I was only a few miles away from the village, but the fresh snow blanketed all of the signs of my people. The sun broke through the treetops here, sending warmth into my body with every step. These old trees served as my first toys when growing up, the hollowed out oaks were fortresses ready to be defended by brave knights, the tall slender ones were our flag poles, telling the world of our massive empire, and either to bend to us or face a merciless and swift defeat.
But today they were merely a backdrop to me. My family has been dipping into our reserve food, and it has barely been the first month of winter. I needed to find food, and fast. Anya was soon to be weaned off my mother, and she needed the meat badly.
And there, just in the corner of my eye I saw it, a majestic stag. If I moved one more inch he would have seen me. Damn me and my wandering mind. But I believed I could get him. Crouching down, and slowly pulling a arrow from my quiver, making every muscle movement a calculated action, I pulled back the arrow. I'd done this hundreds of times, father teaching me everything I need to know. Yet every time I fear I will miss, every time I am in this position self doubt sneaks in and tells me I am useless, but not this time. I held my breath and let the arrow fly. I heard its song sing to me as it whistled through the air. It him right in the heart. No one else could have made a better shot. I relaxed and started walking to the stag. Yet he had not fallen. He stood there waiting, arrow sticking out of him. This unnerved me greatly; he should have fallen. Then it hit me, no blood from the wound. He just stood there. Maybe he was frozen, a poor victim of being caught out in the winter night. I approached him, yet he breathed, and looked at me. He stared at me like no animal could. He gazed into my eyes, a wealth of unwanted knowledge showed in that moment. I quickly took out my dagger slashed his throat. He stood.
I kicked him down and stabbed him again, a wild frenzy overtook me. I wanted no more than to hear his breath stop, to see his life pass from those wild eyes. As I started to slash his face, tears ran from my eyes. And he passed and I sat there, with gore on my hands, yet no blood. I removed the arrow, and it was clean, I rolled him over and that is when I saw it. His whole right side was covered in black boils, like fresh tar. It bubbled and burst. The smell was awful and I could feel myself start to gag. I turned my face and dry heaved for a moment. The old hags spoke of this, told us stories to hush the young ones at night. But no one believed it. The elder hunters and even elder priest swore to us it was real. They spoke of talking in alien tongues and walking on two feet, but they were simply ingnored.
But today they were merely a backdrop to me. My family has been dipping into our reserve food, and it has barely been the first month of winter. I needed to find food, and fast. Anya was soon to be weaned off my mother, and she needed the meat badly.
And there, just in the corner of my eye I saw it, a majestic stag. If I moved one more inch he would have seen me. Damn me and my wandering mind. But I believed I could get him. Crouching down, and slowly pulling a arrow from my quiver, making every muscle movement a calculated action, I pulled back the arrow. I'd done this hundreds of times, father teaching me everything I need to know. Yet every time I fear I will miss, every time I am in this position self doubt sneaks in and tells me I am useless, but not this time. I held my breath and let the arrow fly. I heard its song sing to me as it whistled through the air. It him right in the heart. No one else could have made a better shot. I relaxed and started walking to the stag. Yet he had not fallen. He stood there waiting, arrow sticking out of him. This unnerved me greatly; he should have fallen. Then it hit me, no blood from the wound. He just stood there. Maybe he was frozen, a poor victim of being caught out in the winter night. I approached him, yet he breathed, and looked at me. He stared at me like no animal could. He gazed into my eyes, a wealth of unwanted knowledge showed in that moment. I quickly took out my dagger slashed his throat. He stood.
I kicked him down and stabbed him again, a wild frenzy overtook me. I wanted no more than to hear his breath stop, to see his life pass from those wild eyes. As I started to slash his face, tears ran from my eyes. And he passed and I sat there, with gore on my hands, yet no blood. I removed the arrow, and it was clean, I rolled him over and that is when I saw it. His whole right side was covered in black boils, like fresh tar. It bubbled and burst. The smell was awful and I could feel myself start to gag. I turned my face and dry heaved for a moment. The old hags spoke of this, told us stories to hush the young ones at night. But no one believed it. The elder hunters and even elder priest swore to us it was real. They spoke of talking in alien tongues and walking on two feet, but they were simply ingnored.
