Game

 

by Neil Rinaz (24151) IGCSE Grade 8

The innumerable trees made it very difficult to find a footpath that would later be needed for him to find his way...

around, but Ronan managed by squeezing through them and carving a cross on certain ones with his penknife. He had found it helpful during one of his first hunts, as it helped him find his way back to the tent, or eventually out of the forest.

  Ronan trudged through the woods. The air was thickly perfumed with the smell of damp soil. Thorns trapped themselves on Ronan’s jacket and beard. He would often spot squirrels scampering up the trees, or a crow perched on an unreachable branch. The crickets sang with a loudness that rang in Ronan’s head. The profusion of foliage gleamed vividly around him.

After what seemed like an hour, Ronan came across a particularly large clearing. He then spent the next hour setting up a flimsy tent that looked like it would fall apart any second. Ronan took off his backpack and rifle with a grunt and threw it inside the tent. He sat on the ground. It felt good to shed all that weight from his back. The thick smell of the forest clouded around Ronan, making him feel sleepy, and he eventually dozed off.

Ronan woke up when the sky was much darker, and his stomach rumbling with hunger. He went inside the tent, and used the torch from his phone to illuminate the interior. He reached into his bag and pulled out a box of food, which he had cooked earlier at home. He ate silently. Soon, the night settled in completely, and Ronan went back to sleep.

Ronan woke up to the sound of countless birds and insects. He could see through the canvas that it was already morning. From what he knew about chitals, they would be at rest during midday, so Ronan had a couple of hours. He was tenser than expected, even though he was experienced in hunting deer and knew exactly what to do. Maybe it was because he hadn’t gone out hunting for a long time.

Ronan took his rifle and left the tent. He used the markings on the trees to navigate his way back through the thick forest. 

After maybe an hour of trudging tirelessly, the trees started to grow sparser as Ronan walked on. The soil between the trees increased and tall, green grass began to grow on them. The leaves also began to disappear, allowing more sunlight into the outskirts of the forest. 

Eventually, the thick woods completely transitioned into a wide, sweltering grassland. The humid wind brushed against the grass, creating a loud noise that engulfed Ronan. He checked his watch. It wasn’t midday yet, but since he was already at his location, he might as well begin.

Ronan chose a short, dried up shrub (which had been reduced to a tangle of twigs and branches) right at the edge of the forest, and lay down on his stomach, so that the rifle rested on a large branch at the top of the shrub. Ronan used the gaps between the branches as a rear sight(a device used to improve aim); another trick he learnt for one of his first hunts. It did not work as well as a real one, but it was still useful.

He waited silently. As the minutes ticked by, and the sun rose to its full height, Ronan imperceptibly let his guard down. There was no sign of life other than the occasional squirrel. He began to give up.

He felt a finger tap his shoulder.

Ronan jumped, his heart feeling like it could explode, and he whipped around. His rifle came free of its perch and swung around with him uncontrollably. It hit a huddled figure, who yelped in pain.

After Ronan got over his initial fright, he recognised the mysterious man. He croaked, “Norsaq?”

Norsaq stood up painfully, still holding his side. He was another hunter, who accompanied Ronan many times before on hunts for the more elusive and dangerous animals, such as tigers or maybe elephants. 

Norsaq hailed from Greenland, where he helped locals catch sperm whales that resided far off into sea, and distribute food to the poorest households. He was especially known for creating ingenious disguises that lured polar bears and reindeers almost immediately. When they got really close, Norsaq would jump up, casting the skin away, and, before they knew it, shoot the prey right between the eyes. That was another of his strengths; his brilliant aim. 

Ronan wasn’t sure how exactly he came to India, but he had settled down there about a decade back, only just managing to scrape a living. He hadn’t seen Norsaq for years; his beard now had a few grey hairs and his eyes were slightly more sunken. But despite that, he still had that familiar air of mischief and cheerfulness.

Norsaq smiled painfully. Knowing Norsaq, he may have snuck up behind Ronan for a laugh. “Hello, Ronan.”

Ronan grinned and pulled Norsaq into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“My job,” Norsaq replied, breaking off. “Some men wanted me to hunt some spotted deer for their meat.”

“You too?” Ronan said, amazed. “They sent me to hunt the deer as well!”

Norsaq smiled in amazement too, acknowledging that it was an odd coincidence. Both men decided it was because the clients had not entirely trusted Norsaq’s offhandedness and sent Ronan too.

For the rest of the afternoon, the two men talked and talked, the chital forgotten for the moment. They had been very good friends for a long time, and now had the chance to catch up on old times. They had lunch together at Norsaq’s tent.

