The Gentle Hunter

It was early November, the third week of hunting season; he had planned to be alone the entire weekend, trekking all over prime hunting territory. As he was packing his camping gear and hunting equipment, he paused, hoping he would have a more productive time than the previous trips this season. Sometimes, he wondered why he stayed with it at all; often, he would be so tired and discouraged after a weekend out… all alone. He smiled as he reminisced about the time, a few seasons ago, he had chased this beauty all over the countryside, until he tripped and went sprawling—but not before he snared the graceful doe.

In a few moments he was on the highway to the southlands; he had made this trip so many times before: it was so familiar, yet this time something was different about it. This kept nagging at him as he was setting up camp several hours later. He did, though, ceremoniously keep a campfire going most of the awake-hours when he was out camping by himself.

As he dutifully cleaning his gun with meticulous care, he heard a snap of brush coming from the woods, adjacent to his camping area. He shook his head; some lone deer was probably already sizing up the hunter’s situation: wondering who would outsmart the other, or be faster…or deadlier. The deer pranced deeper into the woods. The hunter needed to nap. Work had been a bit of a strain this week, he just wasn’t feeling up to the wandering into the woods, yet.

He tried to doze, but his thoughts kept retuning…cautiously venturing into his sub-consciousness. His thoughts centered on a doe, with somber eyes, who kept prancing in and out of his dreams. He had to get this one, but how? She was much too quick and evasive. When he thought he had trapped her, she would nimbly bound out of his reach. His dreams were his life. Life, as he knew it was so daily, so ordinary; but this mischievous does kept the hunt, yes, and the chase alive…so the hunter was alive.

He tried to make some sense out of this revelation, but as he became more alert and awake, the vision grew hazy. He rose heavily to his feet. Time to get some action going, he reckoned. As he neared the woods, he felt eyes on him, once again. This is going to be easy, he thought to himself; he’d have plenty of venison steaks to take home this time. Close up ahead he saw a flash of white bouncing sporadically, then stop. He stopped. Now, or never he thought…aimed, and fired. The white up ahead bounded out of sight. Damn. It would be a long while before another opportunity would come again.

He sat on a tree stump. At forty-seven degrees, it was cool, but not cold. No yet. It was the nighttime he dreaded. His mind then entered into his daydream world, where he could have anything he wanted. His mind wandered purposefully to his doe. Where was she waiting, and hiding from him? Would she let him have a glimpse of herself? Or would she play it cool? Or make him run until he was exhausted? He closed his eyes. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her warmth…her smooth, but coarse hide, her rapid heartbeat. He jerked awake. Now he realize some understanding of why he has his weekend rituals in the wilderness during hunting season: he could be alone with his thoughts and fantasies without any interruptions. He was at peace, yet very much alive on these hunting trips. He could hunt his doe in these woods. as well as, in this ever-present thoughts of her. He was tranquil in these woods, feeling closer to humans/nature in a spiritual sense than ever before. But, today he had a job to do. People back home were humorously complaining about the lack of steaks this season. He peered into the woods, and made up his mind once and for all to do what he had come so many miles to do.

It had gotten later, nearly six o’clock, he thought. It would be dusk real soon. Wandering deeper into the woods, he once again felt eyes on him. There was a quiet determination in this stride. Hearing rustling, he could sense the doe’s presence. Straining to see in the dimness, he spotted her about twenty-five yards back into the next dense clump of trees. She sensed his purpose in his tense posture; to stick it out with her. She stopped dead. And waited. She would not run from him now. No. The hunter sensed this change in her tactics. They stared at each other for an indefinite while. He quietly and skillfully raised his gun…his finger hesitating on the trigger. The doe looked at him, and blinked. Trusting, fawn-like eyes. Run, you damn animal! he quietly screamed in his head. He wanted to work for his prize, to chase all over…if he had to. No, she would not give him what he so badly needed from her.

