ALWAYS YOURS ── multifandom

XII. Beneath a Crimson Moon

The air hung heavy with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, a humid blanket pressed against your skin. The sky, a vast canvas of inky black, was sparsely dotted with the winking diamonds of distant stars. A single, yellow-tinged bulb from the porch light of the abandoned cabin bled into the darkness, creating a pool of unnatural light that stretched across the forest floor. The only sound was the steady chirping of crickets, punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves in the summer breeze.

Your senses were heightened, every prickle on your skin a potential sign of danger. You moved with the stealth of a seasoned hunter, your boots sinking softly into the dew-laden grass. The smell of musk and wildness drew you forward, a magnetic pull that intensified with each measured step. Ahead, a silhouette emerged from the shadows - a magnificent buck, its antlers branching like gnarled limbs against the dark backdrop. It had strayed from the forest's embrace, drawn by the lure of the nearby clearing.

You were a ghost in the night, a silent observer in the natural drama unfolding before you. A knot of anticipation tightened in your stomach, a thrilling mix of fear and excitement. The buck, unaware of your presence, continued to graze, its powerful head lowered as it nibbled on the succulent leaves of a wild berry bush.

The image of the kid, his face etched with youthful determination, flashed in your mind. You both had been sent to the outskirts of the forest, stationed in the abandoned cabin, tasked with a mission shrouded in secrecy. This buck, its presence a whisper in the night, was more than just a prize for the hunt. It was a symbol, a sign, a clue that whispered of a greater danger lurking within the heart of the wilderness.

You tightened your grip on the worn leather of your hunting rifle, the cool metal a comfort in the humid night. The buck, oblivious to the danger that lurked in the shadows, continued to graze, its majestic presence a beacon in the dark. The forest, a tapestry of ancient secrets, held its breath, waiting for the next move in this silent, deadly game.

The moment of decision arrived, a gut-wrenching twist of guilt and necessity. You squeezed the trigger, the report a sharp crack that echoed through the silent forest. The buck, caught in the crosshairs of your aim, stumbled and fell, its massive form collapsing onto the soft earth with a bone-jarring thud. A scream, a guttural, pained bellow, ripped through the night, a sound that tore at your soul. The blaster shot, aimed for the heart, had struck true.

As you watched the animal struggle for its last breath, the weight of the deed pressed down on you. It wasn't the way you were supposed to hunt, the way you were taught. Obi-Wan Kenobi, your mentor, your guide, had drilled it into you: the Force guided the Jedi, not the destructive power of a blaster. You were supposed to find peace in the balance of life and death, not bring about a violent end.

But the mission, the urgency of it all, had clouded your judgement. The weight of the moment, the responsibility you carried, had forced your hand. You could have used the lightsaber, a weapon of precision, a tool of the Force. You could have ended its life quickly, cleanly. But something, a fear that gnawed at the edges of your mind, had driven you to choose the blaster. Perhaps it was the fear of failure, the fear that you wouldn't be able to control the lightsaber, that your emotions would overwhelm you, that your hand would shake.

The buck lay still now, its struggles finally stilled. The silence that followed, a deafening vacuum in the wake of its final cry, was heavy with remorse. You looked at the body, its form now a tragic symbol of your choice. The image of Obi-Wan's stern face, his words echoing in your mind, was a stark reminder of your lapse in judgement. You had chosen the path of violence, and the echoes of that decision would linger long after the dust had settled.