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It was a cool evening in the woods outside Scornubel where his family made their home. The breeze blew lightly against his face as he stalked his way through the brush, doing his best to follow the tracks as his father had taught him. He had been tracking the herd since the early morning hours, slowly following what signs he could find while checking the wind regularly—he couldn't risk any potential game catching his scent and fleeing the area he had been scouting for the season. The mud on his arms had partly dried and crusted over, and the smoke-smell from the morning fire was beginning to fade. Eventually, he made his way to a glade he had tended for years after his father—planted with a wide variety of feed for the deer: red clover, alfalfa, two apple trees that had grown tall and broad in the years his family had lived there, along with patches of corn and soybeans.
He climbed one of the taller, thicker trees at the edge of the meadow and waited. He knew that around this time a few of the doe would pass through, and when he had last taken his headcount, their numbers had been a bit too high. That was why he had focused on trailing their usual route. He watched some come and go, opting not to shoot since they would be good breeders for a few more years. Finally, he saw a doe, more mature than the others—this was the one he would bring home. He waited until she grew distracted with a patch of clover before he moved to draw his bow. Gauging the distance—about thirty-five meters—he took aim. He steadied his breath and drew the arrow back. He had done this time after time; it was always the same—a silent prayer to the Horned Lord Cernunnos, giving thanks and honor for the life he would take. At last, he loosed the shot, watching silently as the deer reared up violently before bolting into the woods once more.
He finally let out his held breath, then climbed down and waited. Crossing the meadow, he went to one of the apple trees and traced his hand over the bark. It brought back memories of when he had first learned to hunt with his father. He remembered the excitement of bringing down his first deer—but when they had tracked it to where it lay dying, he learned that day that the deer was not just game to be brought home, but a living creature whose life he had ended. He gave the deer time to pass before following the drops of blood to where it hid. It hadn't made it a long distance when he found it. It was still. As he moved to gut the animal, he laid it on its side and set to work, cleanly cutting through and removing the inedible parts first and setting them aside. The heart, liver, and kidneys he wrapped carefully in linens before setting them into a pouch. Then he took a nearby stick and used it to prop open the carcass to allow the rest to cool. While he waited, he took the inedible parts and set them upon some nearby stones for the animals to take.
As he walked, he saw what appeared to be an abandoned hut, though as far as he knew there wasn't anyone living in this area of The Reaching Woods, so he went to investigate. The building had certainly seen better days: rot had taken to most of the branches and wood, and the structure leaned to the side, the front conveniently having no door, instead being an open face with a sheet—now worn and covered in dirt and mold—laying beneath. There wasn't anything of clear use or value that he could see; he hadn't expected there to be, but as he looked about the small structure, he couldn't shake the sense of familiarity that it held. Finally, he caught a bit of rusted metal in the corner of his eye. As he gently pulled the object up, he found it was a small, simple box with nothing more than a latch barely holding it closed. Gently, he opened it. Inside were a few river stones along with an old bear claw. It was then he realized the old hut he was in was his old hideout from when he was a boy—he had built it with his father many years ago; he couldn't have been more than a decade old. The bear claw had been a gift from his father after his first hunt, a token of his first lesson in the way of his people. He took the claw and gently tucked it into his pocket before setting the box back down. The sun was starting to set, meaning he made to get home with his quarry for his mother. So, he went and hoisted the deer over his shoulder and took one more look at the old hideaway before setting off back home to his mother.
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