4 (prologue)

1.6.12

...thwoop!!!

Santiago's arrow struck deeply into the heart of the beast. Her shaft was of sycamore.  Her now stained red head of molded clay and her quills hand-placed from the fell feathers of a father cardinal, rested in peace. She was gifted in the art of drawing blood.

Standing quite still, holding his breath, Santiago had made his first kill.  Not out of necessity, for his village was able to breed all needed bellymeat and to harvest bountiful crops.  No, Santiago's prey was sent from the forest as an act of sacrifice.  A rite of passage.

He exhaled.  And collapsed into the shallow, stone bottom creek.  His bow fell from his shoulder as on his hands and knees he sought stillness in the sharp flowing current.  And cried.
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rick stanton
www.stantonarts.artworkfolio.com