The Deer -1 Constructive Comments Welcome Cassis stood completely still, his heartbeat excellently controlled. The only way you could tell he was still breathing was from the hot air leaving his mouth, forcing it's way in to the cold night and turning a cloudy white as it was illuminated against the glowing moonlight. He glanced at Molit and slowly raised a finger to his lips. Molit was a good four years younger than Cassis, a brother that had not yet shown his worth. This was to be his test, 'a perfect opportunity' but one Cassis would not want him to fail. It couldn't fail, this was a test, but this was also food. The boys were crouched behind a mound of drifted snow just amongst the last group of trees at the edge of the furthest forest. Across a small meltwater river was a deer. A strong, elegant and experienced deer. It was fully aware of all sound around it, it's ears twitching at the slightest breeze against the trees, its head rising and turning as a clump of snow broke free from a tree and fell to the ground with a dull thump. Beyond the deer was nothing, only snow, wind, silence and the star speckled sky. The boys had been clever so far, they had stalked the deer to this point. They had kept low, kept downwind and somehow managed to keep up with the beast this far, further than before. This however, was as far as they managed to get. To leave the trees in to the open, to make a sound,would be to lose the game. They had waited here for too long already, if it wasn't for the bright moonlight they would have turned back long ago. Molit gently raised his bow. Cassis, with the understanding that it was his younger brothers time, raised his as though as a mentor, as though he was encouraging, but it was obvious .... it was for insurance. The boys waited, there were no wind or obstacles but, the distance was to great. No accurate shot could be made, no movement closer. It was a risk. A gamble. Molit's fingers tightened on the string. Slowly he applied pressure, pulling back the bowstring. Fingers gripping the shaft of the arrow as he pulled. Slowly the cord tightened. The bow flexed and Molit's hand was soon bushing his cheek, the bowstring pressing against his chin. He held. He watched his prey. Lined up the pile. He saw the head of the deer turn, it's eyes shining as they caught the light of the moon. Then in a second he took a breath. Held it. Released!