Eoin slept until night was upon him, the cool air brushed across his chest sending a chill through his body, waking him. He stood. Replenished he rubbed his hands together and up and down his arms for warmth, then gathered some firewood. He made a simple circle of stones to cradle the fire and cut some brush to make an appropriate place to sleep. Two vibrant moons, one white, one blue, cast their soothing light down across the valley illuminating the river, creating the illusion it was made of liquid silver. His camp prepared Eoin reached into his bag and pulled out a leather bundle tied together by sinew. Carefully he untied the binding, unwrapped the package and stroked his finger across the glimmering knife he had revealed. This blade was not for cutting brush or hair, not for cutting meat, its sole purpose was to hunt. It had been passed to him by his father and through the family line as long as anyone could remember. It is his most prized possession, his trusted companion, his heritage.
Eoin stowed the knife in his belt and walked down to the river. He placed his hand into the mud and smeared it across his face and chest. He stared back over his shoulder at the thick forest, tonight for the first time in weeks he would have a successful hunt. He moved into the woods in search of tracks or an animal run. The thick brush and the filtered moonlight made the tracking difficult so he took to a tree to gain perspective. From on high, eyes straining, he spied what he was looking for.
Down to the ground he came into the infernal blackness of the close-set timber and the overhanging verdure of the forest. He knelt from time to time and put his sensitive nose to the earth. He searched the game trail with conviction and at last his nostrils were rewarded with the scent of the fresh spoor of his target, "Deer.". Eoin salivated and a deep slow grunt escaped his savage lips. Shed from him was the last glimmer of the thinking man, he was the primeval hunter, the alpha male, a true intuitive beast. Up wind he followed the elusive trail with a sense of perception akin to the great predators. Through counter currents of the heavy stench of carnivora he traced his prey's trail, the unspoiled, delicate musk of the deer's foot.
Presently the strong scent of the deer told Eoin that his prey was close at hand. It sent him springing into the trees - into the wide lower branches where he could search the earth below and catch sight of his target. It was not long before he came upon his prey standing alert at the edge of a pristine moon-bathed glade. Eoin pressed tight against the trunk of the tree and observed the deer for a few moments, had he given away his position? The beast's ears scanned the darkness for evidence of danger, finding none it returned unaware to grazing upon the abundant fauna in the dell. Silent as a shadow Eoin crept through the thick verdant trees until he hovered over the beast. Tightly gripped in his calloused hand was the precious unadorned hunting knife his father had given him. His heart raced, pounding so hard Eoin feared his prey might hear. The blood lust was upon him. For just a moment he poised above the unsuspecting deer and then he launched himself downward upon the smooth cream colored back. The impact of his weight caused the beast's knees to buckle, driving it to the ground with thunderous force. Struggling it let out loud frightened bleat and before the animal could regain its feet the sacred knife had found its heart and the beast was silent.
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