Duck Lake ain't that a kick in the head?

forward-dated to tomorrow afternoon, the 21st

aditya ought to know better, going after a deer by himself. but he was out, feeling good, and the old doe was small and arthritic. he had three mouths to feed—a nursing mother and two growing babies. not to mention his own, and those mouths of others living at the creek (if there was anything even left over).

so—why not give it a shot? perhaps someone would come along and help, but then he'd have to share. . .and right now, given the circumstances, he'd really rather not.

he dashed forward, skimming the banks of the small lake, hoping to startle the doe away from the water and onto the uneven shoreline, where she'd struggle to find footing while his fleeter feet would thrive. unfortunately, a duck's quack of alarm upon seeing him spoiled the plan, and the deer spooked, running instead headlong toward aditya.

oh, okay, he could work with this, right? he was big enough to take her down solo; he launched himself but was caught short by his paw stubbing against a protruding rock. he didn't even have time for a curse, just a hiss of pain as he stumbled into the deer's path—and caught a blow to the temple from one forehoof.

adi was lucky in many respects. had that hoof connected differently, or in another place, his skull could have shattered, or his spine could have been severed. he could be paralyzed; he very well could be dead. instead, he dropped, instantly knocked unconscious, a crimson trickle from just below his left ear as the doe headed for the hills.