- 16th, Summer, 518
Remember; look up and around every three steps. That way, when you’re tracking your prey, you can always keep track of where you’ve been, and where you’re going.
With a grunt, the man dropped to a knee, his bow coming up slowly. There. Fresh tracks. Now, all he had to do was find the deer that had made the tracks, bring it down, and drag it back to The Stained Pelt, and then to Kyoles. With a smile, which went un-seen under the half-mask, he rose and began to follow the tracks, his father’s advice fresh in his head as he advanced. As he moved, his left hand went over his shoulder, and drew an arrow from the quiver slung across his back. Setting it to the string, he began to track his prey.
Don’t just use your eyes, either. You were born with a nose, two ears, and a mouth. Use them. Smell the air. Listen to the world around you. Taste it. If you’re aware of what’s going on around you, you’re less likely to lose your prey to a poacher.
Another lesson from his father, and the man smiled again. He was right, of course. So he pulled his half-mask down slightly, and sniffed at the air. A sharp scent brought his head down slightly, and he smiled a third time. Kneeling, he lowered a hand to the ground and allowed his hand to hover. Warmth still rose from the pile of spoor, and he stood again. The deer was nearby. Now, to find it, bring it down, and drag it back to The Pelt, and then Kyole’s. And then he’d be back out again the next day, to bring down another deer. After all, both places paid well for hide and meat, and, while he wasn’t the best at what he did, he was competent at it.
With a small sigh, he lifted his waterskin up, removed the cork, and took a long drink. Shouldn’t take too much longer to find this prey, he thought to himself as he corked the skin and let it drop, to hang at his waist once more. Which was when his eye caught movement, and he froze. In front of him, in the shadows. A deer? If so, it was a big one. Or, an elk. Either way, a well placed shot would drop it.
Raising his bow, he pulled back on the string, every so slowly, and aligned his shot.
Breath…
Breathe…
And when you’re ready, push your fingers off the string, Don’t let it roll. You’ll change the spot where your arrow hits by letting the string roll.
The words of his father still fresh in his mind, he let out his breath, and then took in another deep one, before letting the string fly free, and with it, the arrow. A whistle through the air, and the animal kicked off the ground, and then bolted, with a squeal, and with the mans arrow firmly embedded in it’s stomach. The man lowered his bow and took another breath, before he moved forward, to where the animal had been. Kneeling, he ran a finger gently over the ground and then brought it up when he had what he was looking for. Blood. Pulling his mask down, he licked his finger clean of the blood, nodded, and then turned and began a light jog after his prey. It wouldn’t make it 200 yards, with an arrow in the gut. He could afford to take his time. As long as the Glassbeaks, Grassbears, and Nightlions stayed away.
With a grunt, the man dropped to a knee, his bow coming up slowly. There. Fresh tracks. Now, all he had to do was find the deer that had made the tracks, bring it down, and drag it back to The Stained Pelt, and then to Kyoles. With a smile, which went un-seen under the half-mask, he rose and began to follow the tracks, his father’s advice fresh in his head as he advanced. As he moved, his left hand went over his shoulder, and drew an arrow from the quiver slung across his back. Setting it to the string, he began to track his prey.
Don’t just use your eyes, either. You were born with a nose, two ears, and a mouth. Use them. Smell the air. Listen to the world around you. Taste it. If you’re aware of what’s going on around you, you’re less likely to lose your prey to a poacher.
Another lesson from his father, and the man smiled again. He was right, of course. So he pulled his half-mask down slightly, and sniffed at the air. A sharp scent brought his head down slightly, and he smiled a third time. Kneeling, he lowered a hand to the ground and allowed his hand to hover. Warmth still rose from the pile of spoor, and he stood again. The deer was nearby. Now, to find it, bring it down, and drag it back to The Pelt, and then Kyole’s. And then he’d be back out again the next day, to bring down another deer. After all, both places paid well for hide and meat, and, while he wasn’t the best at what he did, he was competent at it.
With a small sigh, he lifted his waterskin up, removed the cork, and took a long drink. Shouldn’t take too much longer to find this prey, he thought to himself as he corked the skin and let it drop, to hang at his waist once more. Which was when his eye caught movement, and he froze. In front of him, in the shadows. A deer? If so, it was a big one. Or, an elk. Either way, a well placed shot would drop it.
Raising his bow, he pulled back on the string, every so slowly, and aligned his shot.
Breath…
Breathe…
And when you’re ready, push your fingers off the string, Don’t let it roll. You’ll change the spot where your arrow hits by letting the string roll.
The words of his father still fresh in his mind, he let out his breath, and then took in another deep one, before letting the string fly free, and with it, the arrow. A whistle through the air, and the animal kicked off the ground, and then bolted, with a squeal, and with the mans arrow firmly embedded in it’s stomach. The man lowered his bow and took another breath, before he moved forward, to where the animal had been. Kneeling, he ran a finger gently over the ground and then brought it up when he had what he was looking for. Blood. Pulling his mask down, he licked his finger clean of the blood, nodded, and then turned and began a light jog after his prey. It wouldn’t make it 200 yards, with an arrow in the gut. He could afford to take his time. As long as the Glassbeaks, Grassbears, and Nightlions stayed away.
