The night had given light to a thin veil of fog just above the frozen ground.
The air was cold, and breathing would pain Tosahwi’s lungs.
But he had lost the benefit of comfort. Out there in the woods, the body changed. Thirst wasn’t so intense in the morning. Hunger wasn’t so acute. The outside gave enough chances to be killed. So the senses turn towards listening to the rustling in the bushes and the cracking of branches on the floor. They ignore all thoughts of comfort.
Index, middle finger, and thumb pressed from three sides against the fletching of the arrow, firm against the bowstring. His feet silently rolled over the hardened and frozen floor with every step. The full moon turned the night almost into early morning. The fog was wide, but it was thin, and as Tosahwi reached the edge of the treeline and locked his eyes on the open field, the fog gently opened up like the silent spirit it was and offered dark brown, elegant antlers, reaching high and wide. It was a bull elk, and it was massive. Tosahwi was so still not even his chest moved to breathe. He could see the condensation of the elk’s breath. Tosahwi felt his heart race and slowly let air flow into his lungs, as his left hand, clamped around the bow, slowly came up, and his right hand pulled the bowstring back, one inch at a time. The bull lowered his head and tried to bite grass from the frozen floor. The fog started to thicken again, and Tosahwi had the bow fully extended. The elk had to turn to the side so he could get a clear shot, but he just stood still then. The fog started closing further, and visibility became harder. Tosahwi’s arm was straining. His lungs demanded air, and his heart beat faster. He wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. But he hadn’t seen an elk in two months. He had traveled far and suffered much, and Tosahwi was cold and he was hungry.
The bull lifted his head and stared. After all those years that he had gotten away from wolves, and mountain lions and other tribes, the elk knew then and right there that something was wrong. It was invisible, that connection between evil and life, but it could be felt by all beings. For the elk, Tosahwi was evil, and in the darkness, evil became so much more potent. It was sweet, the taste of adrenaline that tensed the bull's muscles and heightened his senses, and he felt fear reaching all the way down into his hooves. But he felt more than just fear; he also felt anger. The bull would not accept another bull around his territory. He would fight the bull, and he would win. He would smell the air, and it wasn’t cold for him because he never knew comfort. Not knowing how close he was to his death, the smell carried something else. It wasn’t another bull. It was the presence of pure evil, and just as fast as the anger had fueled him, suddenly, fear had taken him. It was time to leave, and so he turned, and before his hoof touched the ground, a gash opened up at his side, and with it, a pain that was sharp and that stung strong, and blood started pouring out. The elk jumped forward and contorted in pain, fear, and shock, and without thinking, he only knew to run.
Tosahwi stayed in the exact same position in which he fired the arrow, then slowly let his hands come down. His eyes locked at the last spot in the fog where he had seen the arrow hit, the elk jump, and the red lifeforce pour. The fog had welcomed the elk back and closed behind his escape route. Tosahwi stood up from his crouched position. He slowly walked on the open field, the moonlight strong against the fog. He found the blood on the floor, shining black at night. It wouldn’t take him long to follow the spots of blood until the moans of the dying elk somewhere in between the trees met him. And when Tosahwi approached, the elk panicked, moaned, and tried pushing his legs under him one last time, but he had lost too much blood, and the gash in his side hurt too much, and he would not be able to. The bull realized he had found his end, and the panic in his eyes dropped to broken disappointment.
Tosahwi slowly pulled his knife out of the sheath and put his hand on the bull's head and spoke in a gentle voice:
‘Thank you for your life. Your spirit will not be forgotten, and your body will provide for my people. I honor you and the creator for this gift.’
He then suddenly and violently pierced the knife in between the elk's ribs and into his heart.
One last silent scream, then the eyes turned cold, and life left the bull forever.
Tosahwi would survive again.
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