Meryl was still dizzy, she approached her son, kissing his forehead as she did every morning.
She looked at him before saying. "Three more and we'll have a fluffy pillow. How in the world did you catch a bird? Did wings sprout out of your back lately?"
Still, Oswald kept it all for him. Nothing true he would say would've made sense for her. Even with proofs, there was no use letting her know. "This one was wounded. I got lucky." He replied. Thanks to his mother's remark he left no details escape his mouth, he wanted to conceal everything he could.
'I shouldn't bring birds every time, she'll imagine things! I need to find rabbits or... bigger? Well I have a lot of work to come!' He thought, putting his sharp kitchen knife in his pocket. He kept a positive mind since it was the first thing his mother was paying attention to.
Behind the house, he took the three thickest logs, those with too much humidity to be used in the chimney. He disposed them one meter apart and moved back four meters. He trained about an hour, throwing the knife and missing his big targets from time to time.
At dawn, he worked as per usual, his lunch was fast enough to save him time, he went back to train his knife throwing skill.
Next to every place he could lead his herd to, he placed logs around, and played with his knife.
The latter lost its edge after one day being thrown around, often missing its target and accidentally landing on hard surfaces. Through the day, because Oswald wanted the knife to sink into its target, he used more strength.
Unexpectedly, his accuracy wasn't bad at all. In the evening, when the sun had just vanished, he could throw properly eight out of ten times, with four meters of distance.
"Are you having fun?" Asked his mother. 'I hope he won't pierce holes in my walls.' She thought when she saw him playing next to the house.
"Yes, a lot. What's for dinner?"
"The bird."
"Nice." He said with two thumbs up.
He felt special. Not only did he had fun when he disobeyed his mother, he was able to improve his life as well. It wasn't much, but every bit mattered.
His time was well spent.
The fact he was impatient for night to fall, and the fact he was focused on training all day round equilibrated his day and filled his mind, allowed him to not think about his grumbling stomach or ill will toward the sheep.
At night, he ventured again. He looked for rabbits this time.
They ran fast, and because of the size of their body, they were very agile. Each time he was about to catch one, he hit a branch, he stumbled on roots, he failed to turn around fast enough. In other terms he was clumsy.
At first, the lack of coordination he had while he was running discouraged him a little, still his best speed on a straight line would make most dogs blush.
He wasn't able to kill anything with his blunt knife, because of the sharpness of his tool, because of the distance his target was, its size, and because it moved, fast.
His face reddened in anger. He left the knife in the deep pocket of his pant and ran full speed to the rabbit.
His face received a fair amount of whip from the low branches of the trees and so did his forearms.
A minute of chase deep in the dense forest and his heart pumped three times more blood than at rest, the air he breathed made white clouds that faded in seconds. One of his laces broke, leaving behind one of his shoes, his rush kept increasing in intensity. That until he had to stop.
Each time he had the sudden pain in his chest, it felt as if he blinked to his bed. In reality he had a good sleep and enough to feel refreshed.
Next to him, his mother still attached to his arm. She always hated winter. Craving for his warmth, she decided to sleep closer to him.
"You're pushing me out, mother." Oswald grumbled.
She moaned, stretching her arms and legs. "It's not me it's the baby." She managed to say before falling back asleep.
Oswald had no idea concerning his game, he went downstairs to find his two rabbits on the table, untouched. At least the meat was, on their fur, traces of blood, one's neck was broken and the other's head was missing.
The boy couldn't understand what had happened last night.
He checked his hands, no trace of blood.
'No proof is sometimes a blessing.' He thought before skinning both of them.
Their fur was soft and had no imperfection but it was full of fleas. Not knowing what to do with it, he used snow to boil the skins and get rid of the insects on it.
With the pommel of a fork, he scrapped every bad part and cut the second head off, to feed the crows. Using bait to have them come more often was one of his latest plans.
His mother avoided the stench of their entrails because she overslept. She spoke.
"I do like every of your gifts nowadays and they are plainly welcome because we're a little short on food. But what I want you to rethink is the little concern you have about security. I don't like you going out at night. Really. Can you not hunt again when the weather is bad? Just this. Your health matters to me a lot more than you think young man, I won't cook them for you if you refuse to cooperate! Plus I-"
"I'll follow your advice." Oswald cut her short. Because she seemed to not believe him, he added. "Trust me, I'm fine with it. Tell me, can we keep only the meat and sell the soft furs? I lost my knife, I want another one or at least a sharp scrap of metal."
She pondered on the question, she had great projects for the two furs, she was furious he wanted to take them away from her.
"Sure but next time, bring three rabbits."