It was a cold December day. The garden was hardly visible under a white sheet of snow. I looked around and saw a world devoid of color and noise. Or so I thought…
Suddenly, I heard the crunch, crunch of footsteps on the ground. My brother, who is a bit of a coward, asked, ‘What’s that noise?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered.
We stood there, frozen to the spot. Frozen because of the Arctic temperatures and frozen in fear.
Why hadn’t we obeyed Mum? She had told us it was too cold to play hide and seek, but we had ignored her advice.
I looked at the man opposite us and waited for the inevitable. My brother’s eyes opened wide. He shivered.
Then we both saw a light. No bullets, nothing. The man turned around and left…
We flew back to our nest in a hurry and told Mum what had happened.
‘You silly little ones. Not every person you come across is a hunter. That man was a photographer. He just wanted your likeness because you’re so very cute.’