Saturday, December 8, 2018

From Brothers of the Mountain: Heart of the Frontier

Running Fox had a row of deep, creased lines that stacked upon a cinnamon colored brow. His hair was the color of cotton and fell to the middle of his back. To look into his sunken eyes, one would see the determination of a prideful man, one who had never given up on his Shawnee heritage. He had overcome countless hindrances throughout his many years on earth and, if one looked deeper into his eyes, they would see the strife that life had dealt him, the strife that hardened his soul.
The old man leaned on his oak walking staff while he penetrated the abdomen of a cottontail with his hunting knife. He slit the animal to the top of its ribcage and removed the entrails by sinking his hand inside and ripping them clean. He cut away the feet and head and threw them over into some bushes. Next, he slipped the blade between the fur and flesh and cut away the meat he intended to roast for his morning meal.
After skinning the animal, he clutched the oak staff with his frail-looking hand and squatted next to a creek bank. He dipped the bloody carcass and knife into the stream to rinse them both. On ancient legs, he struggled to stand. His form was not properly straight as it once had been many years ago. Now, his back remained as arched as the rolling hills just beyond the creek by which he stood.

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