For days, I had been hiding out in the dense forest,  biding my time.  At first, I thought my so called "arrival" into this world was little more than a hallucination after my hunting blind was struck by lightning.  Despite the agony coursing through my burnt body, I had managed to crawl to my pack and retrieve the emergency beacon and press the "911" button before darkness claimed me.  An indeterminate amount of time passed in the black behind my eyelids before the world returned to me.  With it came the ever-present pain that still plagues me.

The first few days were certainly filled with learning experiences. In the beginning, I was convinced that someone had received the signal from the beacon and help was on its way.  Too weak to do much more than crawl, I spent the majority of what time I was conscious trying to make sure my wounds would not become infected.  With the aid of one of the mirrored panels built into the blind, I was able to find that the vast majority of my neck and torso was spiderwebbed with crimson burns that looked akin to a hellish tree carved into my flesh.  Scars I could handle, but panic set in for a short while when I realized that the bolt had barely missed impacting my left eye.  Instead, the energy had leapt from point to point from my cheekbone and throughout my body.  Glossy pink tissue above my adams apple explained why it hurt to swallow, let alone talk.  Attempting speech made colors swirl in front of my eyes while it felt like someone was rasping the inside of my throat with coarse sandpaper while strangled noises came forth.

On the second day, I managed to stand enough to look out through one of the many inset windows and into the forest beyond.  The field of clover I had carefully set camp next to was no more.  Open land was replaced with dense forest that light could barely penetrate.  I had no idea where I was or if this was some kind of hallucination.  Only time would prove which was true.  There was a small bit of good news though, the soft babbling  I had heard from my previous place on the ground turned out to be a gently flowing brook no more than a hundred strides from my shelter.  It looked like water was something I wasn’t going to be in short supply of.

Little by little, I managed to regain some use of my limbs.  On the fourth day, I managed to leave the so-called comfort of my shelter.  It was odd seeing trees of a sort I didn't recognize.  Some had white papery bark like the birch trees I was so used to, yet carried needles like pine trees.  Others were just the opposite, appearing to be a spruce but covered in leaves and freshly sprouting buds.  Even the scents in the air were wrong as I stumbled toward the stream, canteen in hand.  The smell of moist earth was one thing, but the rest teased the back of my mind.  In the end, the canteen was filled without too much hassle and was gently making bubbling noises as the purification tablets worked.  It then occurred to me that I hadn't checked the emergency locator in some time.  My heart fell when I fished the bright orange and black unit out of a pouch on my backpack.  Where there should have been a bright green light blinking every ten seconds, there was only a red light that repeated every five seconds.  Signal sent, no satellite link established.  It meant I was alone and injured in a place that only the gods knew about.  As I bedded down for the evening, thoughts of family and home wouldn’t leave me to rest.

This can’t be a hallucination, it has been days after all.

But what if you have traumatic brain damage?

Well, I probably wouldn’t be talking to myself in big words, now would I?

It was mid-afternoon on the seventh day that things changed for me.  I was able to walk around fairly decently at this time, despite being stiff and generally sore.  Yesterday I had started to take marking tape and trying loops onto trees so I could find my way back to the blind if lost.  The bright fluorescent colored strips fluttered slightly in the breeze, with the movement catching my attention every now and again.  That however was not what made my mood improve so greatly.  The sound of branches breaking had managed to rouse me from my slumber in my canvas chair.

The soft cracking of wood caught my attention as I awoke.  Immediately, my hand fled to the revolver holstered on my chest in case it was some form of predator.  Being injured and alone was bad enough, being dinner would be far worse.  Slowly I inched upright from the chair to stand in the center of the blind.  Through the camouflaged mesh windows there was a great view of trees and more trees.  The soft noises continued toward the stream at a slow yet steady pace that eventually revealed some kind of miniature horse.  Despite the dull brown coat and black mane the creature looked to be in good enough health.  The general lack of care for its coat only reinforced the idea that there was no society for miles around.  Knowing my stored food was quickly dwindling, I made a snap decision.  Many people back home gave me grief over the fact that I had enjoyed the occasional horse steak.  In a situation like this, I sincerely doubted they could say the same.

Plan firmly entrenched in my mind, I inched toward the rifle cradled on a tripod near the window with the muzzle barely protruding past the mesh.  I had completely forgotten about pulling the rifle back in case of mosquitoes or other insects and closing the window, so this came out in my favor.  With two barely audible "pops," my fingers opened the caps protecting my scope to let me see the world in more detail.  Cool synthetic leather pressed against my cheek as I brought the rifle tight to my shoulder and panned left toward what was to be my dinner.  For a moment, I'll admit there was some hesitation when I realized there was some kind of berry logo painted or dyed on the flank of the pony before reminding myself about how little food I had left.  If I ever found whoever owned the creature I'd try to make reparations later.

The brown animal's ears perked up for a second as the cool metal bolt in my hand cycled, opening the action to strip off a round from the magazine and clicking as it shut.  Step by step it warily creeped to the edge of the stream while eyeing the surrounding brushes with strangely large and expressive eyes for an animal.  Nonetheless, it eventually lowered it's head to the cool water and began drinking, oblivious to what was to come.  

Slow is smooth.  Smooth is fast.  

The knurled ring on the scope twisted silently in my hand, zooming in on the animal.  A hundred yards is a simple shot.  A hundred yards is little more than practice on paper.  Despite the crosshair being leveled on the pony, I watched its movement, saw how the shoulder moved, biding my time.  So many people think hunting is about little more than killing.  Doing so ethically is something people forget so often.

In this case, mentally I compared the pony to other animals I had hunted over the years and decided on a shot.  The sights settled onto a spot slightly behind and below the shoulder joint as I waited.  Thankfully, it wasn't too long as the animal stepped forward an extra step to reach deeper water.  With the soft underside of the joint exposed, I pushed the safety forward with a soft click and exhaled.  It must have heard the safety as water cascaded down the pony's muzzle and neck when it's head snapped upright from the stream.  In the end, it was too late for the creature even as I would have sworn a look of panic overtook its features.  Even as its jaw dropped, my finger squeezing the trigger reached a peak and my rifle uttered a single angry bark into the forest...

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