Summary: Striker teaches Jake how to hunt and track.
Jake watched curiously as his father dismounted and lifted him off the saddle to place him on the ground.
"What are you doin', dad?" he asked.
"Trackin' our prey, kiddo. We need to figure out where it's goin', how long it's been since it passed through here, and overall what type of animal it is." Striker kneeled down to examine some tracks on the ground. "See this? A deer passed through here half an hour ago."
"You can tell just by lookin' at it?"
"Years of experience, boy. Whoa, look 'a here! There's even some scat!" Jake's stomach flipped when he watched his father put on a glove and examine the deer shit more closely. "Yup, it's a deer."
"I'm gonna hurl…"
Striker removed the glove and threw it away. "Come on, kiddo. You'll get used to it."
They continued on foot, with Bombproof tagging along on his own. Striker would kneel on the ground to look for footprints or check the bushes or trees for any fur or broken twigs, anything that proved that they were going in the right direction. At the same time, he'd show Jake what he was doing and how to do it himself. Jake was eager to learn everything his father was to teach him (except the part about examining animal shit).
As they came to a clearing, Striker took a paper bag from Bombproof's saddlebag and spread some brown pellets on the ground. It had a strong smell.
"What's that?"
"Herbivore bait. If there's a deer 'round here, it won't be able to resist its scent." Striker grabbed Bombproof's reins and led the horse towards some bushes and trees. "Alright, now we wait."
"How long?"
"Depends on how much luck we have. It can be some minutes or even hours."
"Hours?!" Striker quickly covered Jake's mouth, motioning him to keep his volume down.
"It'll be longer if you startle the deer with all of yer yellin'!" he hissed in a low voice.
After grabbing his hunting rifle from Bombproof's saddle and making sure it was fully loaded, he motioned Jake to follow him to a hiding spot where they could lay down and aim the rifle at whatever walked into the clearing. Once the weapon was in a good position, Striker motioned Jake to shift closer to him so he could put his hand on the trigger and peer through the rifle's visor.
"You must keep a steady hand and remain unmovin', my boy. The slightest sound or movement can scare the animals away." Striker explained quietly. "You mustn't shoot randomly once the prey is within range. You have to wait for the right moment."
"And how will I know?" Jake whispered.
"When you can aim the rifle at the deer's head to take it out with a clean shot. It's better if you wait a while until the deer lowers its guard to eat. Look, here it comes! Don't move a muscle!"
A medium-sized stag poked its head from the bushes and sniffed the air. It was eyeing the bait hungrily, but it didn't come forward to eat immediately. It took tentative steps forward, ears moving to catch any sounds as it scanned its surroundings warily. Once the stag felt safe, it lowered its head to eat.
"Remember, my boy. Always aim at the head and take it out with a clean shot." Striker whispered, reading himself for the shot. Jake peeked through the visor. The rifle was aiming at the deer's head. "Alright, at the count of three, pull the trigger One, two, three."
The bullet flew through the air and right into its target's skull. The deer collapsed lifelessly with a loud shriek of pain.
"Good shot, kiddo!"Striker laughed, petting Jake's head. He walked up to the carcass, taking out his red knife. As he was about to skin it, Striker glanced back at his son. After some consideration, he grinned. "Come 'ere, kiddo. It's about time you skin yer first deer." He repressed a laugh when Jake reacted like he thought he would.