You havent killed a buck in two years. You've been staring at a patch of cold static woods for hours. Frigid, cold trees and brush with angular joints and sharp points. In the dead of winter it can be a bleak lifeless sight.


... Then from nowhere (when you least suspect) a fluid form comes gliding silently across the forest floor. At once in complete contrast - yet complete harmony with its surroundings. A mature buck projects a commanding presence - you and every living thing in the woods are powerless to look away. Yet when it pauses it melts into the background if your concentration breaks for a moment. It seems impossible that something so warm and graceful has appeared within the harsh image before you.

Clock is ticking ... 5 .. 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... Any opportunity of you coming into physical contact with this creature is evaporating. Emotions and physical effects wash over you. Personal ethics, club rules ... and truth be told bloodlust are racing through your brain. ... You feel the touch and balance of your weapon in your human hands. Can you win this struggle? Will you fail? The moment of truth!