Whose fault is it, anyway?
Two men crouched perfectly still behind a large pine tree, listening to a volley of rifle shots.
As the last echo faded, one whispered, "Do you think they've gone?"
His companion concentrated for a few moments and then nodded.
"Good. Now let me look at that hand." He pulled a small first aid kit out of a large pocket in his orange hunting vest. "It's just a graze. Shouldn't even need stitches."
"This is all your…"
"If you hadn't refused to wear Joe's hunting vest…"
"That's irrelevant. It was your idea to hunt on the first day of Open Season!"