Hunting

Scott grabs a backpack, loads his favorite gun, and treks into the woods. The air flows into his lungs cold and exhales a sparse mist. Six inches of fresh snow slow his pace. He surveys the land one-step at a time with his eyes and his ears. Birds hunt for food high above the trees in circular patterns. He hikes deeper into the woods, and the snow depth starts to weaken his muscles.

A few miles into the blistering rays of reflecting sun, Scott sets up a perfect perch, overlooking a large field next to a nearly frozen pond. He waits. A bush shakes in the wind and a hollow tree whispers a note. Scott's eyes widen in the scope of his gun at a beautiful doe near the pond. He aims. Scott takes in a breath and concentrates.

The doe's head perks up. Scott tenses. He squeezes the trigger and shuts his eyes. The doe falls.

He moves in close; a left hoof kicks him back.

Hawks dive down from the sky and peck out Scott's eyes. Talons rip into his limbs holding him down. The hawks open his stomach. The doe joins them and eats the kill.

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