He had me. I’d failed to trim a single, small branch. Rookie mistake. My elbow snapped the twig as I hit full draw. The evening wind had died, and the sound seemed to boom through the woods. The buck quartered-to, snapped his head up and fixed his gaze on me.
I wasn’t moving, but it didn’t matter. His stare was firm. Rotating my hand inward to take pressure off the hinge, I held, and held, and held some more. Never in my life have I been so thankful to have performed so many hold-at-full-draw exercises.
I don’t know how long my bow was back, but it was a while. When the staredown ended and the buck calmed, he took a single step forward and turned...
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