Hunting - Lesson 2

Instructions

Smoke settled beneath the shade of a broad oak as the heat of the afternoon deepened, the air thick with the scent of sun‑warmed grass and crushed wildflowers. The clearing behind him was quiet now, the tall summer stalks swaying gently where moments earlier they had thrashed with the energy of the hunt. The pups lay close, their breaths still uneven, their bodies humming with the aftershock of instinct and effort. They did not speak, but their eyes—wide, bright, searching—asked questions all the same. Smoke watched them for a long moment before turning his gaze back toward the place where the doe had fallen. The earth there was still, peaceful, as though the forest itself had drawn a soft breath and let it out slowly. A few butterflies drifted lazily over the grass, unbothered by what had transpired. Life, he knew, always flowed forward. He lowered his head, letting the warmth of the day settle into his bones. “You felt it,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of many seasons. “The moment when the chase becomes something more. When instinct becomes action.” The pups shifted, ears tilting toward him. Smoke’s gaze softened. “A hunt is not just speed or strength. It is timing. It is understanding. It is respect.” He looked toward the clearing again, the sunlight catching in his eyes. “The doe ran because she wished to live. We pursued because we must live. The forest holds both truths without choosing between them.” A warm breeze rustled through the grass, brushing over their fur. Smoke closed his eyes briefly, letting the wind carry away the last tremors of the chase. “When you hunt,” he continued, “you must remember the balance. We take only what we need. We do not chase for sport. We do not waste what is given. The forest provides, and we honor that gift.” The pups pressed closer, their bodies warm against his sides. Smoke lowered his muzzle to touch each of them gently, feeling the steady rise and fall of their breaths. “You did well today,” he murmured. “Not because you caught her, but because you listened. You moved with the land. You trusted your paws, your senses, each other.” He lifted his head, watching the sunlight shift across the clearing. The forest felt different now—quieter, deeper, as though acknowledging the pups’ first true step into the life they were born for. “Remember this feeling,” Smoke said. “The weight of it. The stillness after the chase. This is what it means to be a hunter. Not the moment of the kill, but the understanding that follows.” The pups curled against him, their bodies finally relaxing as the heat of the day settled around them. Smoke rested his chin atop one small back, his eyes half‑closing. In the golden hush of summer, surrounded by the scent of grass and the soft hum of insects, he allowed himself a rare moment of peace. His pups had taken their first step into the world of providers, and he had guided them there with steady paws. He wondered, quietly, what their next lesson would be—what the forest would ask of them as they grew.