The sun was at its highest point in the sky. The air itself was heavy and burned your lungs. There wasn’t any wind to relieve her of the heat. Most people stood indoors, waiting for the sun to show mercy and climb down from the sky.

Most people had the common sense to do that. But Olena wasn’t like most people. She trekked through the forest, wiping another wave of sweat from her forehead.

“Here girl.” - she said to her wolf - “Come, Mishka!”

She had grown up with Mishka. The pointy-eared, furry, grey beast now reached half her thigh, but it was just a puppy when Olena got her. As was tradition, on her tenth birthday, she was given a companion to help her on her journey as a hunter. Now the two of them rushed through the forest alone for the first time.

“I’ll show them. They’ll see who’s trembling.” - Olena said to herself and slapped a big fly on her shoulder.

She had her bow in one hand, held with white knuckles and a quiver full of arrows on her waist. She had waited so long for this day, and they had to ruin it.

“A hunter must have nerves of steel” - her grandfather had said - “A hunter must never tremble. You’re showing too much emotion.”

“But I’m ready. I’m a better shot than everyone my age.”

“You may be a good marksman, but you need to mature as a person before you set out to hunt alone.”

“Fine, then I’ll do it without your blessing.” - she yelled and whistled to Mishka.

“Olena, I forbid it! Olena!” - her grandfather’s yells died behind her.

All her life was leading towards this ritual. Her first hunt. Yet she was deemed unprepared. They’ll see when she brings a carcass back. The biggest one they’ve seen.

“What does the old fool know?” - she said and slapped another fly.

Another hour of walking passed before she and Mishka found what they were there for. A deer. A lonely animal, drinking water from a small stream. It had no idea it was about to be Olena’s conquest.

“Tsk, tsk, Mishka.” - she whispered - “Go.”

Mishka was well-trained. She prowled through the grass, silent. The sound of the stream hid her. She was to wait until Olena shot it and finished the animal off. If the huntress didn’t kill it outright, it might run away. But Mishka would make sure no such thing happened.

Olena found a good angle on the target. It let her see Mishka, lowered to the ground, ready to jump. She nocked an arrow, raised the bow, and pulled the string to her waist. She closed one eye and held her breath, aiming.

But just as she was loosening her grip on the arrow, a fly landed right under her open eye. She blinked and tried to hold back the bolt, but her fingers were sweaty. She heard the swooshing of the arrow gliding through the air, the rustling of leaves as it passed, and then the squeal of the animal as it hit it.

She slapped her face to make the fly go away and looked at her prey. The deer that she thought to be dead jumped over the stream and ran away through the trees. A chill went up her spine, her breath quickened, and a sick feeling hit her stomach. If the deer was alive, then what had made that sound?

She knew the answer. She knew what she had done but looked either way. Hope dies last. Mishka lay down in the bush with an arrow in her neck. The wolf she raised from a pup.

Her best friend, her sister, throughout all these years. Dead because of a fly. No. Because she couldn’t maintain her composure. Because she trembled when she should’ve stood still. Because she was too emotional. And just like that, her dreams of becoming a hunter disappeared with the running deer.