The Hunt

Here is another of my short stories, please enjoy. P.S: any writing tips are appreciated.

The Hunt

His hungry hazelnut eyes scan the meadow, eking out the slightest hint of movement. His once youthful, well groomed black hair, which made the opposite sex in the clan coo over him, was now a shaggy, matted mess. The years had not been good for hunting, streams seem empty of fish, the fields and forest scant of game. The winter comes and he had yet to stock up on his fill of provisions. Others made it hard to vivid for the herds of deer and moose that were present. He was not as young as he once was, the new blood made him remember that, often. The years of depressed misery and self abuse hung haunt on his starved frame. He plods half careless in the meagre hope of a descent hunt.

A rustle, far to his left. His ears and eyes hone in on the source. Gone, was it a dream! His belly grumbled to the protest of emptiness, his body ached to the listless hours of hunting. He pauses to reflect on his predicament, his thoughts file through the many near misses of having a satisfying meal in his stomach. There again to the left, further on, he rises and moves towards it, slowly first, to catch any sound of his hunt and his hunt not hearing him. His stomach begs him to run, run with all he has left and run down the hunt. Age tempers his caution and he instead trots a low profile to the target. Flashes of the pray amongst the underbrush as it moves on its oblivious journey. He readies his weapons for a quick kill, no stalking, no waiting for the right time. “Now, it has to be now or never”. His energy, once depleting now rises with new vigor, the thrill of fresh meat sliding down his throat waters his mouth to the point that dribble streams down his chin. The pray stops shocked in its tracks, the hunter, also shocked at its suddenness, realises his hunger has betrayed him and caused him to err.

He had noisily ran during his quazen daydream. “Too late now to stop, push on and hope the pray is too stun to move”. The hunter rounds the foliage coming in behind the target, he stubbles a step, his eyes grow wide with fear. “No, no, not that, I didn't want that”, he had ran headlong into one of the most dangerous predators of the forests. He was still bounding towards the creature, his mind desperately jumbling for a way to survive this, but his hunger was a drive too over-whelming.

Predator becomes pray, pray becomes predator and starvation blurs the distinction between who is which. His stunted run now drove deep into the ground and bolted him forward as he decided to be the eater, not the eaten. The animal rounds to face him, it's eyes too flashed the same fears, thoughts and finally the same deadly decision. It tried to bound into a run, but he had the advantage of a hefty run behind him. He jumps into a weapons drawn, no-hold-bar dive of death toward the creature. Man and bear clash with a cringing thud. The Indian manages to drive home a tommy hawk to the right shoulder of the bear before he is put to ground. The bear plants a blow to the man's side, crack of ribs are heard. The Indian lashes out, more in desperation than a counter-attack but still finds it mark upon the bears snout. The bear staggers backwards in pain, giving the Indian time to spring from the ground and rage head long into the bear. Claw and tommy hawk, blow and counter-blow, as Indian and bear duck and weave to strike and dodge as rage and desperation to survive spur the duo onwards into their dance to the death.

The Indian is worn down by the blows and rakes of the bears claws and fails weakly to avoid a full blooded blow to his right leg. Snapping of bones denotes the finale of the leg's use and the Indian is flipped from his feet and lands like a lead filled doll to the ground. Glee emits from the bear as these events transpire before his eyes, and for a second he halts to enjoy their savory scents upon his sensors. He drive forward to claim his prize and the Indian groggerly offers up a shattered forearm in a last effort of defence from the maw of death closing over him. The bear takes the offering in mouth and attempts to reef the arm from the Indian's shoulder. The kill lashes out in a final bid to live and lands several blows of the hawk to the bear's throat before it embeds deep and fast through a main artery and spatters his fallen foe. In blinding pain and ecstasy the bear wins away the arm from the Indian and staggers away bloody and exhausted.

Pain is blinding and his strength seeps quickly. The bear drops his untouched last meal and finds a few more steps before his legs can no longer support him and falls to the ground. Bear and man lay wailing in agonising pain as the shadows of death slowly sweep over them. They, as both victor and victim, in one voice, morn. As the hunger in his hazelnut eyes fade to dead, the bear dreams his last dreams of days past. Days when he could hunt the wilds for food to his fill and his well groomed black hair made him the envy of all the females in his clan.

The End