A/N: As I looked through the reviews, (thank you to all who sent me the words saying you liked it, as I aim to please.) one said that they want to see more of Ollie's life. I didn't plan on releasing this for a while, but there's no time like the present. This'll be a a structure that will last for a while, with one chapter as flashback, and the next as a story in the present.

Chapter 11: The Hunter

I always find in these kinds of stories that there's one point where the reader is taken back a while to when things were set in motion. Like a quick pause in someone's life to bring the audience back to when this all started. This is that point in my story.

15 years ago...

My fingers gripped the string tightly, searing in pain as the blood got cut off from them. The buck made it's way into the clearing, no idea of who was watching it. I had to be careful though: if I stepped on a twig, I'd have to start all over again with tracking it. I felt a sense of relief, glad to let go of the string when I saw my chance. As I let go, the arrow flew through the air, landing into the buck's temple. The buck fell to the ground, limp.

"Did you hit it?"

I smiled. "We're having venison with the turkey, Dad!"

A man with short dark hair, and a flannel jacket stepped out from behind the trees. He walked over, and patted me on the back.

"I'm proud of you, son. Any hunter would be of that kill."

He slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked over to the deer's carcass. I pulled my hood down and walked over.

"You did good, Oliver." He said.

"*Pfft!* C'mon, Dad. You gotta admit that a shot like that is more that 'doing good'"

He grinned. "You're absolutely right, champ. Let's get this taken to the truck so we can get it home."

Soon my Dad had the deer slung over his shoulder, us headed back to the truck. It was December 22nd 1995, a few days before Christmas. We had been hunting for the meat that would serve as a side in our Christmas feast. I had been tracking that buck for a while, knowing this was my kill.

My Dad and I had been hunting together for the past 2 years. He wanted to teach me how to use a rifle, but eventually learned that, like my favorite comic book character, Green Arrow, I too was a born archer. He said I liked Green Arrow for having the same name. I think he was right.

"You know, Oliver, this won't be something that you'll be doing for the rest of your life."

"I won't?" I asked.

"No, sir. I see you doing great things. You'll do what your grandfather failed to do. You'll make our family proud as you rise to become a successful investor on Wall Street. My own son, making millions on pure luck."

"Luck seems like the right way to go, Dad." I said.

After strapping the deer to the truck's, and the several hour long drive from the hunting grounds, we were soon home. We pulled up into the driveway of our 3-Story house with a clear view of the water. It was a clear night that had gotten dark as we headed home.

A woman with light brown hair, tied up in a bun, with an apron on stood at the doorway. She looked very angry, waving a spatula at us.

"You said it would just be there and back! 7 hours you were gone! Half of the family is inside, and they have been waiting for you!"

"So sorry, Jane. Oliver was just able to take his first buck! Right through it's head." My father demonstrated by pointing a finger through his own head.

Mom looked at me, impressed, but then reverted back to her anger. "Be that as it may, Bill wanted to see your trophies, Shawn."

"Oh! Better get to it, then." He rushed inside to show off the stuffed heads.

"Dear, your younger cousin, Lucy, is here. She's been waiting."

I groaned. "Aw, Mom! Do I have to? She always calls me 'Ollie'! It's a stupid name!"

My mom crossed her arms. "Now, Oliver. You know that she's only 6. You gotta show her some respect. Her name for you means how much she loves you." She pointed to the door, guiding me inside. I went up the stairs, into the living room.

"Hey hey! There he is!" Said a large man. He jumped from his chair, and gripped me in a bear hug.

"Uncle Alex." I said in a muffled voice. "You're smothering me."

"Oh! Sorry there!" He backed away. That was my dad's brother, Alexander Blake. He was a true hunter, with his large build, his hunter's hat, and his big brown beard.

He and my dad had grew up hunting together as partners. It was a backup plan that my grandfather, Michael, had fallen into as a small family business. He tried to make it in stock trading, but a month into the thousands that he was making in his 20s, Black Tuesday hit. He lost everything, and resorted to hunting and selling his kills. He became a good shot with guns, and became a respected Lieutenant in WWII. My father was born right before the war began. After returning home, he raised my father and uncle to become hunters. My father liked that life as a hunter, but he wanted to see me do more than hunt. He saw me as a potential Wall Street hound.

My uncle stepped away, and I saw my cousin sitting down on the ground. 6 years old, Lucy ran up and was soon hugging me.

"Ollie! You're back!"

I groaned. I hated that name. She couldn't pronounce Oliver when she could first talk, so Ollie it was. Now she only called me that.

"Did you see any bunnies?" She asked.

I did my best to fake a smile, and sat down on the couch with her on my knee.

"As a matter of fact, I did, Lucy. They jumped around a lot."

"Did you pet any of them?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I had shot 3 that would be part of the dinners we'd be eating for the nights leading up to the Christmas dinner. Dad would be taking them out to the shed any time, now.

"No, they were too fast for me." I said.

Lucy pouted. She loved the cute animals you'd find in the wild like any other girl her age. I think she'd give just about anything for a cute pet. I wish I could see animals that way. I was raised as a hunter to recognize that most animals you'd find in the woods are targets, and what you need to survive.

"You know, Lucy, Auntie Jane might have some of those gingerbread cookies you like!" Said Uncle Alex.

"Yay!" She cheered, running into the kitchen.

"So how was hunting?" He asked.

"I got my first buck." I said.

"No kidding? 13 years old, and already killing bucks! With a freaking bow and arrow, no doubt."

"I know. Guess low tech is just as deadly."

"Dinner, everyone!" My mom called.

We were gathering in the kitchen, my mom's brother, Bill, heading up the stairs with my Dad, from his trophy room. I was surrounded by my family, my grandfather telling my older cousins about something in WWII to help them with their history test, my dad bragging to Bill about the buck I had killed, and Lucy reaching for a cookie while my mom tried to keep her from spoiling her dinner. I could tell that this Christmas would be a great one to remember. And as a hunter, I helped it happen.