Your character takes shelter in a small cave on a mountain for the night. When he/she wakes in the morning, there’s three feet of snow on the ground. What do they do?
Warren looked out at the snow, pleased. Three feet of snow would have done the trick. Everything was flat and smooth. The side of the mountain only had sparse trees poking from out from the drift. Everything else was flat and smooth with no hint at the what lay beneath.
He sniffed and rolled up his sleeping bag, making sure to place the deconstructed sniper rifle in the center of the mass. He double checked his pockets to make sure his two spent casings were still there. Any evidence of such a high caliber weapon would lead straight back to him once the snow thawed and the dead remains would be discovered.
He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and locked his snow shoes in place. If he was lucky he’d be able to find fresh tracks and get a few more in before hunting season kicked off in two more days. Warren had no clue why the beasts even had a season, they we’re taken off the endangered species list a decade ago and were worthless as meat. Killing Sasquatch should be fair game no matter what the time of year. He even told that to the city commission last time they had a hearing on the matter.
Warren pulled a plug of chaw out of his back pocket and packed it into his gums. He’d packed light on food, and the tobacco would keep him from getting hungry till later in the morning. As soon as he had the pack of leaves in his cheek, he noticed the rank smell. He considered he’d bought the chaw past date, but then he heard the heavy breathing.
Warren looked over his shoulder stood face to chest with an incredibly tall Sasquatch. Like his quarry yesterday, this one was grey. They could have been kin. Warren gulped his tobacco and didn't have time to grimace from the distaste before the monster struck him down with a claw-handed blow. With a grievous roar, the Sasquatch had begin his own hunting season.
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