The bowstring, woven of his own raven-black hair, was tense, only his fingers held the long arrow back, softly placed on the dark feathers at its end. He narrowed his eyes. The elegant bow bent in his steady arms, aimed at the glade.
There it was. The deer's antlers were big and wide, divided many times, and its hide was glinting with silver. A magnificent animal, old, muscular and strong, its fur was clean and it was obviously healthy - a good dinner and a good bargain at once, if he sold the antlers and hide. It bent its long neck and fed on the grass, picking one of its hooves up a little and putting it down behind. Athran heard his own heartbeat in the silence... And then he let go off the arrow.
Its shaft curved as it flashed by the bow, the bowstring sprung back at release, and the tip of the arrow crossed the air in a graceful arch. Athran's arms dropped down, his fingers still clenched around the wood. His arrow hit the hart's neck, pierced its hide and skewed deep into its flesh, hitting one of the thick veins. All but the black-feathered end disappeared in the animal's body. It immediately collapsed, its legs no longer carried it, and the deer dropped onto the ground.
Athran's lips twisted into a bleak grin. A perfect, clean kill, like always. His aim rarely missed even in his youth, and nowadays, he hasn't yet met a target he couldn't hit. His eyes were keen and his hands steady. There was no animal too difficult to hunt down, and a common hart was in no means even a challenge.
He put his bow back to its place on his back and begun walking towards his catch.
