Chapter 2, part 1

Pulaski County, Southwest Virginia

Aaron Schleigher stepped into the clearing, departing the treeline for the near side of a slight rise running across from the south. It was an unseasonably cold morning, perhaps a few degrees above freezing, with the sky a mix of high dark clouds billowing in from the west giving way to a murky sunrise. There was just enough of a streak of orange mixed into the steely gray to illuminate the early morning ground fog. It's going to be dumping within an hour, he thought. The wind had steadily picked up overnight, but the few showers from the night before had dampened the ground sufficiently to ease his morning work, to an extent.

Aaron nocked the arrow to his bowstring as he ran, almost perfectly silently, across the 60 meters to bottom of the rise. He eased into a crouch, drawing the bowstring of the handcrafted recurve in a steady, quick motion as he sidestepped up the slight rise. With the wind at his back, carrying his scent, as well as any sound, he would only get one chance at a shot. The window of that shot taking place on a still animal would be around 2 seconds, three on the outside. The rise rounded out to a narrow flat at about head height. Aaron slowly stood, so as to see over the rise. He made a quick scan of the foreground, and eased back down, avoiding any hesitation. 40 meters to his left, pointed slightly away, was a small doe, maybe 50 pounds.
He couldn't be picky - this wasn't a trophy hunt, by any means. Anything less than a kill shot meant his family would go hungry. Again.

Aaron had gone without more than once in the past 4 years. But his family didn't deserve it; none of this was their fault. It was his....

He lowered his couch and ascended one final sidestep up the embankment, pivoting to the left to compensate for being a southpaw. He rose in a fluid motion, bearing back to the right, and sighting just above the doe's left shoulder. It tensed, as if shocked, then began to take its first bounding leap as the arrow left the bracer. The arrow struck just forward of the left rear leg with too much of an upward angle for a quick demise. Ms. Doe staggered the landing, and favored her right side as she made the far treeline at half speed. Aaron didn't even bother reaching for a second arrow. It was time to track a bloodtrail.

He found the fletched end of the precious tri-head a few feet from the tree that had sheared its carbon fiber shaft. At about 200 meters back into the thicket, he spotted fresh droppings with a fair amount of blood mixed in, lifting his spirits. With a little luck, he would find the carcass before the rear flanks were tainted from the unfortunate intestinal shot. He picked up his pace, and after another 20 minutes, found the doe still alive lying on her right side in a honeysuckle patch. Aaron pulled his old Ontario combat knife, then placed his knee into the back of it neck, reached around and cut its throat just below the jawline. There was no fight, as if the doe had decided to just accept her fate. He smiled, as he readied his cleaning gear. His family would eat well... for now.