It was about noon when a pair of kids walked into the shop, it was an old antique shop. The kids looked to be about six and seven, a young girl with her older brother. The shop is filled with old antiques, vases, paintings, swords, statues, tools, figurines, etc. None of those however are what drew the young boy in, the young boy was interested in bow that hung behind the counter.
“Can I help you two?” an older man with dark skin asks from behind the counter, he is shuffling paper.
“Um mister, I saw that bow hanging up there, and I was wondering if I could see it. If so, how much would it cost to buy?” The boy announced while pointing. The man turns and looks at the bow and a small smile can be seen on his face.
“You can see the bow, however you cannot touch it. It is just a decoration piece and not for sale.” The man asserted. The kid nods. The man reaches up and grabs the bow, turning it in his hands. He sets it down on the counter for the two to see. The siblings look at the bow in awe, staring at the carvings that twist around the smooth wood. After a few moments the man picks the bow back up and places back on its hanging spot.
“That bow is very beautiful.” The girl says in a hushed voice. The man turns to her and nods.
“Indeed it is. Did you know that every piece here in my shop has its own story and history?” The man explained.
“Mister, can you tell us the story of the bow then, it is amazing.” The boy pleaded.
“Of course I can tell you the story. It is a very long tale so I need you guys to sit still okay.” The man mentioned as he pulled out stools for each of them to sit on.
“We can sit and listen patiently, our parents say we are very patient.” The boy promised. The man sat down and began telling the story of the bow.
As the golden glowing sun rose over the horizon, it shows upon a lone tent, standing alone in the small valley. It is a small white hide tent that has black circular stripes ringing from the top to the bottom. A moment later a man comes out of the tent, he has dark skin, he is wearing a pair of dark brown pants, no shirt and a headdress. The headdress had seven antlers sticking up and one that is curved back. There is also a big eagle feather in the back that stands straight up. The hunter puts his hand above his eyes to shade them from the glare of the sun as he peers out across the valley.
The valley was in between two small mountain ranges that started out separate then came together after a few miles. Today is the last day I’m going to camp here, I need to find another spot to set up camp. He thinks, sighing he turns and goes into the tent and packs up his gear. This consists of just what he needs, a back pack that held a small wooden washbowl, a forest green blanket, a small pillow, an extra pair of pants, and a pair of leather boots were tucked in the main pouch. Inside a smaller pouch there was a plate, a spoon, fork, and a small wooden cup. Once he finishes taking apart the tent, he rolls it up and straps it to the outside of the backpack. He grabs the last of his equipment, which consists of a hunting knife that he straps to his leg, a leather side quiver that he straps on, and a bow.
The bow is a beautiful wooden bow, made from nice and strong Yew wood, and there are small etchings that curled along the entire length of the wood. The string is made of sinew from his first kill, an elk in the back woods of his home land. He decides to go up the valley and over the mountains.
With the bright sun beating down on his skin, he starts to make his way up the valley. The dry prickly grass tickling the bottoms of his bare feet as he makes his way over to a tree to take a brief rest. The branches provide a much needed break from the glaring sun. As he’s sitting down a thought comes to him, What if there is no water where I am going? No, I can’t afford to think like that now. He gets up and stretches stiffly, his muscles flexing under his smooth skin. He snaps a length of wood off of a tree branch to use as a walking stick. On his way to the base of the mountain a large cloud comes and blocks out the sun. He uses this brief protection of the shade that was provided to increase his pace.
It is around noon when he reaches the bottom of the mountains, and when the shade disappears. He unloads his backpack until he gets to the finely crafted black leather boots, which he puts on. Stepping on to the rocky ground he starts making his way up the mountains, dismayed at the fact that there are no preexisting trails to follow. Once the sun passes its zenith the intensity drops, and a nice breeze starts to blow across his back, raising a few goosebumps. At one point while he was climbing his foot slips and he lost the walking stick, holding on by just his fingertips with a 250 foot drop below him. His mind was racing with ways on how to get out of this situation, eventually he was able to haul himself up. His pants got a hole torn in them when scrapping against the side of the mountain. He takes a quick minute or two to change his pants. Finally, on top of the 563 foot tall mountain, he looks around to see a small wooden shack in the middle of the flat mountain top.
As he slowly and silently makes his way to one of the windows. Peering inside he can see no one inside, which leads him to pry the widow open and climb in. He enters the living room area that contains a small light blue rug and a wooden rocking chair. He quickly does a search of the cabin, finding a bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchen. In the kitchen he finds a box that contains six bottles of water, of which he takes two, one of those he drinks now, the other would be for later. He doesn’t touch any of the food; he can get his own. He leaves a small note of apology for taking the water, and then leaves the house the same way he entered. When he approaches the other side of the mountain he is delighted to see a well-worn trail leading down. From this vantage point he is able to see a small pinprick of a town just about 45 mile from what he could estimate. There is also a forest about three miles east of the town. I can set up in the woods, he ponders, Yes, they will be perfect.
He hears a sound to his left which alerts him and makes him look, it is just a mountain goat. He slowly and carefully unslings his bow and draws an arrow, pointing and drawing carefully. He draws the string all the way back to the edge of his lip, lines up the shot and THUMP! The arrow slams into the side of the goat, sticking out only 1 foot. The goat runs quickly away from him, going down the mountain to a small outcropping of rock that sticks out ten feet from the side of the mountain. He follows the goat down to the rock, and pokes it to make sure that it is dead. Not seeing a reaction he sets down his backpack and unsheathes his hunting knife. Cutting into the goat, with laser precision, he quickly skins it and starts to remove the parts he is going to eat at the moment. He finishes cutting out the meat and sets it aside to go scrounge for fire building materials. He finds scraps of wood and some brush that will be good for building a fire. He quickly sets to building a fire to cook the meat, once the fire is done and the meat set up he takes two sips of water. After the hour it takes to cook the meat and set everything up for the meal. He takes out the plate, fork, knife, and blanket. He first clears away any rocks that would poke up through the blanket, then folds the blanket edges together to make a triangle. He lays out the blanket and puts the dishes down gently, taking the meat down he puts it on his plate. Before he eats, he goes over the goat and kneels before it.
