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the way they always do, When you're ridin' sixteen hours
And there's nothin' much to do
Asgeir had been up way before the sun. He wanted to partake in some target practice but without knowing the location of the Evan'ule Reserve, he realized he would not have false targets at which to aim his spear. Despite being unsure how well he would do, the man resolved to go hunting. If he was successful, the pack would have more in its store of food. But they would not go hungry without, either, so the price of failure was more wounded pride than starving Family, even if no one was around to witness his shortcoming.
Taking up his spear and his Optime form, the man had traveled south, past where the animals grazed. He had picked up the scent of a nearby deer, soon to become stupid with rut, alongside Adlarto'K and then tracked it to the small lake at the end of the Miki river. The prey animal stood on its bank not too far ahead. Asgeir wished that the brush cover extended a little closer to the lake than what it did, but since it did not, he could only do one thing. When he was fairly certain the stag was not being perfectly attentive, he leaned down and then crept forward on all fours, his spear still clutched in his right hand. He moved very slowly, a step at a time.
He was just outside of the range at which he could thrust the spear through the deer when a sound caused his ears as well as the deer's. The beast's body turned, and he noticed the hunter. Asgeir straightened and tried to stab the deer anyway and cringed as the spear made contact with and skittered off of bone instead of puncturing skin and organ. He turned, head low, and stalked toward the sound he had heard, using the spear as a walking stick, and strode up to where the jackal played among the sheep. When he acquired her attention, he stood there, looking cross. You startled the prey.
You just wish the trip was through
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