It wasn’t often that I regretted going on a hunt. It was a rare chance to explore the woods, and the meals that followed were some of the best I’ve had – fresh meat was somewhat of a delicacy in my household.

It was hard not to feel regretful right about now, though, as I sprinted between the winding trees, the sound of heavy hooves and the high-pitched squeal of a boar following close behind me. It was as if it was teasing me, giddily chasing after me with a barely-contained laughter. Go on little girl, keep running! Put your back into it, I’m sure you’ll get away in no time!

Stupid fucking boar. I wasn’t even that short – sure, I had to ask Leon to reach some of the higher shelves in the barn sometimes but honestly, that was the fault of whoever built that barn. Those shelves were unreasonably high.

I did just imagine a damn boar calling me little though, so maybe I really – I lost my footing and was sent sprawling by a stray tree root jutting out from the ground, falling flat on my face. I landed with both and oomph and a crack, leaves crunching below me as the air left my lungs. I had barely regained my bearings when I heard – then saw – the beast of a boar running straight towards me, its head pointed down so as to charge at my sprawled body.

It huffed and charged, and just as it was about to hit me it was thrown of balance with a squeal of pain, the long shaft of a spear jutting out of its ribs. It squealed and thrashed, until a figure emerged from the bushes, drawing a knife across its throat in a clean, swift slice. After a few seconds its squeals died out and it laid still, motionless.

“Hey Leon,” I managed to rasp, still recovering from being winded, “didn’t see you hiding behind those reeds. They must be getting broader, huh?”

The figure turned and replied with a smirk,

“I should’ve just let the boar have at you. It probably didn’t even see you, and was just about to gallop straight over you.”

I paused.

“Y’know, because you’re so short.”

Oh, he was gonna pay for that one. He’d started laughing to himself as he finished speaking that last line, and I never was one to pass up such an obviously golden opportunity. A few flies had apparently smelt the recently felled boar and had started to congregate, wanting in on the spoils. I carefully snatched a fly whilst he was facing away from me, and made towards him.

He was still laughing, mouth open just a crack, when I kicked him in the back of the knee, buckling his stance. He was almost a full head taller than me, so this at least made it easier to reach his face. Just as he buckled, I grabbed his hair and jammed the fly into his open mouth, pushing his jaw closed with the palm of my hand for good measure.

He groaned and spat and doubled over, gagging – followed by a slurry of curses, a multitude insulting my family and my heritage – one of which implying I was the lovechild of a frog and a pigeon. Never mind that we shared the same parents.

He made to get back at me, but I managed to sweet talk my way out of it, pulling the ol’ big sister card and claiming that it was my duty to discipline him when he was out of line. Which was really all I was doing. Kind of. Maybe.

He seemed to regain his composure and grabbed the boar by its hind legs, dragging it in the direction of our homestead.

He had this look in his eye though, that said we had unfinished business. He’d definitely be getting me back later. Shit.

* * * * * *

A few hours had passed as we made our way between the trees and the foliage, taking turns dragging the prize of our hunt. We were pretty lucky with the weather: it was autumn, so it was cold enough the meat didn’t spoil but neither did we risk having a flash storm on our heads. That would’ve been a rough hike.

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The sun had just started to set, where before we only heard the sound of the breeze and the crunch of our boots we were now joined by the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. For how rare owls were supposed to be, it was not uncommon to hear them: there were plenty of them inhabiting the woodland surround our homestead. We did feed them here and there though, so maybe they’d either congregated towards our home – where they were fed – or they’d simply grown in population due to the steady supply of food. Either way, I’d always hear a few hoots at night if I went for a walk or left the house.

It was as Leon and I finally left the woods and approached the clearing where our house sat, that I was struck with an uneasy feeling. Most of the time our dog Scrappy would hear our approach and come to greet us. His age was catching up to him these days so it wasn’t rare for him to miss us as we returned home, but I was still worried. Hopefully nothing had happened to him; there were plenty of snakes around, as well as a small pack of wolves he’d had run-ins with in the past.

