He had never thought about it. Never given death even a second thought. But now it would not leave his mind. A quick slash with a knife, a blow to the head, a fell from a crag. And it is over.
The only death he had ever know was that of his Father. And he had been quite young. It had been lonesome without him, sad. But he had not understood how very final it was. He had always thought, in a childish way, that his Father would return. Perhaps, strangely, even 'til now.
He hadn't thought of his Father for a long while. He knew not why, but tears welled from his eyes. For a few moments he sat beneath the tree, sobbing. Now I begin to understand. How strange, after all these years. And yet he had always missed his Father. But he had never cried before. He shook his head.
His Mother had cried. He remembered, at night, listening to her
sobs. He had walked to her bed, hugged her, and she kissed him.
But he had not really understood. Now he did. How very strange.
How insensitive we are, unknowingly.
Biting his lip he rose, glanced back toward the escarpment.
With an effort he brought his thoughts once more to the hunt.
Did the deer ever think of death? Was the buck fearful,
constantly watchful for the hunter? How very strange the world!
He began his descent, wide-eyed and watchful. There could be others around any tree, any boulder!
His concern was not warranted, for he met neither brigands nor wild beast. The mountain slopes were silent. As though the men had never existed, had never disturbed the peace and calm of the placid heights.
The valley he sought lay far below, tree encompassed. The downward path would be easier. Even now he walked mid patches of green grass and verdant bushes. Wild flowers bloomed, occasional berry bushes provided sustenance, and he ate, then stopped.
Here he was eating, enjoying the mountains bounty! And they! Lying dead, who had but moments before lived and breathed as did he. How short the distance between survival and abundance. He thought again of the scene he had watched.
The thought continued to shock him. His thoughts were more often on material things, on stalking the deer, catching the fish from the streams. He shook his head, driving away dismal thoughts as he lengthened his stride toward the distant valley.