be enough. she would never be safe.

That was it. For the first time in ages the unnamed fear that had coursed through her veins had shown itself. Helplessness. It was like drowning. Hopelessness. It was facing the impossible without an ounce of measurable strength. She felt like she had branded her fur with a bloody tattoo and it threatened to take away her only means of refuge so far: hiding. The feeling was awful. It made her small body curl tighter, become even tinier. To be fair, after next to no food for a good week, Neb was really just skin and bones; every muscle that lined her small frame was lean and taunt to the breaking point. Fat? Well that was a luxury very much lost to the small pup.

Curiously, now that her paw had been feebly placed on the root of her ceaseless terror, Nebraska felt… calmer. The poison fear didn’t threaten to suffocate her, no, it burned through her veins with a searing fire. Whether either was better, she didn’t know, nor did she have the energy to ponder it, but the later seemed to give energy rather than paralysis.
Suddenly, two shocking jewels of green shone out of the furry creature. As vivid as a sycamore leaf illuminated by the mid day sun. Still small, still weak, still so very much in trouble - but something had changed in that fraction of a second. Every mother would wish it to be hope and strength, courage maybe, in those emerald seekers. But it was not to be. Nebraska glared at the bland bark of her root, then slowly she turned her pretty head to stare out into the woods. And there was a hard, cold light there, full of strength, yes, but also hatred - the blinding, yet clear look of a predator.

Almost as soon as they had appeared, the green lights snapped shut, offering just a brief glimpse of what was to come. Nebraska turned her head back to face the root. She would hear anybody coming, because this time she wasn’t sleeping, she was waiting. Hopefully invisible, but if not… ready.