It was late afternoon one day when the phone rang. Eddy, a hunting buddy of mine, needed some help. He’d been out with a few friends, trying to fulfil their imposed quota of roe deer, but they’d lost track of an injured animal and wanted me to trace it. It later turned out that it was the shooter’s first ever roe deer. Eddy and I have hunted together in the Ardennes for years, so of course, I agreed.
“I’ll get ready and leave immediately,” I said before hanging up. The truth was I was delighted to go, but my euphoria didn’t last long. A voice from elsewhere in the house
