Arrows of Blame

The boy ran nimbly as he could down the deer trail. Dodging low limbs and cat claw. Then stopped at the meadows edge to catch his breath. Across the meadow he could see the smoke rising from the chimney and he knew the rabbit he held in his hand would soon be stewed. He reached over his shoulder and straighten the quiver strap that had slipped down almost to the point of rubbing a blister on his neck, then made sure the bow was still secure.

By the time he got across the meadow he was wringing wet from the knees on down. The dew showed promise that the feed would hold out until the first frost, until then the hunting would remain good.

As the first dusting of snow came he found what his father had taught him rung true. The snow is easier to track in but the tracks would be fewer. His father had been called away to track an escape convict. He could be gone for a month maybe longer. Father and son had gathered the bounty for the family for as long as he could remember. Lessons were taught, learned, an administered.  

There were three things driven home above all the other learning,  first, respect for life, which seamed out of place as you were out to take a life. Time and time again he was taught to only kill what you eat and no more than you needed. Target practice was not to take a life. 

The second was patience. Take time to take the right shot. Not one that wounds, not hurried. Notice the breeze. Calculate how it will play for you or against you. If needs be, move to take advantage of the wind.

Third, if the shot is missed it lies solely with you.

Daylight was getting shorter, the days colder, and the prey more scarce. He silently walked with his eyes peeled for any sign. Be it prey or predator. At least he will learn the habits of both and could be on the receiving end of some other creatures loss. He went home that day empty handed but up beat for tomorrow.

Day after day he returned empty handed. His mother consoled him with stories of how years ago his dad also was honing his hunting skills and they went without, but never went hungry. There was always other things to eat besides that’s days catch. Food preserved carefully by his mother for times just as this.

“All will be fine. Be patient with yourself. Accept you are not all your going to be right now.” His mother would say.

As the sun broke over the hills on the fourth day he spotted a squirrel, low on a tree trunk. He took the shot, the squirrel rounded the trunk to the far side, his arrow missed the mark and the tree. “Stupid wind, you made me miss.

He walked on, heard a raven and took the shot. He did not miss, dead on. But his heart sank as he realized he took the life of a creature he would not eat. He soon reasoned that bird was a noisy old thing that was scaring off all his prey. 

Over the next week and a half he brought home two squirrels and a large hare. The snow fell again and started to melt by the time his father returned. 

“Son” his father said “Your mother tells me that you had some rough hunting days. Not that you didn’t bring home a kill but that you were saddened.”

“Father, I did my best but the elements were not in my favor.”

“Son I do not doubt your tried your best while I left you to do a mans job. Arrows of blame drawn from a quiver of guilt will not bring happiness.”

“Father, I don’t understand.”

His father drew a deep breath and quietly said “When we draw back our bow and let blame fly,we soon have a quiver full of reasons or excuses not to better ourselves. That son is the sin we fall prey too when we find fault in others or circumstances and not analyze what change needs to come from us first.”