In a deep hoarse voice says, “Thank you for your contribution, I will make sure to use what you have provided to the best of my ability, and not leave what I don’t to the predators.” After he sanctifies the kill he returns to his food and eats the meat, cutting off one bite at a time. Once he finishes the meal he takes two more sips of water, and uses a diminutive amount of water to wash off his plate and silver ware. After the blanket and dishes are packed up he puts the rest of the goat onto the fire. The blazing flames lick the goat hungrily and soon it gets consumed.
Looking at the sun, seeing it to be about five o-clock he sighs and starts to make his way back to the path and down the mountain.  As he finally makes his way down the mountain he finds a small post with a French Arabian horse tied to a post. The horse is beautiful brown. On his way over he looks around to see if there is anybody around. Seeing no one he unties the horse, and gets on, Must be really trained for it not to resist. He nudges his heels into the horse and it takes off on a trot down the dusty barren road. He goes a mile or two to warm up the horse before he clicks his heels and sends the horse into a gallop.
After 30 miles it gets too dark to continue riding, so he pulls off the road 500 feet and unpacks the main pouch of his backpack and starts to set up the tent, which takes him ten minutes. He walks into the tent and lays out the blanket and pillow, setting his bow and arrows to the side. He takes off, and puts the boots back into his backpack on the bottom. He just lets the horse sit and graze on the grass, he doesn’t need the horse anymore so he isn’t concerned about it running away. He takes the washbowl and fills it with the rest of the water and washes his upper body. Now in the darkness with the moon starting to rise, he lays down on the flat grass that forms a cushion below him and pulls the blanket up and falls asleep.
Waking up to a loud swishing sound, he slowly draws his body into a crouching position. He slowly moves to the entrance of the tent pulls the flap back, looking for any sign of disturbance. He looks around and sees that the horse is gone, but the swishing sound is still there, what the heck is that, and where is it coming from. He thinks. Looking up he sees the source of the sound, a massive bird was flying up laboriously. The bird had the horse in its talons, dead, of course. Before the hunter leaves the ten he grabs his bow and an arrow, the arrow is bigger than the rest of his arrows. The hunter slowly exits the tent and circles around to use it as cover. He takes a few steps back to get a good shot, he lifts up the bow and puts the arrow on the string. The arrow was a custom arrow that he made a month ago when he had to kill a buffalo, so he could kill it in one shot instead of two or three. Pulling back the bow masterfully as he had done thousands of times in his life. When the tip of his finger presses against the back corner of his lips, he takes aim.
A silhouette of the hunter’s upper body shines against the moon in that moment. With no shaking in his limbs he lets go of the string and the arrow slices through the air. The arrow sinks into the back of the beast silently, and protrudes out the front of the beast. Without even a sound the creature falls to the ground with a large thud. Releasing a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding, he walks over to the bird and plucks one of its feathers. The feather fits the length from his wrist to his elbow. It is a beautiful golden color, it would be just what he needed to prove the kill and retake his place among his tribespeople. He walks over to the horse and removes the talons from the sides of it.
Kneeling beside the horse and in the same rough voice he speaks “Thank you for your service friend, it was sad to see you go. May you rest in peace.” He finds enough materials to create a torch. He removes the grass within 20 feet of the horse, so the fire would not spread. He lights the torch by sliding a flint and a steel arrow head together. He uses the torch to set the horse ablaze, a few minutes later the horse stopped burning. With the moon high in the sky and a light breeze tickling his skin he picks up some of the ashes and scatters them to the wind. After the rest of the ashes scatter on their own, he shambles back into his tent and with a resigned sigh he nodded off to asleep.
“And to this day some say the lone hunter is still out there moving from place to place and living off the land. Others say he was welcomed back to his tribe with open arms.” The man finalizes.
“Well, what do you think happened to the hunter?” the little boy asked with wide eyes. The little girl nodding in agreement
“I cannot say for sure, but I do believe he is still out there, doing what, I cannot say.” The old dark-skinned man said. “But I will give you this for being such good listeners, maybe in a few years it will fit you.” The old man pulled out a headdress from under the counter. The headdress had seven antlers sticking up and one that was curved back. There was a feather there, but it wasn’t an eagle feather, it was a feather that was a beautiful golden color. The feather was irregularly large to be just any normal feather.
“Wow, this is just like the one in the story! Thank you mister” the boy exclaimed joyfully
“It’s getting late, and I have to close up shop now, so you two better get going back to your parents.” The man advised
“Ok, bye mister” the kids shout as they leave the shop. The man follows them and shuts the door after they leave. He walks over to the door that leads to the back room and looks back at the shop before sighing. He opens the door, inside the room is a small bed with a worn and faded forest green blanket, a small nightstand with a lamp, and a window. The man walks over to the bed where he takes off a pair of black leather boots and sets them on a night stand. He takes some water from a washbowl that is on the table and washes his face, dried by a towel that is nearby. He lays in bed and pulls the blanket up to his chin, sometime later the hunter falls asleep.