Finn is one of the main characters of my next novel, which happens to be paranormal romance in the 1700's. Here is the beginning of the novel, which happens to be in Finn's point of view.
A deer blind blocked Finn from the wind blowing across Lake Erie. He was about to give up when he spotted a twelve-point buck moving slowly, taking a few steps, lifting its head, then a few more steps. He raised his bow and readied an arrow, waiting for the deer to reach a space void of the many narrow, leafless trees. At last the deer was in the right spot. He pulled back on the bowstring. A stronger gust of wind came up and a cold, wet explosion of snow crashed down from a tree and right on his head. His fingers slipped, and the arrow flew.
He brushed the snow off and looked up. The buck had collapsed on the ground. He came out from behind the blind and walked to retrieve his kill. After several steps, another arrow sticking out of the deer’s chest came into focus. He flinched and looked in all directions, but saw no one else. An Indian must be hunting somewhere in the woods. His heart raced. Some of them could be desperate for food and willing to kill for it. Coming this far was not a good sign.
Finn sucked in a breath and ducked at the base of a tree, but it wasn’t wide enough to hide him. None of them were. Not one tree nearby would do. Scrambling, he flattened himself out on the snow covered ground and wiggled into a low spot. Arm yourself, damn it. He pulled the pistol from his belt and aimed toward the deer.
Memories of a battle against the Indians flashed through his thoughts, even though he was only six at the time. A bloody battle, with arrows and musket balls flying, men dropping, women screaming – blood everywhere. He shivered. A few natives remained here and there, but they never came too close to his property or the village. Not until today. He searched the stick trees frantically with puffs of steam flowing from his breath. The natives were too good at hunting and tracking. If only he could ever be that skilled.
Leaves crunched ahead. Finn flinched at the sound and tightened his grip on the pistol. An image came into view, moving between the narrow trees. The native carried a bow and approached slowly, dressed in tan deer skins. Finn guessed the Indian must’ve noticed something, but didn’t seem to know where he was hiding. He smiled despite his racing heart. All he had to do was let the Indian take the deer. It wasn’t worth a bunch of trouble if a new tribe was passing through. Just go away…just go away.
The Indian walked around the deer and looked it over. He paused, looking in Finn’s direction. Shit, why won’t you just go away? Finn crouched as low as possible, trying to become one with the ground. The Indian turned back to the deer, grabbed it and pulled the dead deer along the snow. Slowly, Finn took out his spy glass and peered through it. He tucked in his lip at noticing a long black braid and female shape. A woman, hunting alone?
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