I Am A Flyer

Stranger from the Sky

For a long two minutes the chase kept up, until some deer began drawing ahead of the herd while others began to fall back. The stronger ones took the lead of the flight and the weaker animals began to straggle behind. And still, Jett did not notch an arrow to his bow. He kept running, kept waiting. . . waiting for the right moment.

The animals' sides were heaving, white froth flying from their mouths. They were growing tired. And so was Jett, as his own sides were aching, his legs burning from the effort. But not yet - just a little more, just a bit longer...

A sudden flurry of movement finally separated one deer from the rest as it stumbled. It was an old creature, weak and lame, and it was unable to keep up the pace. This was the one. Jett slowed a little, reaching over his shoulder for a raven-fletched arrow. Trying to ease his heavy breathing, he carefully notched the arrow and drew back.

The bow wasn't all that large, but it took a good deal of effort for Jett to draw it. He was forced to stop and kneel so his aim would be accurate. Fortunately for him, the old deer stumbled once more, this time falling onto its front knees. As it struggled to rise, Jett took aim. With a soft sigh he released the arrow and turned his head away. He knew that it would fly true, as it always did.

There was a faint whuff, then silence. It was enough to let him know that it was over. Quietly, he stood and walked over to where the fallen deer lay. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he saw that his arrow had dug in between its shoulders and pierced its heart. It had died instantly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, feeling a faint twinge of sorrow. At least the old creature hadn't suffered. And perhaps it was a good thing that he had taken this deer; he saved it the horrible death by a cougar or bear, which would have bitten and mauled it to death.

Shaking that horrible image away, he knelt beside the deer and pulled his knife out of its sheath. After taking a deep breath, he began with a careful cut along the belly. Almost at once, he was assaulted with the hot stench of blood and animal as the guts slopped steamily onto the ground.  It turned his stomach, forcing him to grit his teeth.  He hated the smell, hated the warm blood that drenched his hands, but he forced himself to reach inside.  He needed the meat, or he would starve. Keeping that in mind, he managed to push away the nausea.

After gingerly pulling out the guts, he dug around for the best stuff. The liver was first, as his mother had taught him years ago that it contained all sorts of minerals and vitamins that would keep him healthy. The next were the heart and kidneys, and these he wrapped up in a woven sack along with the liver. 

It took him some time to cut long strips of meat from the flanks, but after a half hour he had all he needed. The rest would go to waste. Hoisting the two packs onto his shoulders, he sheathed his blade and picked up his bow and quiver. No doubt some wolves had gathered the scent of blood by now; it was time to leave.

Jett cast a last glance at the carcass. Within a few hours, whatever remained would be devoured by carnivores.  He blinked; perhaps the remains wouldn't go to waste, after all.  A little heartened, he shifted his load and broke into a trot.

** *

They were waiting for him at the base of the grassy hill. And judging by their little smirks, they were the ones responsible for damaging his hut. Jett stopped several yards away from them, eyeing the four boys warily.

One of them was the son of the village Elders; he was a big, stocky boy who had both brawn and brains – a scary combination. He went by the name of Hieb, and had become the leader of a little group whose sole purpose was to 'make the outcast's life miserable' when they were bored. No doubt he was bored now, considering that the fields were all planted by now.