Some people said that the forest was quiet. And in a manner of speaking, it was true. Compared to something like a large city, with its traffic, construction, aircraft and other such things, the forest was quiet. And that was the reason that many people went out camping: to get away from the noise. 

Christi, however, knew better. Compared to a city (or at least, how she thought a city would be like), the forest was quiet[u]er[/u], but it wasn’t [u]quiet.[/u] There was always something going on, something moving and making noise. Usually it was a bird; the soft/loud [i]phwoomph[/i] of a wingbeat, or the unique music of a call announcing territory or keeping its flock informed of the general surroundings. Sometimes it was the shuffing of a small animal, like a mouse or a rabbit, as it made its way through the undergrowth. Some would expect large animals, such as a deer or a moose, to make a lot of noise, which was half true. They were actually the stealthiest animals in the woods, their steps always carefully placed to make the least amount of noise possible to alert predators. If they [u]were[/u] making a lot of noise, it was because there wasn’t any point in hiding anymore, and speed had become more important than stealth. But even so, if one paid close attention, and were very quiet, then one might hear the soft whisper of leaves sliding over fur, and maybe even the creak of a branch being brushed aside. In the forest, absolute silence meant one thing only.

Up in her blind, Christi sat in total silence, ears cocked for all these sounds. The only noise that came from her was her gentle breathing, and every so often a soft tearing sound as she bit into another piece of jerky. She’d been up there most of the day, since before the sun had finally crested over the mountains, waiting for something to come along. Their meat freezer at the house had started to run below the minimum line, and since her father had still been passed out from the night before, and Derek was spending so much time in town, it fell to her to find something to replenish their supply. Unfortunately, it was looking like she was going to be going home empty handed tonight. 

A soft snap made her eyes flicker, and she sat up. The birds were still making their evening calls, which meant there wasn’t a predator around. She strained to hear more, and caught the [i]shuff shuff[/i] of the dry leaves on the ground being pushed around. Every two [i]shuff[/i]s it would stop, then start again. Her eyes narrowed as she panned over the forest. Whatever it was, it was large…

There! A doe, daintily making its way between the trees. Christi slowly stood, slipping her foot into the stirrup of her crossbow as she kept her eyes locked just off center of the female. She paused when its head went up, ears flicking about. Hunting was as much about reading one’s prey, somehow they always knew when you were looking directly at them, but she knew that she hadn’t been detected yet. When the deer’s head went back down, she bent and grabbed the bowstring, pulling it up to the catch. Still keeping an eye on the doe, she slowly raised the bow and rested it on the railing of the blind, her gloved hand keeping the sound muffled as she reached for a bolt. 

Up went the deer’s head, and she froze, breath held. Down it went, and she resumed, slotting the bolt into place as quietly as she could before raising the bow to her shoulder. She adjusted the scope, centering the dot on the deer’s chest. Sport hunters were adamant about aiming center mass, to make sure that the head was undamaged for a trophy; for Christi, it was just an easier shot to make. 

Her breath caught as the deer’s head came up again, and this time it stayed up, turning one way, then another. It was nervous, something was amiss. She waited, holding her breath even after the deer’s head went back down. The first lesson that her father had ever taught her about hunting was to never assume that you are smarter than your prey…

Sure enough, the deer’s head sprang back up, this time its gaze seemingly centered dead on her. It was a trick she had learned about the hard way, an attempt to catch out a potential predator. She hadn’t fallen for it in years, and this time wasn’t going to be anything different. Seconds ticked past, the deer staring at her, her staring at a branch about a foot and half above it. Finally, it lowered its head, still tense but apparently deciding that it was just being paranoid. Christi refocused, her finger curling around the trigger as she slowed her breathing. [b][i]1… 2… 3…[/i][/b] 

A breeze came up behind her, rustling the branches around the blind. The deer’s head came up, and right as she squeezed the trigger, it bounded away. Christi cursed in her mind as the bowstring [i]thwipped[/i], her bolt burying itself harmlessly into the ground. 

Shoulders slumped in defeat, she grabbed her backpack and began clambering down the camouflaged ladder. [b][i]Stupid, worthless. Should’ve tried one of the other game trails.[/i][/b] Stopping to retrieve her bolt and check it over for damage, she began the long walk back home.