Credence

Did he shoot that deer with this?
I let out a breath.
Not likely. The mountain man probably has a whole cabinet of these
things.
Hesitating a moment, I finally lift the rifle, positioning the butt against
my shoulder and wrapping my hand around the guard with my finger on the
trigger. I close my left eye and peer down the line of sight, toward the
muzzle.
“Okay,” he tells me. “Now calm your breathing. The bullet is already
chambered, so just look down the sight, and line up—”
I pull the trigger, the bullet firing out of the barrel, echoing into the air,
and a pop hits the rock wall down the opposite side, kicking up rock dust
and cutting the board in half. Both parts fall and dangle by their respective
ropes against the cliff.
A breeze kicks up my hair a little, and I lower the rifle, opening both of
my eyes as the thunder of the shot disappears in the distance and the
peaceful sound of the waterfall fills the air again.
Jake sits behind me, still, and I hand the gun back to him and turn my
attention back up to the peak, seeing some kind of a large bird breeze past
my line of sight.
He clears his throat. “Well…I was going to suggest the boys empty
some beer bottles for you tonight, but…looks like you don’t need the
practice. I thought you said you couldn’t shoot.”
“I can’t shoot animals,” I tell him. “I thought that’s what you were
asking.”
The peak is massive. But so close. Such a strange feeling, something so
big, reminding you that you’re small, but also reminding you that you’re
part of a world full of magnificent things. What a great thing to be able to
see—and relearn—every day.
Jake dismounts the horse, and I ease back in the seat, which is still
warm from his body.
“I’m going to check some traps, so I’ll walk home,” he says.
I look down, meeting his eyes as I take the reins now.
“Start breakfast when you get back to the house,” he tells me. “After
you unsaddle the horse, of course.”
I narrow my eyes without thinking. Cook?
I have no problem helping out, but why that?