The sun was low in the sky, streams of orange, purple, pink, and blue cascading out from the horizon. The soft whimper of a wolf pup accompanied by the final calls of the distant birds peppered the serene silence.
The Hunter sat alone in his tree, his bow dangling behind him on a hook. He was dressed in camo, save the single orange hat on his head. Deer's can't see orange, but hunters can.
It had been hours that The Hunter sat. These were the times he loved the most. Listening to the breeze, wating for the sun to go down. A day with deer is a day with sun and a night with food, and a day without deer, is a day with sun and a night without food. Either way, he got to enjoy this final outstretched sun.
His father used to take him hunting when he was little. Taught him how to use a compound bow, shoot a gun, sight-in his weapons. He knew his bow was sighted for 25 yards. Any closer or farther, he'd have to adjust his aim accordingly. The bow had a draw strength of 60 pound, 29 inch draw; plenty of bow to put down a buck or man alike.
As the sun drooped below the horizon, the Hunter knew it would be time to pack up and head home. Disappointment and hunger panged his gut.
As he reached behind him to unhook his bow, a little doe mosied into view. She was barely more than a fawn. the Hunter's heart raced, his head drenched in sweat. Wouldn't be much, but it would be something. Enough to stave off hunger, at least for the next few days.
the Hunter clipped his release onto the string of his bow. The doe was 15 feet from the tree stummp that designated the 25 yard mark. Once she was in range, and he could comfortably take the shot, she would be as good as dead.
10 feet.
His heart skipped, his hands clammy. It had been days since he'd eaten. He was so hungry. He could taste the backstraps grilled on an open flame, the steaks, the smoked meats, even the tongue. It was all so delicious, he needed to eat.
5 feet
The Hunter pulled back the bowstring, bringing his release, and the string to his cheek, as he peered down his sight, pinning the little green dot at the end of the quad-sight directly on the deer's lungs.
2 feet
The Hunter's finger rest on the release, ready to fire.
1 feet.
Time stopped as The Hunter prepared to fire. Every leaf stopped in the air, the breeze became silent. All the world waited for the shot.
In range.
The Hunter pressed on the lever on the release, as the teeth of the release let go of the string. The arrow launched in an instant towards the deer, zipping below its neck and shoulder, just behind the deer.
The deer lept up, and ran off, unharmed.
The Hunter let out a pained sigh. He would be hungry once again.