by Kevin Saito
~o0o~
The canopy overhead thickened, casting deeper shadows around them the further they went. As he walked behind his son, Gerald allowed himself the luxury of really looking around and taking in the forest, smelling the powerful and earthy aromas, hearing all of the creatures that inhabited the land. It was nearly intoxicating to him.
“Still got the tracks, Scott?” He whispered.
“Mmm hmmm, I’m on it,” came the hushed reply. “Hey pop, can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Why are we still using bows?” Scott asked. “Wouldn’t a gun be more efficient?”
He looked down at the compound bow in his hand. It was powerful and strong and could be as deadly as any gun, in his opinion. Hunting with bows also had a long history in the family. It was tradition and like going into the family business had been for him, it just was the way things were.
“Guns have their uses I suppose,” he said. “But out on the hunt, it sort of lets you tap into something more primal inside of you, draws you closer to the life energy of the earth and all living beings. Besides, it takes more skill to kill with a bow than it does with a gun. My grandfather told me once that –“
“Ssssshhhhh.” Scotty whispered as he stopped and crouched down, peering intently ahead of him.
Gerald followed suit, crouching down beside his son, trying to see what had caught his attention.
“Through those bushes,” Scotty whispered as he raised his bow and drew a bead.
He peered through the bushes where Scotty was aiming and saw the flash of movement that had caught his son’s eye. Though he’d been on countless dozens of hunts through the years, the adrenaline rush of bearing down on a target had never faded for him. Gerald tried to remember what it was like the first time his own father had let him take point on a hunt and the surge of emotions that had coursed through him. His heart had beat so hard he was sure it would burst through his chest. He recalled that his hands had trembled so badly that his first arrow he loosed had sailed high and wide, sticking into a tree trunk a good fifty feet off the ground. Firing at targets was one thing, but when those targets were on the run and when it was a living thing you were shooting at, it was something else entirely. For him, it was a rush that couldn’t be beat.
Gerald looked over at his son and saw none of the nervousness that had rattled him. Scotty's arm was as steady as a rock, the look on his face one of calm concentration. Scott drew back a little more and calmly loosed the arrow. It streaked through the screen of bushes and toward its target, out of sight. A guttural grunt followed by a high-pitched shriek of pain filled the air around them. The next thing they heard was the sound of something crashing quickly through the underbrush and away from them.
“Shit!” Scott growled as he lowered his bow.
“Come on,” Gerald said with a smile as he stood up. “The chase is on.”
He followed Scott through the bushes and into a small clearing. Looking around the damp and moist leaves on the forest floor, it didn’t take him long to spot the trail of blood heading out of the clearing, pinpointing the direction they needed to go. He leaned back against the tree, fiddling with his bowstring, letting Scott find it by himself. This was his hunt and he needed to figure it out on his own.
“Got it,” Scott said after a moment. “Looks like I winged it. Blood trail heading east, deeper into the forest.”
“Nicely done, son.”
“A clean kill would’ve been nicer.”
“It happens,” he said. “You’re doing fine.”
“Damn,” Scott said with a pained look on his face. “I really didn’t want to cause any pain or suffering.”
He put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Nobody gets it clean on the first go.”
“Yeah,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Grandpa told me about your first go. At least I hit something.”
“Hey, I hit a tree!”
