Winter Hunt
Michael Jasper
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Published by Michael Jasper at Smashwords
Winter Hunt
Copyright © 2011 by Michael Jasper
First published in The Stirring, July 2000; reprinted in Climate Controlled, October 2002.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Winter Hunt
Michael Jasper
In the early morning darkness, Brad Koopman stepped into the tracks his older William made in the snowy hay field, his smaller boots fitting easily into each hole. William had taken the lead automatically, and his broad back deflected most of the bitter Iowa wind, also making it easier for Brad to move. The two brothers walked in silent gray darkness toward the trees as bands of red light filled the sky above them. Their father was deep in the woods, waiting for deer.
“What time did he get up?” Brad asked his brother’s back. The icy air of late December filled his chest, and he immediately regretted opening his mouth. It felt like his lungs were going to freeze.
“An hour ago, I think,” William said without turning around. His voice barely reached Brad’s ears.
Shifting the unfamiliar weight of the compound bow to his right hand, Brad shuffled through the crunching snow to keep up with his brother. Three inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than Brad, William was already breathing in short, fast bursts. Brad caught up to him as they left the clean expanse of the field and entered the overgrown forest where they used to hunt with their father.
Once they were inside the protective cover of the trees, the winter wind became a rustling sigh. William stopped next to a tree stump and set his bow carefully onto the snow. Resting his hands on his knees, he exhaled long streams of air that floated around his head like the smoke from their farmhouse’s small chimney. Brad leaned against a tree with dead, ice-covered leaves dotting its branches, breathing easily. The cold had relented in time for Christmas the day before, then an ice storm had hit last night that sealed the lane and the barns with a coating of clear, slick freeze.