my face dried, as my stomach settled, I felt swelling pride. I’d been good to that stag, as I’d been taught. One shot, clean through the heart. Besides being painless, the instant kill had preserved the meat. Had I merely wounded him, or let him get a glimpse of us, his heart would’ve raced, his blood would’ve filled with adrenaline, his steaks and fillets would’ve been inedible. This blood on my face contained no adrenaline, a credit to my marksmanship.