He had his pride. His maleness overpowered him: he was here for one mission this weekend. He carefully aimed. All at once, his sight went blurry. This is ridiculous: Am I too tired? The picture of the doe melted before his eyes, and trickled down his cheeks. A huge sob came from deep within him. If I can’t really have her, then I’ll take her! A shot came forth from his gun. Startled, the doe pranced away. He couldn’t see her get away, because of his tears, but knew he had missed. Her. At the very last moment, he had aimed higher, and fired. to save face with his doe.

He was crying freely now. If he had killed her, he would have killed a small part of himself with her. But, he wanted to keep the hunt…the yearning for her, alive. An hour passed. He rose to walk toward his camp. He felt her presence. The hunter looked back, and the doe was looking quizzically at him. She was so beautiful, so self-assured.

He slowly thought…only in my dreams will I hunt to have you again.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Gentle Doe

Five weeks into the deer-hunting season brought very unpredictable weather, that year in the southeastern part of the Midwestern state. It had snowed the week before, although it had all but disappeared, due to considerably warmer temperatures at mid-week. Because of a very late plowing of an almost-neglected field, many roots has been upturned, and the wildlife was nibbling at them, hungrily. A Mother Deer was having a dialoque with herself:

“It has been a very lucky hunting season for my family and friends, and not for the Hunters. At the beginning of the season, there were a lot of hopeful Hunters, eager to take home the heads and steaks of my family. I’ve brought my five offspring, two bucks and three does, to this woods because it isn’t a favorite hunting ground. Hunters have got to navigate a lot of uncleared land before they can set up their camps; one could easily get lost in these woods. I feel it is not traveled by the Hunters because it is undiscovered by everyone, except God Himself. He protects us here.”

She hesitated in her reverie, then went on. “All of my children are intuitive, they sense approaching danger. They are very nimble and escape the powerful rifles. But I brought them here anyway—away from any Hunters, so they could grow up to be adult deer. One Hunter in particular was too persistent, too smart. I had to protect my children. Though, I fear not for any one of them except my first-born: a doe. I worry about her. She’s so inwardly. She is always in such deep thought, with conceptual thinking that far exceeds her family’s understand.

I need to talk with my brooding eldest. She is not as light-spirited as the two youngest…both does, who cavort about, teasing the Hunters. They are both as light-hoofed as they are light-spirited…always outrunning danger. Their two older siblings, both bucks, are handsome and arrogant. Both escape danger again and again: their stately heads are much coveted by the Hunters. …to hang on their walls as prized trophies. My eldest, also a doe, is not the prettiest of my offspring by far; she seems to have a areless attitude, in my opinion. She flirts with trouble—she is too slow. She comes so close to being struck down by the rifles. I must talk with her, alone.”

The next week gave the Mother Deer an opportunity for privacy in a conversation with her eldest:

“Why, my Serious One, do you wander about is such a melancholy state? What is pre-occupying you so? Mother crooned.

“It’s of a nature that we deer have no control,” the doe lamented. “The Hunters will win us, eventually, through their sport: to hunt, chase, shoot, butcher and finally mount the best heads…with such pride. But, what for? It always turns out the same: their rifles are swifter than our legs. It’s always the same, in the end they will over-power us,” she concluded.

“My dear eldest,” the Mother patiently explained, “if it were not for the differences within our animal kingdom, the hierarchy…Life as we know it, would cease to be. It is the fight and instinct for survival that keeps the larger, smarter ones pursuing and conquering the slower of us.”

“But sometimes that is not exactly the way it is,” argued the daughter, “sometimes there is a difference, I can sense this. Some Hunters are a different breed of animal. They look and act like the other Hunters, but they have a deer’s sensitivity. There was this Hunter,” she continued, “a few weeks ago, who could not make up his mind what he wanted to do: Kills me and bring me into his world, or let me run free…in ours. I wanted to play with him. To challenge him. Was his duty to his sports, or to the preservation of the targets of his sport: I stood up to him and his raised rifle!” she said, incredulously.

