Day 5: Fur

He crept beneath the moonlit trees
With eyes aglow and hands of sin,
The forest whispered in the breeze,
Warning the creatures hiding thin.

His rifle raised without a care,
The silence shattered by the sound,
A fox lay dying, bloodied there,
Its precious fur torn from the ground.

He moved on swiftly, seeking more,
The night now seemed to hold its breath,
But shadows gathered, black and sore—
The hunter stalked by creeping death.