The Hunter is stuck in the box for now, but it will not be long until he is free.

The box is small. Too small to stand up. It is dark enough that his perfect Hunter eyes, eyes that see in the blackest black, cannot see the walls. It is colder than cold, and it stinks of metal. He did not wish to return to the box. But it is better, he thinks. Better than the tree cage.

A pair of antlers poke the Hunter’s gut and he maneuvers them away. The box is even smaller with two! Still, he does not mind sharing. He nuzzles a brown mane and feels a pair of furry arms around his neck. Yes. He is back in the box, but he is not alone.

He is with the Friend.