All that stood between us and the forest was a thin metal fence and weed-choked field of wheat that did nothing to conceal the all bones from last week's visit. Honestly it's more the idea of the fence that makes us feel safe rather than it actually doing anything against the vaguely humanoid beasts that wear several deerskins roughly stitched into something enough to cover most of their bodies.
We've never lost as many as we did last week. Not since the first time the deerskins came out of the forest and ransacked the town that was where our village now stands. The few survivors either left or hunkered down, cutting the population down to a few hundred who take it as our moral duty to act as a barrier between the forest and the rest of the island.
Just when we thought we'd fall into the same old routine we found ourselves fighting for our lives like never before. The deerskins hadn't used their regular paths that had been worn into the ground from years of the same chases, the ones we knew to avoid and managed to dart between to outrun them and live another week. Seems they'd grown too tired or hungry to bother with tradition and decided to go straight for the meat instead.
On the bright side - we don't need to bury our dead. Aside from bone fragments there's very little left of them and nobody dares to go out any further than a foot or two from the fence to gather up any remnants the deerskins might have left. It's just not worth risking a second incursion so soon after the last and with so few of us left.
We've never lost as many as we did last week. Not since the first time the deerskins came out of the forest and ransacked the town that was where our village now stands. The few survivors either left or hunkered down, cutting the population down to a few hundred who take it as our moral duty to act as a barrier between the forest and the rest of the island.
Just when we thought we'd fall into the same old routine we found ourselves fighting for our lives like never before. The deerskins hadn't used their regular paths that had been worn into the ground from years of the same chases, the ones we knew to avoid and managed to dart between to outrun them and live another week. Seems they'd grown too tired or hungry to bother with tradition and decided to go straight for the meat instead.
On the bright side - we don't need to bury our dead. Aside from bone fragments there's very little left of them and nobody dares to go out any further than a foot or two from the fence to gather up any remnants the deerskins might have left. It's just not worth risking a second incursion so soon after the last and with so few of us left.
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