A short story I made up.
Limping deer
Limping deer
The hunter lay in the cold wet grass atop a knoll. The grass blades whooshed against him the cold wind causing Goosebumps to erupt all over his skin. Mud coated his arms and hands as he reached for his bow and arrows which were safely concealed in his quiver. He spied his prey, a limping deer. The deer was in a pack. The deer was young and struggled to keep up with the rest of the pack. The hunter knew that this deer would be his target. The hunter raised his bow and pulled the bow string easily. He aimed at the moving deer. He pulled back. The steel arrow flew through the air speedily and gracefully and ended up into a base of an oak tree. The deer, alarmed started to run. The hunter swore and he fumbled with his bow for another arrow. The deer struggled to run. The hunter aimed again at the deer. He shot. The deer suddenly, regained speed and ran past some trees. The hunter leaped off the grass and ran after the deer. The chase was on.
The deer was in obvious pain but was too frightened to stop running. The hunter was a few metres behind it. He slowly pulled out his bow and shot. Normally, the bow would have struck the creature in the back, causing it to fall over. Then the Hunter would pull out his axe and cut the neck of the deer. Then take it home to his family and friends, as food, as trophy. But the deer was very agile, even with his limp. It leaped behind a bush and the hunter's arrow flew into a clearing failing to strike anything. The Hunter looked behind the bush, axe in hand. The deer was gone. Looking in the horizon, he heard noises. He saw the original pack of deers and the limping deer. The Hunter got into a crouch, edging over to a tree near the pack deers. Careful not to rustle any leaves. It might alert the deers. He got to the tree. A fine oak, its roots spread over the floor like a great curling octopus. The Hunter stood up and raised his axe, ready to throw. The deer had resumed its role at the back of the pack. The Hunter threw.
The iron axe flew into the young deer's side. It stumbled as it struggled to comprehend the pain. The Hunter watched in sick enjoyment of what he had achieved. The stupid deer couldn't out run a human, no matter how agile it is. The Hunter waited for the pack deer's to subside into the clearing. He strolled over to the dead deer happily. He got out his knife from his pack and cut its stomach open. He slowly pulled out the Deer's insides. He raised the bloodied axe that had killed the deer and chopped its head clean off. It would make a fine trophy head mounted next to his wolf trophy head. The Hunter then felt leaves rustling in the undergrowth nearby. Several deers strode up to him and the dead deer. One of the deer looked at the Deer. It saw it decapitated and gutted. It looked at the hunter, covered in blood and gore, axe raised. The hunter looked into the other deer's eyes and saw sadness. Intense sadness. The deer changed its gaze to the dead deer. It nuzzled the dead deer's cold neck. The several deer's walked back into the undergrowth.
The Hunter was disturbed by the whole incident. He had stared into the deep black eyes of a deer. Instead of seeing a reflection of him, he had seen other deer's being slaughtered. The deer had obviously cared about the corpse that lay in front of him, yet an inevitable feeling in the eyes was also present. The Hunter then got it. So many hunter's in the world, that the deer must have known that the dead deer would be hunted when he got that limp. The Hunter looked at the deer and then at his own hands. Red hot sticky blood coated them and all the leaves near him. He shut his eyes and wept. He had killed so many innocent creatures, full of intelligence and emotion. He vomited at the deer's dead body. He had realised the folly of his ways. He laid his axe and bow done. The two remaining arrows left he laid down next to the bow. He threw his knife into the bushes. He never wanted to slay a living creature again. No matter it is Dragon or Ladybird. The man raised the head of the dead deer. Its eyes stared into his. Nothing. He laid the deer's head next to its neck so it looked as if it was perfect. He slowly lifted himself up, blood dripping onto the deer's cold body. As he walked back into the undergrowth, he heard a voice emanating in his head.
''Well done...'' It murmured and it shrank into nothingness. Laughing, The Hunter knew the voice was Saradomin. The Hunter was no longer the Hunter.
EDIT- changed some spelling and grammar errors.