"You protected this forest from the cat from the mountain. I do not know how to thank you except for staying with you."
Man entered the forest other than to hunt. One such hunter, The Great Hunter, has a history in the forest. When he goes missi...
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The lion was in front of me. His blonde covered jaw was roaring at me, but I was frozen unable to move. The fawn was safe in the thicket. I made sure the lion would come after me. I prayed that it did at the time as I ran as heavily as I could.
Running and walking heavily to create sound was something my father would have rolled over in his grave. He had been a big game hunter in Africa and taught me to always remain quiet when hunting. My father hunted until the day he died, making a name for himself as one of the best in the world. It was something he bragged about; his only reason for living I used to tell myself. He never came to my graduations nor my sports events. Always in Africa hunting and I had resented him for it until I began to hunt myself when I was 20. He took me on one of his hunts in Africa and I took down my first Cape Buffalo. It began to be something I enjoyed and continued to do with my father, hoping that he would notice me if I got the biggest deer with the biggest rack of antlers but all it got me was a pat on the back. Years later when my daughter, Darby, was born, I told myself I would never be like my father, and I would be there to cheer her own. I made her the number one priority of my life, and I knew I was neglecting my wife. But selfishly, I didn't care. I only wanted to make sure my daughter didn't hate me or doubt if I loved her or not. I hoped I had succeeded. I was there was she graduated from high school, boot camp, and college. When she was in Iraq, I went to hunt to clear my head. I didn't want to think of my daughter on a battlefield being shot at, scared, or hurt.
A buck I had never seen before came into the clearing. I brought up my rifle and aimed with my scope. My finger inched to the trigger. I aimed for the soft muscle behind the left shoulder that would make the bullet pierce through the lungs for an immediate kill. The immediate kill I always strived for. The buck, however, turned and I cursed under my breath. It looked straight at me through the scope, and I looked into his brown eyes. I saw fear. Fear never bothered me before, but something about it this time made me lose my breath. The buck's eyes were the same shade of brown as Darby's. All the thoughts of Darby being shot at, screamed, feeling scared, and waking up in fear every day made tears fill my eyes. I lowered the rifle to use my trigger hand to wipe the tears that flowed down my cheeks away. I laid down my rifle pointing it away from me and sobbed into my hands.
I never hunted again, and I was glad for it.
As I stare at this lion rearing back, I can't remember if I told her I loved before I left for the forest.
A tear fell down my cheek. I knew I needed to get further away.
I prayed my daughter wouldn't come look for me. I was the one that forgot my gun and my knife.
I hope my daughter would forgive me.
"Darby, forgive me." I whispered as I turned around and ran away from the lion, which came bounding after me with a roar so loud it ran through my ears until it was the last thing I heard.
