In the forest
An empty forest without sound, a thick layer of fog blanketing everything. The nights predators have gone to sleep, the days dwellers have yet to awake. In between the two worlds is a good time to walk for the man in the grey coat.
He walks slowly up by the stream looking patiently for his query. He’s been here before, the wind picks up the cold from last winters snow. Up here there are still patches of white behind most rocks.
There is a sound, it’s faint but unmistakable. There’s something else up here. Somewhere close by and it doesn’t yet know about the man. A head peeks up from behind an edge. How could something so large possibly stand on an ledge this small ? But that’s why they are called mountain goats.
The man draws a sight on the goat, below the neck where the heart is. He breaths in slowly, the goat is still. As he exhales he slowly pulls the trigger. The goat falls in slow motion, a red bloom in its chest.
It will be a long walk back to where the camp is set. The goat will need to be cleaned, quartered and skinned.
The forest is quiet again.