Alastor was a hunter. You were his friend, though you didn't help him hunt, because you didn't want to. He often told you of his experiences, and how he even hummed sometimes during it. He'd always come back with good meat.

Today you were in the woods. You decided to walk through them, because you liked the wilderness and sounds. Then you heard footsteps, and a gun click. You felt your foot get shot, making you fall, your hands catching you before your face hit the ground.

Your body was immediately filled with adrenaline. Standing up, you bolted off, a trail of your dark blood following. You ran for as long as your legs could take you, which lead you to hide near a creek, where a very small cave was formed at the bed of the creek. You looked occasionally, trying to see a silhouette, something.

Then you saw Alastor, holding a rifle. He was looking at the ground, trying to find his target, which was you. Alastor probably didn't know it was you. He was humming a nice tune, one he hummed when he made jambalaya while you were at his house.

You were stunned. He probably didn't know it was you, or he did, and he was cruel. His toothy smile was visible. And that goddamn humming.