The old buck stood brazen on his hillock, stance unwavering, senses alert, crown twisted high, dense muscles rippling under gray, battle-torn fur. And that behemoth was their target.

Gnarled branches hung over the three, blotting what little sunlight there was. The air was rank with musky pine, but the headwind provided an important safety. From their hiding in the underbrush, Naveil regarded the beast with awe. The buck was only twenty-some strides away – a dangerously close distance. Pater's deep voice came from somewhere on Naveil's right.

"Stay low," His words were less than whispers, but they carried an undeniable weight.

"Snowstag is a man's game. You'll watch for now, understand?"

A snort to Naveil's left relayed the same message. That must've been Uncle. There came a gentle rustling in leaf-litter and shrubbery as Uncle began an approach. The buck's head inclined at the noise, ears pricking, nostrils wide. For a heartbeat, it locked eyes with Naveil, and he felt his breathing hasten. He could feel his pater's muscles tensing, and in spite of himself, Naveil stiffened as well. The winds howled their foreboding tune, heavy with anticipation. The birdsong above had long departed. In those moments, the entire forest was silent.

And then the first arrows flew.

The first was right on target: straight into the buck's face. The second grazed the beast's neck, sending it roaring in painful fury. The third hit nothing but air. Pater was out of hiding