The doe trotted into view; she appeared to be wearing a red bandana, like a pet. Up close, the true horror of the situation dawned. That festive red of gristle and bone dangling from her neck was once her lower jaw.
I waited expectantly for Dad to end her suffering...but, though obviously sick with disgust, his gun remained motionless. "No," he warned. "It's a thousand-dollar fine to take a doe in buck season--for everyone in our party."
Ten times a thousand was his binding moral law; at thirteen, a parent's authority was mine.
And now it's too late.