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.
"Well, I must be careful. Mother was right. There are brigands
about. My, that ankle does ache. But I promised Mother venison."
He leaned on the staff to lessen the pain.
The high mountains beckoned with promise of game. Above the
domain of man the deer browsed. At times threatened by wolf or
the mountain lions, they flourished still. To the hunter who
dared these slopes a day without success was rare.
The storm clouds were nearing rapidly. The air preceding their
arrival was beginning to cool. The odor of rain wafted ahead of
the storm. And the odor of ozone, accompanying the frequent
lightning flashes. Drifting downward from the peaks, dark
thunderclouds forewarned of imminent danger. Long rumbles of
thunder followed the frequent flash of lightning.
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