Struck

Found

Michael got up as soon as the first sliver of light shone through his window. His eyes were sandy in the corners, bags hanging low underneath. It had rained heavily last night and lightening always kept him tossing and turning. He slid out from underneath his wool blanket and padded around on the cold wool floor in search of his shoes.

After getting fully dressed, Michael left his hut and made his way down to the creek, lugging along a bag of dirty laundry. He dipped each item in the water letting them soak for about two minutes before hanging them to dry on a line he put up. The line was tied from one tree to the next on each end. When putting clothes up, he would loosen one end, letting it fall to the ground, and hang attach all the clothes on the line until it was almost used up. Then he would take the line, climb up the tree, and tie the line to a sturdy branch making sure everything was level. This way the clothes were high enough off the ground so very few animals could tear them, and the clothes wouldn't drip onto each other because of the level line.

Picking up his bow and arrows from it's hiding spot, in a branch covered with leaves, Michael started off down his normal hunting trail. The ground was still wet from the day before, making down hill slopes slippery. Since he enjoyed shooting from up hill much more than shooting on level ground, the trail he used was full of rising and falling ground. Knowing his usual path could lead to a twisted ankle and lousy hunting for at least a couple weeks, he opted to explore the level areas for animals instead.

Michael set off in the opposite direction of his normal trail, the one towards civilization. He grunt in discontent. The more civilization, the less large animals; the less large animals, the less food; the less food, the lower amount of energy to hunt; the lower amount of energy to hunt, the more likely he'd visit the town and be taken in. Of course none of this could happen in a day, but it'd been raining a lot more often lately. Over a span of time anything tragic could happen. Michael picked his way carefully through the woods, being as quiet as any highly trained spy would dream to be. He walked lightly, not crunching a single leaf. Any noise could scare off his dinner, and then what? He'd have to eat that dreadful soup of nuts and berries he attempted to make the day before? No. Not an option.

He stopped, listening carefully to his surroundings. Something was moving in a bush, but it was small. Too small to waste his time on, so he kept walking looking around for any signs of deer nearby. The earlier on he could detect them, the easier it would be to capture them without startling them. He crept slower now, getting more vigilant with each step, the woods ended no more than a mile away and he could never be too sure if hunters from town were snooping about. Michael looked down to find deer tracks right in front of him. He looked around, checking to make sure nobody else had found the tracks and were going the same way. He moved quickly now, running along side the deer tracks. The tracks were still fresh, so the deer was probably somewhere nearby. They did most their traveling at night, which meant catching them was a lot easier during the day. No man he knew could catch up to a frightened deer unless he were already anticipating they'd run and was set up for the shoot.

He stopped abruptly, placing a hand against the rough bark of a tree to keep himself steady. He could see the deer grazing on some grass about 50 feet in front of him. He took his bow off his shoulder and put an arrow on the string. Slowly he drew back, took a deep breath, and released. The arrow sliced through the silence with a whiz and spun until it buried itself deep in the deer's head. The deer dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

Michael grinned and ran out, his eyes set on his kill. A nice find, after the night he'd had. He ran down to the deer and looked it over, nodding with pride. Michael slung the deer over his shoulder, but dropped it again in shock after seeing a girl laid out five feet down hill, where the land got flat. He looked around to see if any one else was there, but she was alone.

"Hey," Michael grimaced at the sound of his own voice, living alone he'd had no reason to speak. "Hey, you ok?" It was dangerous for him to be making himself known to a stranger, but for some reason he didn't see her as a threat. When the girl didn't respond, he picked the deer back up and walked down to her. "Hey--" He stopped, noticing something red in her black curly hair and on the large flat rock her head was lying on. Great, a dead body. Of course she's not a threat, she's dead. He sighed, and scratched his head. Well, I'm not gonna bury her, and she's bound to be found some day. No need--

The girl groaned and tried to sit up, but instead she squeezed her eyes in pain and put her hand to the back of her head. Michael jerked back, tripping over his feet and falling on top of her, knocking her back down, unconscious.

"Ooh... My bad." He glanced at the deer he'd dropped behind him and back at her. Trying to decide which one he should carry back first. Injured girl or dinner? Both could be gone by the time I get back, but the girl being gone could be a good thing; the deer being gone would mean returning to the hut hungry and tired. Not a very good combination. He knelt down beside the girl and turned her head to examine her wound. Her hair felt soft and puffy but extremely dry and tangled with blood. He couldn't move her hair to look at her wound without hurting her more. He grunted and gave a sad look to the deer, before picking up the girl.

Back in his hut, Michael laid the girl down gently on his bed, grabbed a bucket, and went out to the creek. He filled the bucket with water and brought it behind his hut where stones were arranged in a circle around a pile of wood. He lit the wood on fire and hung the pot over it using poles he found at a camp site to keep it up. Michael dropped some berries and leaves in, that he'd picked the day before, and went back to get the deer.

Michael sat on a log in silence, watching the deer roast over the fire. He listened to the wood crackling and thought of the unconscious girl in his hut. Why was she even out there? None of the girls from the town had been out in the woods since he'd been there. He turned back towards the hut he'd built with his own hands, the surface was rough and promised splinters for days. This time, he wasn't checking to make sure his hut was built well enough to keep him protected, but wondering who the girl on the inside was. The sizzling of burnt skin drew him back to the fire. He tossed dirt to lower the flames before taking the deer from its place over it. He took the knife he'd made from the tooth of a wolf and cut the meat out of the deer, being careful to take as many bones out as he could. After all the long week he'd been having, it'd be too annoying to avoid the bones when he was so excited to finally be eating meat. Might as well get it out the way now.

He dropped the cut meat into the still warm pot and hung it back over the fire, adding salt he'd stolen from a camp site and had been rationing. He picked up a stick and stirred the pot, the boiling water would get rid of the germs anyway, why bother.

After he had finished, he poured some of the stew into a make-shift wooden bowl and took it inside. The girl was still spread out on his bed the same way he'd left her. He set the bowl down on the dresser and frowned at the girl, kneeling down beside her. Her long curly black hair fell onto her cheek. Her skin looked like ivory, gentle and soft to the touch. She looked like the type to do everything she could to stay away from the woods, so why was she there? It took everything he had not to shake her awake and demand knowledge of how she got there and who she was, but the last thing he needed was another enemy.

Michael noticed for the first time a deep gash across her left leg. The blood had dried on it, holding in leaves and dirt. He sighed, I didn't save your life just so you could die of an infection in your sleep. He grabbed a rag off his dresser and dipped it in a cup of water. His eyes wandered back to her face, as he cleaned the wound and wrapped it with a fresh bandage, something was off. He needed to be extra careful around her, not giving out any information that could be used against him, used to end his life. There was a reason she was out there; the people after him didn't have the same morals. Just because he saved her life, didn't mean she'd spare his.