KNEE DEEP [P] Jun 19, 2017 21:33:21 GMT -5
Post by Digg Haywood on Jun 19, 2017 21:33:21 GMT -5
Shit, hunting is boring. Digg thought, barely managing to stifle a yawn. He was seated criss-cross applesauce in one of the tree blinds he and Winch had set up a few months back on their trek through the Grey Lands. It was a relatively free zone without a bunch of territory disputes (for now) that meant he and other roamers could hunt and camp without worrying about getting chased off some Carna or Fulsi's turf. "Oh, lord," he sighed, casting his grey eyes to the sky. "I'm so bored I'm sat here thinking about Ring politics." He kept his voice low, an iota above a whisper. Just 'cause he was bored as shit didn't mean he was a shit hunter.
He fancied himself a fair decent shot. All those years cooped up in the blinds back on the ranch with Boone and their Pop paid off. He'd never thought it'd be possible to miss the smell of deer urine, but somehow ... Nah. Scratch that. He didn't miss the smell of deer piss. He missed his brother. And his pop. And ma. And the ranch.
Shit. No. Shake it off, Diggles. Shake it off.
He feigned interest in movement down below, thinking maybe he could distract hisself from hisself long enough to let those thoughts blow away on the breeze like the wind blew away the stank of deer piss. But then his eyes actually caught on something, a flicker of movement below. A buck was picking its way down a wide alley that was pretty much all forest by now, the buildings crawling with ivy and the pavement tore up with roots and grass. Every now and again Digg heard the deer's hoof scrape against the cement. His body hummed with excitement, flicking that little switch in his brain that instantly made hunting a thrill again. He moved slowly, quietly, his body still as he could make it despite the thrum of adrenaline humming through him. Most people thought he wasn't cut out for hunting. He couldn't keep still if his life depended on it, for the most part. But he had the deer in his sights, and there wasn't no way he was gonna let it get free. Winch and Clem needed that meat. They all did.
He knocked an arrow to his recurve bow, running his fingers along the smooth shaft, tickling along the flight as he waited. He waited and waited for what felt like days until he saw his shot and took it. The arrow flew straight and true and the buck went down quick and clean. He couldn't help but let out a hoot as he gathered his gear, slung his bow over his shoulder and scrambled his way the tree and to his kill. In his excitement, he lost his footing on the last branch and slid the rest of the way down; luckily his ass broke his fall and not his bow. He sat for a minute, winded, wondering if it was possible to break your ass bone. He'd broke almost every bone in his body. Didn't recall ever breaking his ass bone, though.
He gave himself a minute to catch his breath before rolling to his knees, then eventually to his feet and half-limped, half-danced over to where the buck lay. It was healthy looking, strong, not likely diseased. A good kill. He kneeled down next to the deer, running his fingers over the fur, admiring it for a moment before he removed his arrow with a soft squelch. He sighed through his nose, leaning back on his heels to survey the scene. He didn't see any imminent threat, so he rummaged around in the grass and dirt next to the deer, gathering a small pile of stones and pebbles. He thought he heard a small shuffle of noise in the distance. Without glancing up, he stacked the stones quickly, but carefully, until there was a small mound next to where the deer rested. Sentimental bullshit his dad had taught him. But he couldn't ever bring himself to leave without honoring the life of the deer in some small way.
With that, Digg got to his feet and grabbed the buck by its antlers to drag it to a safer spot where it could be properly cleaned.