The Hunter crouched in the soft brisk snow. The light from the fading sun, already a gentile purple, brushed the tops of the unclothed trees, their leaves had long since abandoned them to lay resting under the blanket of white below. Their bark brown, as if death itself had come and taken all essence of life away. The Hunter raised his nose to the air and breathed in deeply the crispiness of the woodsy frozen air. The lightly falling flakes brushed the inside of his nostrils with a chilling subtlety. A faint scent lingered in the air that did not belong to the woods.
Crouching by the tiny imprints in the snow that were caused by the feet of his prey, like little beacons that made a clear path straight to his target. The dead branches whispered to him tales of past hunts as a chilling breeze swept at them. Soft thuds occasional rang out through the otherwise silent forest as the pine trees, with their green needles still clinging to their branches, released the snowy burdens caught upon their limbs and let them fall peacefully to join their friend carpeting the ground.
The Hunter bundled his dark wolf fur coat closer around his broad shoulders, his close cropped hair tucked away into the hood of the coat. He offered a silent prayer that his prey did not freeze before he could beat the icy winds to it. The Hunter rose from his crouch with a silence that only comes with experience. Close by a clump of snow fell from somewhere amidst the numerous tree tops to land and obliterate a section of his prey’s tracks. With the constantly falling snow and the pine trees unloading their great burdens against him The Hunter knew he had little time before the trail became too covered to follow. If that happened he would never be able to find his prey and that he could not live down. He started along the forest floor, following the already disappearing trail.
His senses were fully tuned to the best of his ability. His eyes saw the wind blow the trees in swaying patterns and caught the small rabbits with their newly camouflaged coats of white fur dive away from him into the security of their earthy burrows. His ears heard the thuds made by the reuniting of snowy families and the echoing crunch, the result of his feet continuously breaking through the thin layer of hardened snow, resounding off the trees in a way that give a man the illusion he is being followed. And his skin felt the pressure and the chill as the frostbitten wind tried to claw its way through the fur lined cloths that shrouded his body.
Minutes past as The Hunter tromped through the winter wasteland with his neck craned towards the ground and his hazel eyes centered on the only thing that mattered at that moment in time, the trail. He began to notice a change in the tracks, they were not as snow filled as when he began his frivolous exploit. The Hunter knew he was close and with the wind howling and dusk fast approaching he redoubled his efforts, quickly gaining on that which he sought.
Close to abandoning hope The Hunter came upon what he had been searching for. A lone scraggly bush, standing solemnly at the base of an elderly oak tree. Its dry twigs twined together like lovers fingers. The Hunter could see the tracks leading directly to the bush, and upon close watch, saw it sway slightly, yet the wind had died out minutes ago. With this thought fresh in his mind The Hunter knew he had finally caught up to his prey.
As quietly as his years of practice could allow he snuck up to the bush, feet making no noise on the softening snow. With daft quickness he pushed his bare hands into the wriggling branches and closed them around the warmth of the body within. It took minimal strength to haul the figure from the bush. As he lifted the now wriggling bundle as far above his head as he could it let out a shrieking cry of surprise. He held the bundle in the air for a few moments, examining it in his joyful glory. Then he slowly brought it down and into his furred chest. Muffled sounds began to escape from the bundle that had recovered from it’s surprise. He set it down on the ground and watched as the large hazel eyes turned up to face him and the cherry lips parted to make way for audible sounds.
“You found me daddy! Now I’ll count and you hide.”
And as The Hunter watched his golden haired daughter clad in a pink parka turn to the old oak and begin to count into the purple handmade mittens covering her face he knew that this was the best catch of his life.
© 2010 Paul Puzzolanti
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