“Save yourselves!” cried a tiny voice, squeaking in the early dawn as the collosal clock of doom ticked away. They could all hear it, deep in the gentle settling ticking and creaking of the great oak tree they nestled in, reverberating cold empty echoes in their frail hollow bones.

“Save yourselves! Fly away!” another tiny voice piped up, singing out harmoniously with the first.

The light broke proper over the forest, and the rest of the tiny voices began to shout out their warning, “Save yourselves! The end is coming.” But no one seemed to be listening.

“Save yourself!” shouted a red-breasted fellow, ululating the cry, choking on the final syllable. He himself could feel the warning of time ticking down to Doomsday vibratingly to the tips of his tail feathers. The fear froze him from within, even as he swallowed air to shout his warning once more. Still the large hand swept to the final time, resonating deeper still, deep down next to where the primal fear nestled in his subconscious.

“Save yourself!” echoed from branch to branch, tree to tree, yet no one was listening. Winter was coming. A winter that would last. And only the ancient memory of the dinosaurs vibrating spider-like in their tiny souls knew what that really meant.

And still no one listened.