The Hunt

Lately I spend too much time in my head. It used to feel like torture, but now it's not exactly a bad place to be. Distracting me from the leaves drying and flowers blooming, from the burning heat to the freezing cold. Phenomena accompanying my long travels stopped being entertaining long ago.

I found myself in the mountains, over the years, the forest managed to spread itself even here. I wonder what this place would look like in another hundred years. I stop my steps and take a moment in. Hearing the birds chirping, leaves moving, streams flowing... It's bittersweet that the cycle of life can move on without the humans. Over many years, I experienced nature's grief, acceptance, adaptation, and it moving on without us around. Us... Here and there I come across ancient temples, they feel like an unhealed scar on nature left by the ancestors, my people.

-I hear a bush rattle inconsistent with the wind. I stopped suppressing my senses a little. Focused my attention, and there it is. I sensed a rabbit moving around a hundred meters behind the trees. I reached for my handmade bow, I don't remember why I care but long ago I decided not to use my artifact for hunting animals. I took my bow out string it. I don't need to use my eyes to aim anymore, but using them somehow grounds me to my past. I suppressed my heightened senses and trusted my eyes. I let go of the arrow.

_Long ago, 8 years before the selection_

I missed again. My dad had just started to let me come to his hunts, and every now and then he let me take a shot. He accepted that missing prey for my real hunt training can be worth it. I am not exactly awful at archery; it's just a different experience to shoot a moving target and take its life. I regularly trained in an empty field shooting distant trees. But aiming my killing intent in the wild is not something I was ready for. My dad told me to take my time, and reminded me of his famous saying...

We are a small hunting group, and sometimes at this time of the year we need to move further into the forest, thus making a camp for the night. Now it's one of those times. My dad now lets me do the cooking. He helps me clean the prey, carefully skinning it, keeping the meat clean away from the dirt, then helps me make the fire that others gathered the wood for. After spending a bit of time tending the fire, I season the meat. Throughout the hunting time, I would keep in mind to collect herbs too. I often collected some rosemary and edible mushrooms (my dad checked them every time). I put the prepared meat on a greenwood spit and turned it regularly. I felt honored by the responsibility I received, so I tended the cooking very thoroughly.

My dad taught me that the rabbit meat is very lean, so it can become dry. We didn't have fat to spare, so I wrapped it with some leaves. The smoke clung to the meat. I watched the outside gradually becoming browned and crisp through the leaves, the smell changed from raw to something rich and savory. It finally felt like the trophy of our efforts.

I took the cooked meat out and prepared the plates. Browned skin cracked under the knife, I added the mushrooms to our plates and served. No one said anything and just started to eat. There was not a single word spoken until everyone cleaned their plate. I received the highest compliment.

Now everyone has slept. It's my turn to look out for the group. I walk around a little bit, looking at the ground. Fire is barely illuminating the surroundings, but I manage to find a firm stick. I practiced my overhead swings.