“What you reckon, Leon?” I asked, turning my head towards the boar he was belabouredly dragging along the ground, “roast or stew first?”

He seemed to pause in contemplation, and I could hear the eagerness in his voice when he replied.

“Why don’t we roast its belly?”

Oh. What manner of foul things I’d do for some roasted pork belly. Wild boar wasn’t as tender as farm-raised pork, but still. The kid was onto something.

“I'd cut my right hand off for a roasted belly. You have a deal, my friend.”

His reply was a toothy smile, and it was hard not to smile in return. We’d been gone for a whole day, and hadn’t eaten since dawn.

Mum wasn’t the same as she used to be. Leon seemed to be too young to remember the way she was before dad left, but I could still remember how often she used to smile back when he was around.

These days it was hard to get any sort of emotion out of her, though I cherished the moments when she did have a smile on her face.

I’d seen her laughing for the first time in years, when she’d seen Leon riding scrappy like a horse in his younger days.

And when she cooked. When she cooked, for a few hours, it was almost as if things were back as they used to be.

Almost.

I didn’t resist the feeling of warmth in my body as I came to see the familiar glow of candlelight coming from the homestead. It burned away the melancholic thoughts I was dredging up to, replacing it with a barely contained anticipation. It was a humble building, built from wood and straw and years of hard labour, but it was home.

I was eager for a bath and my body was aching for a bed, but I hesitated, slowing my footsteps and motioning for Leon to do the same.

Something was wrong, but I couldn’t quite put my finger to it. By all rights, everything was as it should be.

That was, until I started listening. The crunching of our boots could no longer be heard as Leon and I had come to a stop, leaving only the faint sound of the breeze brushing along the trees and leaves.

I still wasn’t sure what had me feeling so uneasy, though. I met eyes with Leon and I could tell he was feeling the same – he might have been younger than me, but he was sharp. Something was off, and we both knew it.

Everything was just so… quiet.

What had happened to all the crickets? It was night-time and not yet winter: by all rights, they should easily be loud enough to hear.

“Juno,” Leon whispered.

“Yeah?” I asked, the shake in my voice betraying more fear than I was aware I was feeling.

“Do you hear any crickets?” He asked.

“No.”

“What about owls?”

I swallowed, about to reply when I heard the snap of a string and a quick whistle, noticing a faint movement of shadows.

I grabbed Leon and pulled him to the ground, barely noticing the shape of an arrow narrowly passing by where his head had been not a moment ago.

“Get to the house!” I yelled, pulling him up and sprinting in the direction of our home.

Although I had somewhat of a head start, Leon made it inside before me. He ripped open the door and ran inside.

I could hear him yelling and scrambling through the house, probably knocking over various items of furniture in a panic.

I reached for the door and made my way inside just as another arrow was loosed from somewhere behind me, passing me by and imbedding itself in the wooden wall of the house, maybe a metre or so from the door.

I shut the door behind me and turned the key to lock it then ran down the narrow hall towards the dining room, where I could hear the turbulent sound of furniture being knocked.

My heart skipped a beat when I turned a corner and saw Leon on the floor, grappling with an unfamiliar cloaked figure.

And he wasn’t winning. It wasn’t even close.

The figure was straddling him and was battering him in the face, blood streaking the carpet with every swing.

It was hard to forget how young my brother was sometimes. Although almost a full head taller than me, he was a whole three years younger than me. He was barely fourteen. And he was being beaten ruthlessly.

My mind was racing, and it was as if I had too many thoughts running through my head to process. I was scared. I was anxious.

And more than anything, I was fucking angry.

My body moved before I had the chance to even bid it to, and in the blink of an eye I was on the man.

My body collided with his and we rolled onto the floor, scrambling for leverage over one another. He was far bigger than me, and probably weighed close to twice what I did. He was just so heavy.

And yet, what did his enormous size – and overhelming strength matter, when my fingers just fit so nicely into his eye sockets?