The deer hunter

As boys in villages that could have been Cairndhu, we spent a lot of time in the woods with bows and arrows. We took a good deal of care making the arrows and on one particular day I had one with nice feather at its tail and a knitting needle at the point in the hope of surprising a rabbit. To denote what tribe I belonged to, I had adorned the head with a knitting needle and a piece of wool I had collected on a fence. As we crept along through the brown, dead lower branches of a fir I looked into the eyes of a full grown deer - rations of meat for a year. I took quick aim and let the arrow fly. As it passed through the fir branches, the wool caught in the twigs and got stuck. The deer looked at me disdainfully and walked away. The arrow would probably have bounced off but I realised, if it had stuck it might have festered and the dear might have died in agony. The main thing is, I still remember that magnificent animal walking away.

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