In the crisp autumn air, a group of friends, all avid hunters, ventured into the dense forest for their annual deer hunting trip.
They split into pairs, each duo taking a different path in the hopes of tracking down the elusive ten-point bucks that were rumored to roam the area.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple, one of the hunters emerged from the thicket.
He trudged into the campsite alone, his figure silhouetted against the fading light, burdened with the impressive weight of a magnificent ten-point buck slung over his shoulders.
Concerned murmurs rippled through the camp as the others gathered around the flickering campfire. “Where’s Henry?” they asked, noticing the absence of the hunter’s usual companion.
With a heavy sigh, the lone hunter set the buck down with a thud, its antlers clattering against the ground.
“Henry had a stroke or something,” he explained, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “He’s about two miles back up the trail.”
Shock and disbelief spread across the faces of the group. “You left Henry lying out there in the woods and carried the deer back instead?!” one friend exclaimed, incredulous.
The hunter, weary from his moral dilemma, simply nodded. “It was a tough call,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. “But I figured no one’s going to steal Henry.”
