the Most Dangerous game [Moss/Sky]

With a soft thud Nettle maneuvered herself to a higher branch. The branch was slick and covered by a thin layer of snow, but the snow didn't bother Nettle. Sliding herself into place she reached a hand behind her back and retrieved a small book from her pack. The book weighed less than a pound and was as black as an unheated coal. For a while Nettle just eyed the book and stroked it with her right thumb. Its cover, made of leather, felt smooth beneath her exposed finger and indented slightly whenever she added more force to it. The book used to belong to her mother, but with her passing Itea entrusted it to her only daughter. For a year Nettle refused to even think of the book, for it pained her immensely since it conjured up memories of her mother, but by the time she was fourteen she felt well enough to pull back the cover. Two years later and now she sits with it in a tree reminiscing on how silly she had been to not open it. It was only a book of poems.

Relaxing her limbs Nettle pulled back the cover and skimmed a couple of pages. Her most favorite of her mother's poems were somewhere in the middle. They were her favorite because they were poems about herself and her brother, Thur. Even after years of trying to dissect her mother's words Nettle couldn't conclude which of the children was Itea's favorite, but knowing her mother Nettle understood that there could have never been a favorite. Itea had loved both of them equally, period.

The sun started to slowly sink below the horizon of trees and took with it the last few hours of heat. A crisp wind billowed through the forest and forced Nettle to lower her chin into her moss colored jacket. It wasn't exactly a winter coat, but it was the best she could do. Besides, Nettle liked the cold. The only thing she despised about Winter was the challenge it presented her when it came to her illegal hunting. Trying to catch a rabbit with a tomahawk when snow crunches or shifts beneath your feet is no easy task, and with three mouths to feed it's quite irritating. Turning her attention back to her book Nettle basked within the velvet hue of the sun's rays hoping that the light would last for more than just a few hours. It was much more fun resting in the woods than it was at home making paper.