PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Hunting is not only game for me. It is an art.

I suppose that any hunter may say this, but it bears repeating to anyone who has not left the comfort of their home with a bow slung over their shoulder and a quiver on their hip.
Archery is the best form of hunting. I suppose I may be biased in saying so, I, having only decided to ever shoot with a bow, but if I thought that something was any better, would I have not taken that up instead? Almost every culture has some form of a bow and arrow. And the hunt is just more real then it is with a gun. You pick it up, draw back, and release, and the arrow will follow your eye's direction. The animal will die a death worthy of the forest. A gun? You pick it up and press a button in a series of quick, jerky motions, and then some animal is dead with pieces of mankind stuck in its belly.
A shift in the underbrush; a slight movement. I turned: it was a buck. Moderately sized, was nothing special. All the same to me, and besides, I love the taste of venison. I carefully drew back, but then something familiar happened. This was something that made it impossible to shoot strait, and impossible to see well. I understood that it would be bad if it came in full force this time.
This curse had not always lingered around me, but recently, at seemingly random times, the world would fade away, and all my senses shut down. It was like being in a coma, but I would remain standing in place, even performing a simple action, if I was already in the midst of doing one.
"Please, not now," I begged silently, but whatever fate commands us is a cruel one. The last thing I saw was the dear's tail flick once as it ran off.

(a/n:It kinda starts out slow, I appologize for that. My next update will be soon, and that's when it will get started.)