You are walking swiftly behind a herd of stags, ready to shoot your arrow anytime. Your body tensed, but freezes from time to time, avoiding detection by the stags. Slowly reaching into your quiver, you pull out an arrow and notched it, then pulling the string back as far as dared, not making a sound. Minutes passed by as you seek a perfect time to release that arrow, but till now, you have found none. Finally, after what seems like hours, you found the perfect time. Your whole body tensed again, then you released that arrow, which flew like a eagle out of a cage.
The arrow hit its target, and a female stag fell down, dead. The rest of them ran like scattered flies chased from their feast. You walked over to the dead stag, and pulled the arrow from its neck. Carrying it up, you walked back to your house in Carvahall*.
Suddenly, you step on a round rock, and slipped. You pull up your disoriented body and examined the rock more carefully. It is shaped perfectly into an oval-like sphere. White and yellow lines mark the entire stone. It's beautiful, so you take it home, wondering how much it's worth.
You arrive home and dried the stag meat to prepare it for the winter. Then the time is yours.
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