a wounded stag

it was snowing but there was little snow on the ground, it was only just beginning to settle. crouching and creeping along a leafless thorny hedgerow, into an opening, the sandy patchy ground turning slowly white. the snow was blurring vision and was slurring thoughts and a drunk feeling came until another hedgerow, ripped apart by savage winds. stalking slowly and quietly and footsteps making the most noise like creeks of doors in old houses or sliding of draws in warped furniture. snow down collars and in hair and in trees and in eyes, blood spot. another spot of blood, a small pool. the signs of a leg being dragged. a wounded stag.