“My word!” exclaimed her Mother, “what a reckless thing to do? Are you wanting a premature death? Have you no instinctive self-preservation in your soul?” she pelted the questions at her first-born.

The doe was silent.

“I sensed he was different. He just looked at me, somewhat bewildered. An eternity passed. He fired… but jerked his rifle out of aim, at the very last second. And he cried. His heart was not in the hunt,” the doe explained to her mother.

“I pray for you, my troubled Daughter,” Mother Deer simply stated, and she left her eldest’s company.

The doe thought about the conversation with her mother; trying to make sense of the contradictions that were ever-present in her world---her acceptance of them was very difficult: “Run from the Hunter, but surrender to the Hunt.” It is part of the rhythm of our universe. I do not understand,” pondered the doe. “I was playing the game by those rules, but one different Hunter refused to. I chose that time to be the time to sacrifice myself, but it was the wrong time, in the Hunter’s eyes. I do not understand the way of this world,” she sorrowfully commented.

The next week, her Gentle Hunter appeared one bright morning: he was the first Hunter to intrude on the deer’s hidden ground. She remembered who he was, while the Hunter anxiously searched the woods with his eyes, for his beloved doe. He began the diligent preparation of his camp, as always. He had come with someone. She did not like the intrusion of another. The Hunter was hers…and hers alone. The presence of the Intruder confused her. She did not know where she stood with the Hunter, as she once did. She did not know what was in store for herself. She tingled with fear, excitement…and anticipation.

Night fell. Dawn rose. She was up early, drinking from the small stream of water at the far edge of the woods; quite a distance from the Hunter and the Intruder’s camp. They were up early, also. Both were anticipating a fruitful hunting expedition. The doe turned towards the direction of her family; they were still dozing, unaware of the scene before them. She turned back into the direction of both Hunters, swished her white tail and broke into a relaxed jog towards the heavily shaded woods. Both rifles were quickly brought out… raised, aimed…but only one was fired.

“No, oh God, no!!” cried the Hunter. The Intruder’s eyes gleamed with his triumph. He smile did not fade as he turned to the Gentle Hunter. “And why not??!! She’s mine!!” he triumphantly added.

It was too late. The bullet had sunk into her body cavity. Deeply. Many yeards away, Mother Deer jerked up her head at the sound of the Hunter’s rifle, and saw her daughter sink heavily to the ground. The Intruder rushed to look at his kill. The Hunter sought the Mother Deer’s gaze, from many years away. Their eyes were locked. The looks were both of anguish. As the Hunter turned away, out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he detected the Mother Deer nod her head. In approval? He caught her eye again. And it dawned on him…that for one split second they lived in the same universe of unconditional understanding.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Gentle Reunion

The Hunter raised his eyes as his friend jogged up to the fallen doe---a look of glee in his eyes. The Hunter’s eyes were filling with tears: his friend stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the upset in the Hunter’s face.

The Hunter mumbled, “I asked you not to shoot this one. Why did you ignore my request?”

“And what a request, man!” exclaimed the Intruder. “We are here for a purpose—this is a sport called ‘hunting,’ have you forgotten that? We shoot to kill these deer for steaks, to mount any trophy heads; we get away from it all on these trips. We are alone. Out in these woods. Now, what is YOUR PROBLEM with that?” His friend was utterly beside himself with the Hunter’s odd behavior.

The Hunter didn’t say anything for a long moment, as he felt he couldn’t His slow reply was hesitantly spoken. “This doe has been roaming this area the last two seasons…that I have been aware of.” He stroked her still-warm body with his hand. ‘Odd,’ he thought, ‘there is barely any blood. It must be clotting where the bullet entered.’

“We had a little game going,” the Hunter continued, “it was rather unclear as to whom was the hunted and who was the pursing hunter. She was so quick, yet evasive…” She’d just tease me so…just when I thought I had outsmarted her, she would appear before me; so calm, controlled, coy and mocking. But, I never really wanted to kill her. And I think she somehow knew that.”

