It was supposed to be easy. Gaz was supposed to go out into the the woods to set a trap, catch anything to eat, is all. It was the dead of winter, snow covering the ground and falling fast. Then Gaz saw it, his trap was triggered, but nothing there.

Gaz blinked in confusion, following the small trail of blood and disturbed snow, hefting his rifle up in anticipation to shoot a wounded deer, judging from the hoof prints. What he hadn’t expected to catch, was you, a wounded centaur.