I shook my shouldedrs, releasing the tension that kept building every time i drew the arrow throught the taught metal bow string. It was custom made, but it wasn't my favorite. My mother said if I were to be a good archer, I needed to practice in different elements, with different tools. You never know what you have if you can't use it right.
"Again."
I didn't even look back at my mother, whose voice wasn't at all soft spoken, but wasn't harsh with seriousness or cruelty. Her voice, her soul, her being has been dragged through hell twice and back, but she speaks with the knowledge of her successions, and not of her failures. She didn't fail, and if she did she would be dead.
I aimed, one inch, two inch. I needed to hit four for the distance between me and my target. I wasn't in the zone, but I needed to be. I needed to clear my head from all these pointless thoughts and observe. And release.
Breathe in.
I inhaled the fresh scent of the forest leaves, the moisture that's dazzling the blades of green grass, and especially the smell of my mother, ten feet behind me. Silently watching me, always sharp. Always in-tune. My mother's smell wasn't of sweet perfume made of lilac and honey. No. It was her. Her warmth she gives in shielding us from her and my father's pasts. Her coldness when she thinks. Her simplicity. Her being. Her, and her past.
Breathe out.
All of those homey scents I grew up to I let go. I didn't need them, though I would miss them. Breathing wasn't necessary. It only distracted the hunter as the strings were pulled back and perfectly leveled. The uneven breathing unsettles me. It makes it hard to see, and the faster I shoot, the faster I can breathe and the longer my heartbeat stays alive.
Release.
I released the beast, let it fly through the air, seeing the perfect carvings through the stick of the bow. The silver and green, naturally decorated, arrowhead travel away from my fingertips. The white and brown feathers attached at the end of the bow, twirling and whipping from the wind, at the same time. I closed my eyes, replaying this image in my head over and over again, letting in the sweet air.
"Good."
My eyes snapped open as I saw the delicate doe drop to its side, with a trickle of blood escaping its side and mouth. Killing animals wasn't permitted, but we eat with Greasy Sae once a week, and she likes her raw meat. She said it reminds her of the old, better days. Her granddaughter is older than I am, however her granddaughter has numerous traits from this 80 year old women. She is a part of my family, always has been and always will be.
"Are you coming?" My mother called, within a heartbeat of me opening my eyes to see the realness of this world, the world of death and triumph, she was pushing through the thick foliage of the forest. When she addressed me, she didn't look at me, but she looked at the girl who was her heir. Her flesh and blood. Her.
I didn't hesitate, I didn't falter in my stride or in my breathing when I said: "Yes."
"Let's clean it, skin it-"
"And take it back before it's dark." My mother always said that, I think it's because of the dreadful Games she was in. She was programmed to do anything to survive, percisely, efficiently.
My mother stopped her descent to pick up the lower left leg of the doe. But it was brief. She didn't say anything, didn't look up at me, just bent down and started skining and preparing the meat that was of use for dinner and what was not.
An hour had passed in silence, we listened to the humming of the forest and the scrapes, slices, and shredding of the carcass before us.
"Mom..."
"I know."
A mockingjay in the distance screeched, before becoming eerily silent. I looked quizically at my mother, who was staring off in the distance, clutching for dear life onto her carving knife.
"Mom?"
"I know, I know. Leave me alone!" She shouted, before throwing her knife into the bushes.
"Mom, we have to go."
"I know." She defeatedly said, to me this time.
We left together, carrying the divided and wrapped meat, the both of us shaken and the cry of the beautiful bird echoing in our troubled thoughts.
