Emma sat underneath a tree, gun in hand. It was quiet, aside from her own breathing. She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling. She let the pistol fall from her grasp, her hand coming to rest over her heart. Two or three tears slipped down her cheeks as she tried to calm down. She didn't want to hyperventilate.

She turned when she heard footsteps crunching in the nearby snow. Branches cracking. She didn't want to announce her presence in case whoever, or whatever was out there, wasn't friendly. She pulled her legs as close as she could. She didn't want to be seen. She was already considered a coward by her little town.

Emma couldn't shoot, couldn't even hold the gun properly. She cried every time she saw something get hit in her hunting group. She didn't know why she joined the hunting group, she was just slowed them down. She wished life could go back to being normal. But this was her normal now.