“Here, have a beer,” the Intruder soothingly suggested. He had reached into his knapsack, and pulled two relatively cold ones out. “Maybe we ought to go prepare something to eat….it’s been a long time since breakfast. It’s probably going to be a longer afternoon, judging by the mood you’re in. The Intruder downed a second beer.

“Yes, let’s go back to camp, we’ll eat, and then come back to dress her,” absently remarked the Hunter. His friend frowned. This was not the usual procedure that was followed in trips past.

Still frowning, the Intruder blurted out, “Yes, but what about other animals finding her carcass and …”.

In a manner very uncharacteristic of the Hunter, he snapped, “She had no enemies. The other animals will not bother her. LET’S GO!!!!”

The two walked back to their camp in silence. After several minutes, the friend started chattering about hunting rifles---both men were in the market for new ones sometime this season. When they reached the crude campsite, still over half-put-together after one night had already passed. The Hunter, without a word, busied himself with heating the homemade stew that he had brought from home. The Intruder, feeling totally rebuffed, and ignored by the Hunter, quickly downed his third beer. He started, “Look, I’m sorry…”

“Let’s forget it,” the Hunter interrupted. He pushed his plate aside, stood up, grabbed the tarp, and headed in the direction of the shooting, some forty minutes ago.

“I’ll so get her, and drag her back to camp, where we can dress her.” He sharply shot a look at his friend, who was now moving about with deliberate slowness, caused by the rapid succession that he downed his three beers.

‘He’ll probably be in no shape to help with the doe’s field dressing,’ the Hunter thought to himself.

On the way to the site of the fallen doe, he searched for some sort of marker to place where the doe was struck down. So engrossed in his search for a marker, he had unknowingly walked over the spot where the doe had once lain. Quickly realizing his error, he retraced his steps, then stopped---utter puzzlement was on his face.

He glared all around. “Who would have taken the time to drag that heavy animal: Hunters do not steal each other’s catches—“ And that was a rule in these parts. “No blood, no sign of anything being dragged through the tall grass…How in the Hell??!! What happened to her?” the Hunter asked of the blue skies, cold breeze and Nature all around. He thought quickly back over the last thirty minutes: “Well, I HAVE had a beer and a half…maybe it really went to my head!” He paused and shook his head. “Like HELL!!!!” he concluded.

Something eerie was going on. Goosebumps chilled him for a few minutes.

The Hunter walked over to a tree, with low enough branches; he dropped the tarp and swung himself up into the tree, and quickly climbed about 10-12 feet up. Instead of sitting in the crook of the two branches, he squatted on the board branch. Skillfully, he balanced himself, rifle within reach, as if he was going to defend himself, or attack someone or something else. He racked his brain, trying to figure out this bizarre turn of events this November afternoon, on an up-until-now uneventful hunting trip.

He quietly said aloud, “Whatever the reason for all of this is….it is beyond my understanding.”

After about thirty minutes had elapsed, the Hunter’s head jerked up: he was sure he had heard the faint snapping of some brush and leaves, as someone or something entered the heavily wooded area. The Hunter peered I the dim light of the woods. About three hundred feet up ahead, he made out a buck, walking in the hunter’s direction. ‘My god, he’s beautiful,’ the Hunter thought. The massive antlers, the tall, muscular physique, the stately gait of the buck were all unlike anything the Hunter had ever witnessed before on one of his hunting trips. But apparently, the Hunter in the tree wasn’t the only one taken with this buck: the buck’s companion strolled into view. In the meantime, the buck was almost directly under the branch on which the Hunter was perched. The buck looked up at the Hunter and then at his companion, another deer. He then quietly took leave of the entire area. The deer drew closer to the tree. The Hunter drew in a shaky breath. It was HIS DOE.

