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The Hunt The Hunt
By Vessol
Jorma walked slowly forward, making sure not to make the slightest noise as he advanced on the silent meadow. His target, a large buck, which would provide enough meat for him to survive a good two months on and of course the ivory horns, which he could turn into beautiful jewelry and other such luxuries.
He creped forward more hastily now, he thought he could smell his prey from there. He slowly drew an arrow from his small quiver at his side and set it into his bow, as many times as he had done before, he drew it and took aim. Right when he was supposed to have ended his long journey it was extended, the buck had suddenly caught his sent and had dashed for it. Jorma swore loudly and kicked a nearby tree.
He decided it was time for a small break and took to have his midday meal under a shedding oak. The beautiful colors of autumn were gorgeous, the colors of red and yellow, mixed with green and orange brought the imagination of all, as if Mother Earth was shedding her beautiful coat of summer and getting ready for the cold harsh winter. Jorma still liked winter as much, the silence in it, all sounds muffled by the wonders of the soft white snow, the sound it made when you stepped on it with a ski, the taste of it. Jorma preferred nature to the harsh towns of which his father had told him stories about, where men begged in the street for food and one could not survive on themselves, but had to survive on others.
As he slowly ate some dried meat from the last animal he had killed, he remembered it all. It had been a marvelous late summer day, with summer still there, but autumn creping up. He had been tracking this specific doe for quite some time; it had been injured and was slowly falling behind its herd. Jorma knew at that time that he had to help Mother Nature this one time and set off after it. After many days of hard tracking and being fooled many a times, he had found his prey, much like his just recent encounter; the doe sensed his presence and made a dash for it, but not before Jorma had set the bane of his arrow into its hide, it continued a good two miles before it collapsed and died under a ancient and gnarled elm. Jorma was proud that day for his success, but was disheartened by the suffering of the poor beast, while it was destined to die, Mother Nature was less happy of the taking if she suffered for it, as she is connected to all living things. After that Jorma had set on to always make a perfect and clean kill, with one thump in the side and then dead.
Jorma had hunted ever since he was a young boy, he father had taught him how to survive in the wild, as it was necessary for his life. He was taught how to track, shoot a bow, skin and gut, and properly cook each part. With this knowledge he had been surviving off these skills for three winters now, ever since he had left on his fourteenth spring. He could remember that day with both excitement and dread, he knew that he had great responsibility now, his own life, but he knew if he even messed up once, he would not survive. That day his father gave him a mountain ram quiver, made from the bones of a kill he had made when he was Jorma’s age. With one final blessing from his family he had set off to live his own destiny.
Ever since then he had lived off the land, he had migrated and had lived off of hunting and foraging, only recently he decided to build a small cabin near the small village of Juusuko, where he wished to impress a young lady that was of his age, Eliina was her name, he thought that she was a sprit of Mother Nature herself. Jorma had decided that he would build and then hunt, while living off what he hunted he would build some more. Jorma thought to himself that perhaps this might be his last hunt, which from now on he would settle down and live off of farm animals or fishing or something like that. The very idea repulsed Jorma and almost made him want to stay out here forever. But, he decided that he must get on with the hunt, no matter the circumstances of his return, he was in the present now and he had to think about it. He grabbed his gear and leaped off following the trail that the buck had left.
After many hours he had noticed that the foolish animal had left easily noticeable tracks and he had no difficulty following it. By nightfall he had followed it a good ten miles. Jorma dropped his gear and made a simple shelter to protect him if it were to rain. As soon as his head hit the pine needle and leafy pillow he was fast asleep.
Dawn soon awoke him far too soon. He looked out at the glade of grass in front of his shelter, its morning coat of dew shining in the rays of the sun. It was then that he caught sight of his buck. He did not believe it at first, he must be dreaming. But here it was, completely real and grazing on the nearby grass.
He silently pulled an arrow from his mountain ram-quiver and grabbed his bow, thanking the sprits that he had left the string on. He had silently notched it and took aim. He remembered his goal that he had vowed. He closed his eyes, uttered a quick prayer, and then released. There was a quick thump and the buck fell down, dead.
He had succeeded in what he had set out to do. He started eating breakfast, the last of his provisions, which he had brought. He was lucky to have come across this animal at this time. He then had a sudden urge and went to skinning his buck. After about an hour of careful cuttings and incisions, he had a good pelt which he would later tan, and use to make winter clothing. He then hastily gutted the buck, removing its organs and meat and putting them in piles. He then took the heart and put it under a great oak and uttered a long prayer to the sprits. They had truly blessed him today brought his buck to him; he was truly in their debt.