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way the deer could have crossed, but where else could it have gone?
    I manage to persuade Nathaniel that we need to set up camp.  Despite the quickly darkening sky, he wants to keep going.  I forbid it.
    Nathaniel is happy to use his new knife and skins the rabbit before it rots.  Then we cook the meat and share it around the fire with some bread, finally going to bed afterward.
    We wake early.  The fire still smolders weakly, but I dump some water on it anyway.  Then I dig around in my pack and find some rope.  I twist, tie, and lay it out until I have set a formidable trap.  I repeat the process twice, and then we leave the campsite.
    This day goes much the same as the last.  But today I get out my throwing knives and hold one ready, determined to get at least one thing with only a knife.
    My chance comes when a large pheasant-like bird perches on a branch next to us.  It’s an ugly thing and is just about to scream us a lullaby when my knife cuts it short.
    I’m very satisfied with my bird and decide to keep some of the longer feathers to put on arrows.
    We try to stay in the cover of thicker thickets, but with the trees as large as they are, good cover is sometimes hard to come by.  Aside from my bird, today we are unlucky.
    We camp at the same rock outcrop over the river, but don’t dare sleep over the angry Fravora.  We sleep on the shore, safe and sound.  My bird proves tasty, and my traps prove empty and unsprung.
    In the morning we consider crossing the river but quickly decide against it.  It bothers me that we haven’t seen anything larger yet.  Usually by now we will have at least spotted a deer or a bear, but I’m not at all eager to encounter the latter.  I think that they might be on the other side; the height of the water suggests otherwise.
    Nathaniel shoots two birds the following day.  To make it even better, I find that two of my traps have caught me a rabbit each.  Our luck starts to pick up.
    We eat only one of the birds, but pluck the other and skin the rabbits.  We fillet the meat and package it carefully with prepared bags, and then put it in our packs.  It won’t last long, so we’ll either have to eat it quickly or head home.  We decide to eat the other bird.
    When we wake the next morning, I feel something is a little different.  It’s not the air.  Not my clothes.  Not my hair.  Not my pack.
    I ask Nathaniel if he notices anything, but he asks me what I’m talking about and continues moving.  I shrug off the feeling and it goes away.
    Finally, we see one.  A deer.  It’s a buck with a good-sized rack, and it stands tall.  But there’s another:  a doe.  It’s rather small, and a good distance away from the buck.  Nathaniel nocks an arrow and takes aim.
    I see a funny movement out of the corner of my eye.  As soon as I turn to see, Nathaniel fires.  The doe bounds across the clearing and the arrow enters her side; the buck takes off into the trees before I can blink.
    Nathaniel gives me a look.  “What were you looking at?”
    “The doe,” I answer.  “It was running at the buck.”  I look at where the doe fell.  “Why’d you shoot the doe?”
    “You distracted me!  I was aiming for the buck!”
    “You’re that easily distracted?”
    “Apparently.”
    I stare at him.  “Well,” I say, “at least you got something.”
    He nods and says, “Come help me get it.”
    It’s just a little doe, so both of us grab an end and carry it without too much trouble.  But by the time we make it to the Fravora, we’re exhausted.
    After a minute or two of rest, we get to work.  Using my trap ropes, we lash some smaller logs together and make some sort of crude makeshift sled.  Then we work quickly on the deer, readying it for travel and getting rid of its insides.  We have to start home quickly, before the doe spoils.
    We take turns pulling the sled like a handcart.  It doesn’t take us too long, though the trip home is obviously longer than the