The doe’s Hunter was patient. Logic basically ruled his thought processes, or so led others to believe. His FEAR of what was transpiring unexplained before him dissipated. The quivering inside of his outwardly macho hunter-self stemmed from another emotion. He waited…tensely, yet trusting he would be enlightened in his ignorance. He squinted down out of the tree…’if you aren’t who I think you are, there sure is a close resemblance,’ he thought to himself.

They gazed at one another. No, the doe knew that this Hunter would not aim, and the Hunter knew that she would not run from him…not now, and not anymore. And he spoke to her, if only in his thoughts.

‘Why have you come back? What is here in the forest that you have to come back to?’ he thought, slowly….with trepidation.

Her incredibly large “doe-eyes” merely looked at him. An expressionless look. She bent down to nibble on some grass. ‘I am here to fulfill my promise to you,’ came an unspoken voice from underneath the Hunter on his branch.

‘I did not die. I have a very strong will to survive, to live. I swell in the same place as you: in another time, another existence. You don’t see, do you?’ came the serene question and explanation.

The Hunter hook his head, in disbelief. ‘Yes,’ he exclaimed, in the same mental communication as his doe was evoking. ‘I am a misfit, a mistake. A bizarre twist of unexplained Fate. I don’t enjoy my life as I know life on this earth.’

The Doe disregarded his last statement…or so he thought.

‘You know, that several hours ago was the first time that you ever indicated any of your feelings about me—but you did not say them to me, but to your friend, over my carcass. How perceptive. You understand my game. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’ she mused.

She continued, ‘Yes, I know you would rather be in these woods, hunting; it comes naturally to you. You are drawn to these woods, and the deer kingdom. Is that not ture? Does that strike you as strange? You are a loner individual. Life is boring for you. You like games, excitement, hunts, teasing…’

The wind had grown cooler. The Hunter looked into the distance for any stirring from his friend, the Intruder.

‘No, no,’ she said, ‘for a while longer, you are not at the place with your friend…you are with me, and me alone.’ She paused and looked quizzically at the Hunter.

‘Do you believe in me? What I say to you…my prophecies? My observations?’ Mesmorized, the Hunter nodded.

‘Everything you say is true. I do not understand, but I do not fear what is happening.’ She made one last query.

‘Do you believe in your destiny, your purpose…as I believe in you and yours?’

He hesitated. ‘I---do no belie----‘

He heard a snap of brush, and think it was his friend, he elevated his gaze. No sign of his friend anywhere. His eyes searched the ground. The doe was gone.

The Hunter sat perched in his tree for another hour. He knew what has taken place in the brief interlude prior to now---was his own reality. And he was quiet…

As he roused himself from his perplexing daydream, he wondered where his friend had been all of this long interlude. He looked at his watch. Only about forty-five minutes had elapsed!! Through sleep-squinted eyes, he searched the ground below him.

Remember his doe’s words, he felt a different consciousness present. The rules and guidelines of his lifelong existence were not a part of the awareness he found permeating his being.

A quiet imagined voice broke into his awareness…and he found he was in the grips of the doe’s communications, once again. He closed his eyes and listened.

‘My gentle Hunter, I’ve come back to you to help you in your unwilling transition to the world you find so alluring; back where you strayed, she offered.

The Hunter shook his head. His lips groaned. ‘No, no. I do not know you nor what you are saying to me.’

The Doe tried again. ‘You are sitting there in a warp between two worlds, a foot in each. You’ve allowed yourself to come this far in my drawing you to my world. Would not you be thought a crazy lunatic if you even thought of relating this to your Earth World friends?’

The graceful doe appeared in the opening about thirty feet from the tree in which the Hunter was statuesquely perched.

‘Don’t you remember…three years ago, the lagte October? A forgotten cear trap caught you in both kind legs in a painful vice drip? Holding you so you could not get away? Tearing your flesh?’

Tears filled the Gentle Hunter’s eyes.

