dangling from the middle, just barely separated by a single molar. The stained incisors were poorly inscribed by a small pocket knife or other some other blade. The left tooth had the letter T, and the letter M inscribed into the other. The molar in the middle was inscribed with what looked to be a plus sign. Such an unusual piece of jewelry, yet the girl may find some enjoyment in it, I had thought to myself.
My stomach ached and grumbled as I headed back down the mountain side, making way for more level ground, and eventually home. The trip became slow and slick as the sun was high now and had warmed up the mountain considerably. The snow was melting rapidly and small brooks had begun to form, zigzagging their way down the mountain like blood trickling down ones leg.
Moving skillfully through the forest I occasionally stopped to snack on some stale crackers and take time to rest and massage my throbbing shoulder. Aside from the ache I was content in knowing that a few more dead would no longer be a threat to us, yet in the back of my mind I knew that there may still be demonic wolves running amok. Quickly I dismissed the thought, they had probably moved on to better hunting grounds – I hoped.
The sun had begun to drift back down towards the horizon after a few more hours of trudging through the heavy melting snow. My optimism for today’s hunt, like the sun, was fading quickly. I had all but given up when something caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks and curiously peered through the trees.
Within a partially frozen, muddy marsh, a mere hundred yards away stood a lone doe. Her head down in the ice-cold muck, slurping up what water it could. Thankfully she had not yet noticed me, completely oblivious to my presence. She had let down her guard, not a common mistake for a deer, but one I did not hesitate to take advantage of.
My reflexes reacted without fail, letting loose a razor-sharp arrow into the wintery air. It whizzed through the trees fiercely before slicing deep into the unexpected doe's neck with a muddled “thwop”. The cervid bolted for cover, stumbling into a thicket of trees a few hundred yards away before toppling to the ground.
“It's about damn time!” I stammered, all the while displaying the biggest shit-eating grin.
Cautiously I approached the fallen ungulate, my trusty knife held firmly in hand. Kneeling down a few feet away I waited and watched as she took her last few breaths before falling still in the slushy snow. Her big brown doe-eyes burned into mine, and I could hear her asking, “Why?”
From the corner of one eye, a big round tear welled as her tongue slowly fell from her slightly agape mouth. She exhaled one last time, the humid vapor wafted slowly above her corpse like a ghost. She was gone, and so was the guilt that had momentarily grew within my heart. It was now time to eat.
The knife slid easily into her gut and up along the rib-cage like a razor blade through a block of cheese. A moist, rank smell caught me slightly off guard as her innards spilled out onto the snow covered ground with clouds of steam drifting up. Although I have gutted many animals in my time, the rank viscera has always disturbed me.
My stomach grumbled even louder as I began to think of fried steaks, or a seared chunk of liver and onions sautéed in bacon grease. Of course, bacon grease was not an abundant commodity these days, rendered wild-duck fat would have to do. Unfortunately there would be no onions either, just meat, but I was not complaining.
As I cut away the connective tissue from the valuable organs, separating it from the bloody mass of entrails, I randomly sliced off small chunks of liver and
My stomach ached and grumbled as I headed back down the mountain side, making way for more level ground, and eventually home. The trip became slow and slick as the sun was high now and had warmed up the mountain considerably. The snow was melting rapidly and small brooks had begun to form, zigzagging their way down the mountain like blood trickling down ones leg.
Moving skillfully through the forest I occasionally stopped to snack on some stale crackers and take time to rest and massage my throbbing shoulder. Aside from the ache I was content in knowing that a few more dead would no longer be a threat to us, yet in the back of my mind I knew that there may still be demonic wolves running amok. Quickly I dismissed the thought, they had probably moved on to better hunting grounds – I hoped.
The sun had begun to drift back down towards the horizon after a few more hours of trudging through the heavy melting snow. My optimism for today’s hunt, like the sun, was fading quickly. I had all but given up when something caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks and curiously peered through the trees.
Within a partially frozen, muddy marsh, a mere hundred yards away stood a lone doe. Her head down in the ice-cold muck, slurping up what water it could. Thankfully she had not yet noticed me, completely oblivious to my presence. She had let down her guard, not a common mistake for a deer, but one I did not hesitate to take advantage of.
My reflexes reacted without fail, letting loose a razor-sharp arrow into the wintery air. It whizzed through the trees fiercely before slicing deep into the unexpected doe's neck with a muddled “thwop”. The cervid bolted for cover, stumbling into a thicket of trees a few hundred yards away before toppling to the ground.
“It's about damn time!” I stammered, all the while displaying the biggest shit-eating grin.
Cautiously I approached the fallen ungulate, my trusty knife held firmly in hand. Kneeling down a few feet away I waited and watched as she took her last few breaths before falling still in the slushy snow. Her big brown doe-eyes burned into mine, and I could hear her asking, “Why?”
From the corner of one eye, a big round tear welled as her tongue slowly fell from her slightly agape mouth. She exhaled one last time, the humid vapor wafted slowly above her corpse like a ghost. She was gone, and so was the guilt that had momentarily grew within my heart. It was now time to eat.
The knife slid easily into her gut and up along the rib-cage like a razor blade through a block of cheese. A moist, rank smell caught me slightly off guard as her innards spilled out onto the snow covered ground with clouds of steam drifting up. Although I have gutted many animals in my time, the rank viscera has always disturbed me.
My stomach grumbled even louder as I began to think of fried steaks, or a seared chunk of liver and onions sautéed in bacon grease. Of course, bacon grease was not an abundant commodity these days, rendered wild-duck fat would have to do. Unfortunately there would be no onions either, just meat, but I was not complaining.
As I cut away the connective tissue from the valuable organs, separating it from the bloody mass of entrails, I randomly sliced off small chunks of liver and
Similar Books
