80 Summer, 512 Hess shifted a fraction of an inch to the right, easing some of the numbness in his calf. From his position in the crook of the tree, he had an excellent line of vision on the game trail below. The pre-dawn darkness would soon be lifting, and he kept his eyes trained on the spot the deer seemed most likely to appear. They were shy creatures, wary and with an excellent sense of hearing, and sight. Staying absolutely motionless would be critical, for this wasn’t the best deer stand he’d ever chosen. But it seemed, since the storm, that the animals had had their lives and way of existence turned as upside down as the Inarta had. Many of the trails had been abandoned, for reasons he could not discern. He had spent long hours casting about, in a systematic and planned way, to discover where the game had gone, what routes they were taking, and where he could best set his snares or hunt for them with his bow. Summer was drawing to a close and the deer were now fat enough to warrant taking the time to try to bring down a few. Usually he went for the smaller stuff – rabbits, hares, game birds, porcupines, marmots – setting snares and also bow hunting to bring in a brace. But in the fall and early winter, the larger animals, the deer and elk and mountain sheep, were fattened up for survival in the cold and the babies were weaned and able to survive on their own, for the most part. So it was that Hess was perched up in an oak that grew at the edge of a small clearing, watching the far side, waiting for the sun, and the animals who became active when Syna’s first rays began to touch the canopy. His ears were sensitive, and he had trained for many years to stretch them as far as he could when listening for the sounds of nature. Within a few more minutes, the quiet that had fallen on the woods with the settling down of the night dwellers began to rustle and shift, with the movements of those who were just waking. |