‘Go ahead. Raise up your trouser legs. You will find scars on the front and backside of each leg,’ she quietly urged.

In an absent-minded trance, he hiked up a pant-leg, and saw white scars at regular intervals at the base of his bulging calk muscle. As he bard the other leg for inspection, the Doe cautiously stood under the branch on which the Hunter sat.

An odd feeling crept into the groin of the Hunter. Man and animal were about ten feet apart---and he wanted an intimacy with this beauty that was forbidden by the laws of his world.

“NO!!!!” The terror screamed out from the Hunter’s soul.

He took aim with his rifle and fired expertly into the breast of the animal.

Her eyes met his before they closed for the last time.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Hunter huffed and puffed as he dragged the slain doe on the worn tarp to the campsite. It was early evening, and dusk was rapidly turning into inky blackness. His friend was rousing himself from an intoxicated sleep.

“Where the hell have you been?” he good naturedly yelled to the Hunter.

“Well, I tried scouting the woods before I brought back your kill. Guess I fell asleep in the tree. Well, here she is.” The Hunter spoke without any enotion. The Intrude shook his head.

“We can’t dress her in the dark. Here,” he motioned, “we’ll tie another tarp over her. She’ll wait until morning. Come,…have some campfire stew.” The Intruder was rather sensitive in his manner as he addressed his friend.

The Hunter bowed his head and silently prayed as he never had before. The doe was still warm, of course, since she was alive only thirty minutes prior. She would cool and stiffen by morning. There would be no questions from his friend about this detail in the light of the morning, and the forgotten effects of the beer. There would be no questions at all.

The two friends lounged lazily around the fires until about 9:00[m that evening; both partaking of the never-ending supply of beer that the friend had brought.

“Man, I’m going to turn in. You coming?” the Hunter’s friend spoke as he unsteadily rose to his feet.

“New. I’ll watch the fire go out,” the Hunter refused, wondering why he was not getting drowsy as well.

The embers were about out. The Hunter groggily turned his head as he heard a snap of undergrowth some feet away from the nearest thickening of the woods. He rolled over and reached for his rifle that he always kept propped nearby. Even though he moved ever so slowly, some dried pine needles under his weight made a sound that abruptly halted the even, steady crunches of footsteps several hundred feet away.

A long tense silence. The steps from the woods began again, but the Hunter became aware of another sound. Something was being dragged along the ground—something lightweight that was catching on the brush growing close to the ground. He was awake and alert. He cocked his head and heard his friend’s somewhat loud, yet muffled snoring from the tent about seventy feet away. The light of the campfire’s embers was very dim---yet it was reflected in the eyes of an animal somewhere in the darkness. From his knapsack he fumbled for a flashlight, knowing the bright beam of light would very well stun whatever was stalking his campsite…or the Hunter, himself.

He grabbed the handle of the flashlight, yanked if free from the canvas bag, and simultaneously flicked on the light. Standing tall and graceful was the doe. Without a start, his eyes slowly moved to her hind quarters. A rope encircled her flank, and he recognized it as the rope that he had tied her up in the tarp a few hours earlier. And sure enough, the doe was dragging the tarp behind her.

He briefly considered blowing out his own brains with his rifle, thought it would be rather difficult. He almost smiled at the thought. But—his blood began to pulsate in his body. With anticipation….of the unknown that he was about to experience. The reality of the hunting trip and his friend once again melted away---at the moment the world held just himself, and the campfire’s embers glowing in the eyes of his doe. Her gentle voice probed his consciousness with her unspoken words.

‘Why do you run from me? I speak the truth…you know that. You’ve been chasing me for three hunting seasons,’ she remarked. ‘You always wanted a taste of the hunters’ world. You couldn’t be happy in your world…our world.’ Silence. She continued.

‘In death, you chose to awaken in another world—a world of men and rifles and wars. Yet, you are yearning for something.’ The doe pawed the ground with her front right hoof. And waited.

