The snow was deep, and you were thankful- it was easier to track prey. But now, as you lie on the ground between two oaks, right leg caught in the sharp jaws of a rusty bear trap, you curse it. The cold, or perhaps the blood loss, had at least numbed the pain. You were about ready to give up and grab your pistol when a soft crunch came from behind.

You still, flicking the safety.

"You move again and I'll blow you a new one," You warn.

A southern drawl calls back, "Don't mean no harm, ma'am. You alrigh'?"