Before they knew it, it was half past five, and the sun was soon going to finish its journey across the sky. But before Ronan could leave, Norsaq stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “Ronan?”

“Yeah?”

“Um...we’re both hunting the deer, right?”

“Yeah...?”

“Well...” Norsaq scratched his head. “How about a bet? For old times’ sake?”

“Bet on what?” Ronan asked, mildly confused.

“On who gets the deer first!” Norsaq said, his face cracking into a small smile. “You or me?”

Ronan stared. The clients had offered quite a lot of money for him to catch the chital, tempting him out of his retirement, but now Norsaq was treating it as a game, with a much smaller price than what was initially offered. Ronan smiled in spite of himself. “How much?”

“Ten thousand rupees?” Norsaq shrugged, clearly satisfied. 

After a little bit of haggling, the two hunters decided that the loser of the bet had to pay the winner twelve thousand five hundred rupees. They departed soon afterwards. The next morning, Ronan woke up calmer than the morning before. He decided that it was because this was no more than a friendly bet rather than a job from some very demanding clients.

It was only dawn when Ronan exited his tent with a lighter backpack (he left his spare clothes and blanket in the tent). It was fairly cool inside the forest, and it would have been refreshing if not for the humidity. 

Using the crosses on the trees, Ronan eventually reached the same shrub he lay behind the day before, at the borders of the grassland. It was nine in the morning. Norsaq was nowhere to be seen.

Ronan knew that once it became far too hot, the chital would scramble for shade in the thick forest. So he waited, just like the day before. The sun beat down on Ronan’s back like a massive hot iron. The intense heat, coupled with the faint perfume-like smell of the forest, attacked Ronan’s senses, making him steadily drowsy...

Ronan woke up with a start, lying on the ground with the rifle still in his hand. In a sudden burst of panic, he checked his watch. It was way past midday.

Furious with himself, Ronan put on his backpack and scampered into the forest as fast as he could, hindered by the weight of his rifle. What was it with him and napping? It felt like whenever Ronan stopped moving for more than a few minutes, he would shut down. It’s laziness, he thought to himself, you haven’t gone on a hunt for more than a year, and now your lack of practice is catching up to you.

This idea was further supported when Ronan noticed he was panting, and he was still quite far away from his tent. He leaned on a tree to catch his breath.

He stopped abruptly.

Silently, Ronan loaded his rifle and pointed it at nothing in particular. He was sure he heard a loud rustling from the foliage. Norsaq? Or was it a deer?

Again, the rustling. Ronan was starting to get nervous. His nerves were tightening and loosening as though they were violin strings being impatiently tuned. He was forcing himself to be silent so much that he had to remind himself to breathe. 

He caught a glimpse of sleek golden fur sprayed with white spots.

Without thinking, Ronan pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was ear-splitting in the relative silence of the forest. Several birds flew away in fright, and the rustling was louder than ever. It grew softer as the chital sprinted away.

There was another gunshot in the distance. Probably Norsaq. Ignoring it, Ronan started looking for tracks.

After wandering around the forest trying to follow the chital’s trail, Ronan hit jackpot; there were frantic paw-prints that dug deep and scurried across the ground: the deer's fear was palpable. Ronan wondered if it was the same deer that slipped through his fingers. He followed the tracks, but they led nowhere. He came across many other tracks, but they led nowhere as well.

Midday flew by. Ronan was tired and hungry, but his impatience and tightly strung nerves prevented him from eating or resting. 

It was not the bet that was keeping him going; instead, it was the deadline that the clients had set for him, a piece of information he had kept secret from Norsaq. Ronan guessed that Norsaq did not have a deadline, because he was much more relaxed than Ronan.

The sun had almost set, and it was near pitch dark in the forest. All Ronan could see were the silhouettes of trees. He had nothing but his hearing to rely on.

And then he heard the rustling, softer than before, but much closer.

Instead of mindlessly firing his bullet, Ronan pointed his weapon at the bush from where he heard the sound. Despite his calmer actions and appearance, he was far more excited than before. His entire body itches with the thought of taking the deer to the clients, collecting both their and Norsaq’s money, and displaying the magnificent head on his wall

He pulled the trigger.

A strangled cry escaped from the foliage shortly after the bullet rang throughout the forest.

Brimming with victory, Ronan put his rifle down and pushed the leaves apart to see if he had managed a clean kill.

The sight before him shattered his balloon of satisfaction.

Ronan bent down, his outstretched hand shaking with a torrent of emotions. He grabbed the deerskin by the ears and pulled it off easily. For it was not the deer underneath.

Even the dim light of the purple-blue sky could not shield Ronan from the sight of Norsaq’s limp, lifeless body.