With sunlight beating down from above and the weight of full armor on his body, De'Acon stood waiting. The rustle of the grass teased into dancing by a mischievous wind masked the softer sound of his breathing. This enchanted enclave never saw snow or ice. It was a haven from the hand of winter and the ideal place to seek solitude and practice. It was his and, for the discovery of it, belonged to him alone. It gave him a secluded locale to refine his skills even when the rest of the range and city itself were hidden under a thick blanket of snow. He was good but he was not the best. And because of this, he practiced.

His eyes remained closed behind the blindfold, ears searching for that one sound that would make him move. That particular rustle of grass. That specific kiss of foot to ground. That one huff of breath that was distinctive enough to make his head turn a degree. It paused. He could tell it was on the edge, probably looking inward at the grass that was so tempting. He could almost feel the hunger of the beast, the flick of an ear while it contemplated the fare it saw as favorable to the bark and other winter foods available. De'Acon stilled his breathing, beckoning the beast inward by remaining perfectly still.

A clomp of hoof as the beast finally moved. Another drew it within the circle. Once inside the warmth, the beast trotted a few more feet then stopped to lower a massive head to the ground. A huff and chuff then a bite of rich and warm grass. A happy sound came forth from the animal as it nosed into the grass for a second bite. A bird call sounded, the beasts head lifted to inspect his surroundings. De'Acon did not move.

Had he seen with real eyes the beast, he would have enjoyed the majesty with which it moved. Strong muscles evident through its chest and shoulders, a fine curve of neck to back. Haunches were strong without being brutish. The head of the beast carried an impressive rack that could, if necessary, rend an opponent to shreds. Almost golden in color, the fine antlers spread wide and carried an impressive number of points. Mostly brown in color with white that started on its chest and moved to the underbelly, the buck was a sight to behold. Its tail flicked as it moved forward, lowering its head to take another mouthful of fresh grass.

De'Acon moved his arm swiftly, fingers plucking an arrow from his quiver to place in the uplifted bow with economy of motion and speed. The string of the bow pulled back, he swiveled on the heel of his one foot and ball of the other. Aiming with eyes still covered, he judged the distance and target by sound alone. His fingers paused only briefly, then released the string.

The last movements of the hunter captured the attention of the prey. The buck's head came up, body still except for a twitch in his shoulder. Then he jumped. It was a sidelong movement that carried the impressive beast forward a foot and to the side three. Hooves caught the ground and the buck pivoted with a grace that spoke of years of such experience.

The perfection of the retreat was marred only by the accuracy of the arrow. The animal twisted and missed a step as it fled. De'Acon took a step forward. A single arrow did not bring the beast down, a frown marred De'Acon's brow. A second thwumping sound followed the first and the buck went to knees then side.

In the silence broken by the huffing final breaths of the prey, De'Acon pushed back his blindfold to find the animal almost where he expected it to have fallen. The great beast had too much heart and stamina to simply fall. De'Acon slid his bow into the clasp that kept it on his back for travel. His other hand drew out a knife. He knelt by the fallen buck and rested his hand on the shoulder. The arrows, one in heart and one in lung, lifted and rose as the buck struggled to live.

"You are more than worthy, die with honor. Spirit, be free."

There would be fresh meat to trade for supplies sorely needed and the family would have food for a span.