The hunter, sitting in his folding chair out in the middle of the frozen lake with his fishing pole in hand, turned to the deer who was reeling in his empty line from the perfectly round hole in the ice and said, "I'm sorry about your cousin."

The deer took a swig from his Coors Light and replied, "That's ok, I never liked him anyways. He was destined to become venison chili some day."

They both laughed as they scooped the last few bites from their bowls. "Amen to that!"

The trees, with fallen leaves, stand sleeping

The grass, covered in snow, is lost to the world

Deer, hiding in the cave, a dark cozy home

Family huddles together, warm in each other's embrace, warm in the cold of winter

But Deer is lonely, different from all the other deer, different in thoughts and heart

Deer hates the cave, hates the home, hates the warmth

Deer wants adventure, wants to explore the unknown, wants to play in the snow

So in the dark, when only the moon and stars shine, Deer escapes from home

Free at last, Deer prances in the snow, lost in the rush

The forest is different in winter, the trees are bare, the ground sparkles like fallen stars

The sunrise, the colours in rainbows of pink, the darkness defeated

Deer doesn't notice, in the dead bushes and dying night, a hunter lies waiting

A hunter's found the prey, the gun ready, aimed

A hunter, with freezing fingers, steadies the grip on the trigger

A hunter breathes, breaths escaping like storm clouds, eyes watching Deer's every move

A hunter watches Deer's grace, the way Deer plays in the snow, the way Deer explores

Hunter sees a deer's life, sees a deer's soul, looks a deer right in the eyes

Hunter lowers the gun, stands from the hidden spot, exposing his presence in the forest

Hunter holds the gaze, reaching in the bag, fumbling for a treat to give

Hunter takes a step towards a deer, another step, the steps imprint in the snow

Hunter comes closer, smile on shivering face, inviting warmth

A deer's eyes widen, in a rush of animal adrenaline, a deer advances

Hunter sees the flash of hooves, the pain soon follows, falling to the snow's embrace

The snow is cold, the snow is painful, the snow is not a home

Blood seeps on the ivory snow

Blood flowing, bright red sin

Blood stains the deer's coat

In the hunter's hand, food clutched in mortal fingers

A peace offering for the lives lost from the hunter's gun

Deer is afraid to die, afraid of exploring, afraid of playing in the snow

Hunter was a murderer

But now, Deer is a murderer too...

Deer murdered Hunter

I could smell it, but not see it. The forest is to dense, here near the railway bulwark. Amazingly just accros nobody knows about animals lingering here during cold months. I look here and there, but nothing. It seems it dissapears in thin air. Maybe I should give up, but that isn‚t an option. Finally I smell a sense od young deer. Muzzle down to ground, ass in the air and the chase is on. Halfway to the river, I have to go back, Jovan is lost. He is my master, who is walking me, but I am not sure who is walking who over here.

He is on the path reading some silly book, of some Russian classic master. I mean who goes to wood to read some Pushkin, whilst one can chase wild things around this beautiful forest. I am back on the trial, as Jovan is chasing me, he doesn‚t want to lose me again. At last, I spot the herd of one-year old bucks, closely together. I scream and bark, at the same time, in the way I am only capable of. The chase is on, one animal is separated, but something is chasing me also, some yelling:

"Danny come back, Danny".

I have to return, it is time to go home, where fine, hot supper awaits forest wanderers, at least me, I am not sure for him. Another chapter of book will be sufficient enough for guys like him.

However I will return in few days, beware of me, mine young friends. Is it possible to consider your prey a pal. That is a question for every hunter. They spend so much time in close vicinity of those animals, so in the end they made some bond. Some of them even greater then with people of their village.

Actually, they aren‚t to be afraid of me, I honestly can‚t hurt them. I am just a dog, if I own bazooka and the manual for it, things would be different. Running away from me is just good practise. You don‚t want such lovely, strong and muscule animals to become fat and lazy, like some other mammals with remote control or Internet 24/7.