The old, the young, the sick and the wounded, they can’t keep running – none of us can. But here, deep within the forest, we’re safe for now. The biting, frozen grip of winter providing us, and others like us, with a temporary, but desperately needed, release from the chase.
Yet slowly, the lightening morning skies had begun to clear. A mild, warming sun now shone between broken, white clouds. Snowmelt softly dripped into deepening puddles; birdsong returned to the canopy above our camp.
Spring was on its way.
In the distance a siren sounded; it was time to move.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.