The Gentle Hunter slowly rose to his feet. His head was beginning toache, terribly. The looked at one another. Without blinking.

‘Your faith in me is strong…stronger than your doubt in your own sanity,’ she pointed out. ‘You believe in the freedom and simplicityh of my world. It’s we dumber creastures who are more accepting of God of all things. Of the order of His universe. No judicial systems, no massacres, no drugs, no cuclear war. Just God’s Law.’

The Hunter queried, ‘What is the meaning of this?’

She replied with patience, ‘You are struggling within yourself about your purpose in life. Your faith in me is a start, but it is not all of the answer to your question. That faith is leading you back to faith in God. He is just using me to bring you back to where you need to be. You’ve made a mistake in the life you chose this time; that’s all.’

The Hunter was now standing in front of the gentle doe. His arms circled her neck. Once again, he could feel her warmth…her smooth yet coarse hide. Her rapid heartbeat.

He buried his face in her neck. He mumbled, ‘what do I do? How do I get back to you? What is the journey back going to do to me as I am now. What do you want from me?’ he beseechingly whispered.

His passion for his lady was mounting, and his headache was splitting his head

above both ears. He slowly released his hold on her neck, and deliberately ran both hands down her back to her flank. The doe stood very still. The Hunter’s heart stood still, as well. The Hunter’s heart stood still, then pounded to match the pounding in his groin and in his ears. He eased himself around until he was facing her flank. The doe looked back over her left should at him. She caught his eye as he was rubbing his throbbing head. between his fingers above both ears, she noted two growing protuberances. And smiled. And well-formed antlers, they were.

The Hunter knew there was no returning. His fingers could no longer feels the growing antlers. Both hands were becoming heavier, the fingers joining together and becoming only two. And elongating. Simultaneously, he kicked up the tarp to cover himself and his bride as he unabashedly grasped her belly, as he lay across her back. With one gentle thrust, he entered her world with an ecstasy he had never known.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The hungover Intruder stirred in his sleep. The liquor had worn off. It was morning---brisk, clear and bright, and irritating him as he searched for aspirin in his knapsack.

He focused on his friend’s sleeping bag. It was rolled out flat, and still zipped closed, as if he hadn’t slept in it. He stumbled outside the tent to the cold campfire. No Hunter. He sharply looked by the pick-up truck. No tarp. No doe.

“Damn you, Hunter! You stole my game,” he shouted, anger distorting his face, and flaring his nostrils. A slight commotion in the woods briefly distracted him. Without grabbing the Hunter’s rifle, he entered the dimness of the thicket. There before him was a young doe with a tarp tied to her hind quarters and a buck pressing close to her, nuzzling her neck.

In his angry movements, the Intrude caught the attention of the of the two animals, who sized him up but did not run. He backed away, uncertain and trembling. In a few seconds, he had retrieved his rifle, and headed back into the woods.

But of course, the deer were both gone. The man now ran to the spot where they had both stood, moments earlier. A strap from the tarp was half-buried under the pine needles on the forest floor. Something shiny caught his eyes. He bent to retrieve the metal object. It was a keyring with a picture of a beautiful doe on a tag. The ring held the keys to the pick-up truck. They were his friend’s key’s! A sudden stirring in the brush took his attention off the object in his hand.

He sharply looked up and squinted into the dimness. In the distance, he saw

the buck yanking with all his might to free himself from a bush with which he had become ensnared. In a flash, the Intruder raised his rifle and fired. But in the split second before, the buck had freed himself and taken off in a fun as the man took careful aim.

The enraged Intruder took a few strides to the bush, and bent over to examine

the torn swatch of red and black. It was a piece of his friend’s hunting jacket. With evil in his voice he spoke to the darkness,

“Yes, I will hunt to have you again….both of you!” he said with menace.

And in a new-found fear, he really wondered if he could actually do that. The Hunter-buck pitied his friend from a distance….from his world.

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