Keeping an eye on you
Frost still clung to the grey carpet of oak leaves that clothed the forest floor. My breath hung around me in wreaths and you could cut the silence with a knife. I had been waiting on my stand in northern Alsace for perhaps an hour when I heard the doe, her delicate footfalls betrayed by the faint whisper of frosted leaves, which she kicked up as she headed straight towards me.
To human eyes I was lit up like a lighthouse. My regulation blaze camouflage gilet and bright-orange cap stood out like a beacon against those sombre winter oaks, but on she trotted, clearly more concerned about the beating line behind her than the fluorescent apparition now no more than 40 yards in front. Until, that is, I lifted my rifle. At that moment she
