He silently slid down the trunk of the tree he had been perched in, he felt stiff and uncomfortable from sitting for so long with hardly any movement. His patience had rewarded him with a sighting of a fine stag as it carefully approached an ox bow in the mountain stream to take water. The animal was wary, no doubt the survivor of many life-threatening encounters; so Ardo knew he had to approach with extreme caution.
Ardo had on more than one occasion become the hunted himself, when a canny stag had somehow managed to flip the situation; it was at this time that Ardo discovered the benefits of his simian ancestry. Fortunately, deer are poor climbers!
The approach to the ox bow was along a well-trodden animal track, so the bend in the stream was a favoured watering hole for several species. Ardo made a mental note of this because a favoured watering hole was always a good place to pick up spoor, which often led him to find quarry.
As he approached the watering hole, he made his steps as silent as possible. He could smell the stag now, which was always a good sign that he was down wind of it. Ardo knocked an arrow to his longbow, the gianni gut string taut and hard, the arrow fletched with the rounded flight feathers of a gim, to make his arrows fly straight and silently.
His chance came as the wary beast had its head down taking water. It was not a perfectly lined-up shot, but he knew he would not get a better shot this day. He drew back, held his breath for a count and let the arrow loose. The arrow seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before the report of the arrow striking home reached his ears. The arrow penetrated the stag's rib cage with a loud snap as one or more ribs broke to let the arrow punch itself into the deer's heart. A loud roar and a stiffening of limbs and the magnificent animal fell dead, its muzzle stuck in the mud where it had been watering, its magnificent palmate antlers pitched forward as if it were in a fighting pose.
Ardo closed on the animal and dropped to one knee. He felt for its pulse, but the animal was stone dead. He was glad that the beast did not suffer long, for he was a fine stag in prime rutting condition. It was late enough in the rut for the stag to have sown his genes among a few of the does, so his magnificent line would continue.
Ardo thanked Ullr for guiding his arrow and he petitioned Odin to allow the soul of the stag to be free to roam the forests of the afterlife wild and free, mounting all the does at will. His elation over his successful hunt was as always tinged with sadness at the death of such a fine creature. Needs must though, and the good villagers of Ashom need flesh, hides and fat to survive.
This beast was too big to carry safely, so Ardo set about building a papoose. He worked fast because he needed the remaining light of the day to get to his hunting encampment. Ardo would hoist the stag into a tree, safe from large predators, and make his bed in a lean-to shelter by a fire beneath it. The smoke would mask the scent of the stag, and the fire would keep predators at bay.
Ardo would finish his journey at dawn, dragging the papoose behind him, following the stream to the river and his waiting boat. The river would carry him and his prize downstream with little effort to the fjord and the village he was so proud to call home.
Ardo had on more than one occasion become the hunted himself, when a canny stag had somehow managed to flip the situation; it was at this time that Ardo discovered the benefits of his simian ancestry. Fortunately, deer are poor climbers!
The approach to the ox bow was along a well-trodden animal track, so the bend in the stream was a favoured watering hole for several species. Ardo made a mental note of this because a favoured watering hole was always a good place to pick up spoor, which often led him to find quarry.
As he approached the watering hole, he made his steps as silent as possible. He could smell the stag now, which was always a good sign that he was down wind of it. Ardo knocked an arrow to his longbow, the gianni gut string taut and hard, the arrow fletched with the rounded flight feathers of a gim, to make his arrows fly straight and silently.
His chance came as the wary beast had its head down taking water. It was not a perfectly lined-up shot, but he knew he would not get a better shot this day. He drew back, held his breath for a count and let the arrow loose. The arrow seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before the report of the arrow striking home reached his ears. The arrow penetrated the stag's rib cage with a loud snap as one or more ribs broke to let the arrow punch itself into the deer's heart. A loud roar and a stiffening of limbs and the magnificent animal fell dead, its muzzle stuck in the mud where it had been watering, its magnificent palmate antlers pitched forward as if it were in a fighting pose.
Ardo closed on the animal and dropped to one knee. He felt for its pulse, but the animal was stone dead. He was glad that the beast did not suffer long, for he was a fine stag in prime rutting condition. It was late enough in the rut for the stag to have sown his genes among a few of the does, so his magnificent line would continue.
Ardo thanked Ullr for guiding his arrow and he petitioned Odin to allow the soul of the stag to be free to roam the forests of the afterlife wild and free, mounting all the does at will. His elation over his successful hunt was as always tinged with sadness at the death of such a fine creature. Needs must though, and the good villagers of Ashom need flesh, hides and fat to survive.
This beast was too big to carry safely, so Ardo set about building a papoose. He worked fast because he needed the remaining light of the day to get to his hunting encampment. Ardo would hoist the stag into a tree, safe from large predators, and make his bed in a lean-to shelter by a fire beneath it. The smoke would mask the scent of the stag, and the fire would keep predators at bay.
Ardo would finish his journey at dawn, dragging the papoose behind him, following the stream to the river and his waiting boat. The river would carry him and his prize downstream with little effort to the fjord and the village he was so proud to call home.
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