Svarte explained that uninformed people called that sound everything from the battle cry of the mountain king to the roar of the troll taking revenge on human beings. Such evils did exist, of course, but this was an old stag that still had some of his rut left in his body. The sound scared many people out of their wits because it was the loudest sound in the forest, but for hunters it was good to hear. It meant that in a few hours, when the first light of dawn appeared, they could hope to find all the does and yearlings that the old stags were after. If they followed the old stags in rut, tracking their roars in the dark, especially a bit earlier in the autumn, it was the surest method of finding does and yearlings to bring home to the spit-turners and cookhouses, for salting and drying.

   Early that morning, well before dawn, they ventured cautiously into the forest to listen for the old stag and his does. But it was difficult to walk quietly since the night had arrived with frost. The frozen oak leaves and beech leaves and acorns crunched and crackled with each step, even under the light tread of Svarte and Kol. When Arn walked it sounded to the others like a flock of retainers in full armor. When Svarte didn't dare go any closer they had reached a clearing in the oak forest next to a tarn. They had the light breeze in their faces, since Svarte never would have approached in any other way, nor would Kol. But the tarn lay straight ahead of them on the other side of the clearing, in the direction of the wind. From the tarn the mist rose so thick that they could hear the mighty roars of rut from the old stag quite close, but they couldn't see the does or yearlings except to glimpse them occasionally in the mist. After a while Arn asked, very quietly as he had now learned to do, why they didn't shoot. They whispered back that they were too far out of range; they couldn't hit a stag until they were at half that distance. Arn gave them a skeptical look and whispered back that he could shoot.

   Svarte wanted to shake his head at such nonsense but wisely thought that it would be better for Arn to learn from his own mistakes than from his thrall. Curtly he repeated something he had said by the campfire the night before. Aim far behind the shoulder, through the lungs. Then the stag would stand still if the shot was true. Because low behind the shoulder was the heart. And the stag would take off in fright and spread his fear to the others. If the stag was hit well in the lungs and stood still, he could try to shoot another one.

   Arn nocked an arrow onto his bowstring, held it fast with his left thumb, and crossed himself. Then they waited.

   After a wait that surely seemed much longer to Arn than to the thralls, three stags stood still, listening into the mist. But they were clearly visible. Arn touched Svarte lightly on the shoulder so he could ask with his eyes rather than say anything. Svarte whispered quietly in Arn's ear that they were in good position, but too far away. Arn nodded that he understood.

   But then he suddenly drew his bow all the way and seemed to take aim an arm's length above the yearling that was closest within range. He let the arrow fly without hesitating. They heard the arrow strike, but then saw the yearling stand still as if uncomprehending that it now harbored death within itself. Arn shot another arrow. And another in rapid succession. Now they could hear the stags running off.

   Arn wanted to run out into the mist to see what had happened, but Kol grabbed him by the arm and then grew frightened at what he had done. Yet Arn wasn't the least bit angry about being held back; he nodded that he'd understood. They had to wait until the sun had burned away the elf dance, which the thralls believed could bring nothing but trouble and misfortune.

   After they unpacked their cloaks bundled on their backs, Svarte and Kol wrapped themselves in them and lay down next to a log and fell asleep. Arn sat down but couldn't sleep. He had shot as well as he could and was sure that his first two shots had hit home, but he was uncertain about what had happened to the third shot, although he had a feeling that something was wrong. Maybe he had shot too quickly, maybe he had been too tense. His heart had pounded so loudly that he thought the deer might have heard it.

   When the sun later burned off the mist and they could see clearly, Svarte woke up and then roused his son. They went out into the meadow to see what they would find.

   The yearling that Arn had shot first lay dead where it was struck, and nothing else was to be expected, explained Svarte as he thoughtfully examined the kill. The arrow had gone through both of the deer's lungs and out the other side. That was why the yearling lay where it had been hit. It had felt no pain and so had not tried to run.

   The doe wasn't lying where it should have been, but Svarte and Kol immediately found traces of blood. When they examined the blood they nodded to each other and then to Arn. Kol said that this doe had also been struck in the lungs and would be lying dead somewhere nearby; they would soon find it. He rammed an arrow into the ground where they found the blood, and then he and his father bent forward and slowly surveyed the place where they all thought the third deer had been standing when Arn took his shot. They found blood on a blade of grass that they rubbed between their fingertips and then sniffed, and with that they seemed once again to know everything.

   Svarte explained that this deer had been mortally wounded but not killed, and that it lay in fever two or three arrow-shots away. They could now bring the horses, for it was no use coming on her too soon. The doe must be allowed to die in peace.

   When they returned with the horses it turned out that everything Svarte and Kol had said was true. The doe which Arn had shot with his last arrow also lay dead, although farther away. Svarte showed how Arn's arrow had struck a bit too far back, but when Arn apologized in shame, Svarte couldn't help smiling, even though he tried not to show it. He explained gravely that even if a deer was standing in precisely the right spot when the arrow was loosed, it might well take a small step forward as the arrow was on its way. That was what had happened.

   Toward dusk they hunted deer again but without success. Svarte said that it was because the breeze had subsided and was unreliable, so the deer easily got wind of the humans no matter how they moved.

   They were still in a very good mood when darkness fell, and the three deer they had taken hung in a row from a strong oak bough. They had indeed had good hunting that day.

   By the campfire Svarte and Kol offered the deer's hearts to their gods, possibly believing that their master's son did not understand what they were doing when they turned their backs and muttered over the fire in their own language. When they were about to eat supper, however, Svarte and his son found themselves in a quandary. Kol had gone and fetched fresh hazel branches which he placed over the fire after it had died down, and on the osiers they skewered small pieces of liver and kidneys with some onion that Svarte took from one of his leather bags. To the amazement of the two thralls, Arn immediately showed himself willing to share their meal, although they all knew that such food was only for thralls. But Arn ate with the same appetite as the others, and even wanted another helping, pushing aside his salt pork. This served to bring all of them closer together and they felt less strained.