The fire was getting closer.

The fire was getting closer. Whips of red hot flames shot out from the blaze like a King Cobra's bite. The bottom carpeted the forest floor, rushing faster and faster, further and further through the dry, arid landscape. The heat rose dramatically; first only a few degrees at a time, but as the fire grew, 5, 10, 15 degrees at a time. The forest was becoming an oven, cooking all the vegetation to a crisp.

The animals had begun their escape not a moment too soon. The deer had been roaming around, picking at acorns and shrubs. A few badgers had been minding their business, staring at caterpillars and ants on the logs of wood on which they sat. Even the great grizzly bear had been woefully unprepared for the blazing inferno. Even with its acute sense for threats, it had sensed the fire without a moment to spare.

And when each beast picked its head up from the floor, sniffed the smoky air, and recognized the threat, the great race began.

Animals of all shapes and sizes sprinting towards the lake. That great big watering hole on the outskirts of the forest that all beasts alike frequented. That biological melting pot of hydration and nourishment. It was there that the bears and the badgers and the deer and all the little insects and critters ran the day that their home burned down.