Oliver kept low to the ground, the shrubs and fallen leaves giving him cover. The deer stood by the creek, drinking from it, completely unaware of the hunter. Nocking an arrow, he took a breath, pulling the string back. As he let his breath out, he let go of the string. The arrow flew from the bow, and... ...Missed. As it embedded itself in a nearby tree, startling the deer, Oliver stood, cursing loudly. Glancing up, guessing the time by the light that still remained, he determined that he should probably start heading back for home, lest he be caught outside during the night. There wasn't much danger at night, it was just cold, and Oliver didn't like the cold. Even now, snow was just beginning to fall, and was sticking, too. "Damn," Oliver muttered. "That was probably the last deer of the season..." Wondering how in the world he would make it through the winter, he slung his bow over his shoulder, deciding that his arrow wasn't worth getting back. Frowning, he turned, walking home, suddenly feeling uneasy in the growing twilight.