The horse of his had been tied off more than three hundred yards to the south. With the trees so close in on each others, he couldn't risk missing the shot.

He had rid himself of his cloak and wore his shirt and hunting leathers with boots. A quiver of arrows lay against his back as he crouched behind a fallen tree. He could smell the rotting of the wood from it and the moss on its side as he knelt there in wait.

Gage listened for the next sound, that of a snapping of a twig. He flicked a look to the right and watched the stag move into the area. There were shafts of sunlight of the cold day filtering down through the flawed, winter canopy of bare tree branches. The stag stepped into the light slowly and turned its head to the side before it lowered its head to eat.

The short bow was lifted. It was not ornate, but strong and resisted the pulling of it by Gage's right, three-fingered hand. He held it taut at the right side of his jaw. And when the moment was right, he let the tension go and the fletched arrow loose.

Sudden bolting bestial form, the stag lurched forward and stumbled trying to hurry with its recovery. The noises were loud, filling the area and flushing out birds and smaller animals from there resting places on the ground and in the branches above.

Gage smoothly rose and headed the stag's direction as it went down and shoved its forehooves at the ground and a nearby tree until it lay still and its eyes began to glaze over.

His gloved hand held the bow by its grip moved to shoulder it. Horns of the stag were gripped and the deer's head was lifted to test the weight, giving a nod to himself. It would be enough meat to feed two large families through the rest of winter, pelts for clothing and leather goods, and the horns to sell for other items some of the merchants made.

The stag's head thudded against the underbrush and frozen earth as the horns were released. In a swift motion the fletched arrow was withdrawn from its quiver and knocked with the line pulled taut but not released. The blur of a moment was over when he face the tree the voice had originated from and the arrowhead was already directed to the perch. Right eye squinted shut and marked his face near his eye where aged lines already were. He hadn't heard her until the words were spoken. Her attire and body language were looked to reflexively before he ever looked to her face.

"What all hunters should use their game for: their meat and more. Meat, hide, horns." Each were verbally listed as if to mention the weather expected in the next few days. "Have I stepped into your hunting grounds?" The bow was kept lifted and the arrow drawn tight until more was learned about her.

The cold winter air was on his face but the rest of him was barely aware of it. Layers of shirt, tunic, britches, boots and winter cloak with gloves didn't allow for much more. He stepped around the horns of the dead stag to make certain that he had ample range to loose the arrow from and good footing to do it from if the woman proved to be a threat. Or him to her and some defense was called for.