"Fief in the Woods at Dawn"

[J. R. Parks]

Lachlan Fief notched his rifle butt with a finger-blade to account for the kill. In the dimness of morning his shape was skewed by mist and whispering grass, hidden beneath a chaotic weave of thatched twigs and dead leaves tied to his raiment like ornaments. The hunter rose from the thicket and sloughed off his buffalo skin cloak; the filthy, rumpled hide slumped into the rough, as invisible to the eye as a badger hole, dank and sewn with sticks. The glint of gunmetal flashed only when the hunter moved, and only when he moved did birds suddenly awaken from frightened stillness. Coming upon the slope, Lachlan listened for the frantic struggle of a maimed buck; he heard nothing, spying over the tips of marsh elder, and saw that the buck fell cleanly, sliding down a mossy fissure some yards off. A clean fall meant antlers were spared from breaking and unbroken crowns bode well for boasting.

 

[Bill Floyd]

A finely tuned visual sensibility here.   And the wordplay at the end is satisfying to the inner ear.

[Diana E. Backhouse]

Great imagery here, Paul.

[Teresa]

This is fantastic, as usual.  You'll be successful.  No doubt.  I don't often get that feeling but when I do...

[Angela]

Terrific scene.  I felt him creeping - the tension was fine.

[Robert McEvily]

"Lachlan Fief" - one of the greatest character names of all time.