Cold and dark. Winter hunts were always fun, but this time we struggled to find prey.
Hunting season, December through March. New tools for skinning and dissection lined our bodies as we stalked the streets.
Watching through the window as the victims sat unaware, strategy forming in my head. Then I saw Greg enter the room, a broken bottle sharpened in his hand. He sunk it into the back of the girl, and then slit the throat of the man.
That bastard Greg had got the first kill, and my chance was now lost. Oh well, there’s always next year.