The dying scream of the deer that I shot fills the air. The early morning breeze ruffles my hair and the tree branches above my head. I run over and grab the deer and head back to my camp. I push through a combination of bushes and hanging vines and I enter a small clearing in the forest. I can't help but arvel once more at the beatiful camp that i've built over the past 5 years. At 16 years of age, I know alot about survival. I never went hunting with my father, though my older and younger siblings always did. It was a learning experience. Ok, back to the present! I bring the deer over to a slab of rock that i dragged here a year ago. I grab a stone dagger that I sharpen daily for this precise job. Butchering. I'm good at it, because my parents always forced me to do the dirty work like butchering, scrubbing the floors, e.t.c. Sorry, no more flashbacks, promise. Hunter's cross. The Hunter's Cross is an old and sacred tradition dating back to the 13th century, over 100 years ago!
Once I finish butchering the deer, I sort the guts, the meat and skin. I put the skin away so i can clean and reuse the skin for clothing or as a grip. I give the guts to Romeo, my Neopolitan Mastiff, instead of throwing them away.
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I start up a fire and start cooking the deer. I enjoy the crackling of the fire and I remeber my childhood. Playing with Robin in the meadows behind our estate. I also remeber Jul's smile and a sudden warmth fills my chest. Fuck, I had another flash back! I'm so sorry. I leave the camp to go hern gathering, because I'm really low on mint. All of a sudden, I hear someone call my name.
