Nick Easler<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The snowmobile chopped and whined as it wound between trees and up and down hills. Father and son shook together as the snowmobile bounced over a fallen branch concealed by the snow. An early November storm was laying a white blanket over the hardened earth, and it threatened to conceal the drops of blood the man used to track the deer he\u2019d wounded moments before. He wiped snowmelt from his eyes and squinted against the setting sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPapa,\u201d the boy yelled, but the man didn\u2019t hear. Wind whipped his scarf into the boy\u2019s face. The boy struggled to keep his grip on his father\u2019s slick coat. \u201cPapa, can we slow down?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When the blood became too faint to see from the snowmobile, they stopped and the man looked back at the boy. The boy\u2019s face was covered in wool his mother had wrapped around him before the man picked him up for the day. Two small blue eyes, barely visible between the folds of his scarf, blinked away crystals that collected on the boy\u2019s eyelashes during the ride. His hand-knit mittens fumbled around his mouth until a little red nose escaped with a sniffle. The man smiled. \u201cThink we can track him on foot?\u201d he said. The boy looked at the white earth, striped by the skeletons of dormant trees, and said nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man slung his rifle over one shoulder and helped the boy from his seat. The boy\u2019s boots, bought on special the week prior, were already cracking from moisture and cold. The boy lumbered about for a comfortable place to stand while his father tried to find the blood trail again. When he noticed the boy staring awkwardly up at him, he pointed aside and said, \u201cSee these little bits of blood? He couldn\u2019t have got far.\u201d The boy looked at the ground. \u201cThey get tired after the shock wears off,\u201d the man explained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boy followed closely behind, jumping from one crater to the next as they formed under his father\u2019s long strides. The boy clenched his fists and tried to ignore the ache of his numbing feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man spoke casually as he scanned the snow for blood. \u201cI heard you picked up the trumpet at school.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTrombone,\u201d the boy said. \u201cMom got a Trombone for me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cRight. Do you like music then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boy shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man looked up to meet the boy\u2019s gaze. \u201cYou didn\u2019t always like music,\u201d he said. \u201cWhenever I played it in the kitchen during lunch, you\u2019d tell me, \u2018Papa, please turn it off.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI just don\u2019t like that music, papa. I like music. But not all music.\u201d The boy tried to scratch his head with one mittened hand but only succeeded in pushing his knit cap to one side. His father adjusted the hat till it covered the boy\u2019s ears again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d the man said, and went back to his search.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPapa,\u201d the boy said. \u201cDavid said you won\u2019t be at my birthday next week.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell,\u201d the man said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry, bud. I\u2019ll be out of town.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man knelt beside the boy and pulled the scarf from his face. \u201cHave you ever been around an animal that\u2019s been hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boy shook snow from his pant leg. \u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell they get real scared. And they get desperate, you know.\u201d He watched the boy\u2019s face as he spoke. \u201cSometimes, they lash out. And the best thing you can do is stay clear if they do that. You understand?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boy nodded.
\u201cYou just let the bleeding do the work,\u201d the man said, and he rubbed the top of the boy\u2019s head as he stood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPapa,\u201d the boy said, and he grabbed the man\u2019s hand with both mittens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man led them onward till they approached a drift that lay between pines. A depression in the snow led to a break in the brambles where the trail of blood became wide and dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man tried to pull his hand free of the boy\u2019s grip, but the boy held tight. \u201cLet go, Mike,\u201d the man whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The boy held tight and stared at the gap where the wounded creature had passed. He peered into the shade of the evergreens until he saw silhouettes within: dark figures, superimposed, bowing and heaving shallow gasps. Their bodies steamed from the exertion of their escape. A sudden feeling of loneliness came over him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe\u2019s in here, Mike. Stand back.\u201d The man finally pulled his hand free, leaving his glove in the boy\u2019s mittens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t let go!\u201d the boy yelled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man hissed as he unslung his rifle. \u201cStop making noise!\u201d The boy wrapped his arms around the man\u2019s waist and squeezed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
With his rifle in one hand, the man tried to pry the boy from his body with the other. The boy pulled to resist, and they lost balance, falling backward into the snow as a buck erupted from the brambles. It arced gracefully through the space the man and boy had occupied before tumbling into the clearing behind them. The two turned to watch the animal flee, but it had already collapsed, too tired to run any longer. The boy heard the deer\u2019s labored breathing but could not see its face. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGod dammit Mike,\u201d the man said as he sat up. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t shoot him papa,\u201d the boy pleaded. \u201cPlease don\u2019t, papa.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A concerned look came over the man\u2019s face. \u201cHe\u2019s dying Mike,\u201d he said. The boy didn\u2019t respond but continued to stare at the animal helpless in the snow. The man placed himself in the boy\u2019s face and said in a hushed tone, \u201cHe\u2019s already gone, Michael. We can\u2019t leave him here like this. It wouldn\u2019t be right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want you to do it.\u201d Tears formed in the boy\u2019s eyes. \u201cDon\u2019t, please.\u201d He wiped his nose and sniffled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not right to let him suffer.\u201d The man searched for his rifle in the place where they had fallen, when a rhythmic pounding caused the boy to step back. The deer, rising in halting jerks, found its footing and stood. The man forgot his search for the rifle and turned to watch as the injured creature started a syncopated canter across the clearing. In a moment it was swallowed by the shadows of the treeline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou okay, Michael?\u201d the man asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI want to go home,\u201d the boy said, and he reached for the man\u2019s bare hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man nodded and took the boy’s hand. Together they retrieved the fallen rifle and traced their steps back to the snowmobile. \u2766<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Nick Easler The snowmobile chopped and whined as it wound between trees and up and down hills. Father and son shook together as the snowmobile bounced over a fallen branch concealed by the snow. An early November storm was laying a white blanket over the hardened earth, and it threatened to conceal the drops of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":99,"menu_order":1,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-38","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/38","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=38"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/38\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":182,"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/38\/revisions\/182"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/99"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wmsc.ink\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=38"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}