On the banks of a small stream trickling through its very own rocky fir lined channel, a young deer stood alert as it chewed something. To be utterly terrified in all moments of waking was an odd but courageous way to live a life yet here stood this fit little fellow. The only sounds were the stream bouncing off itself and its rocks, the occasional dropped cone and the metronomic chomping of this small animal.
Trained on the deer from forty yards up the slope was a Nosler Patriot rifle, c****d long before the deer had arrived. Behind that was a man barely breathing, waiting for a really tasty morsel to keep the deer’s head straight for the smallest of seconds.
The deer routinely checked all around him. He’d heard the noise that this nemesis produced from varying distances before and was
