Most in the town hadn't come into the woods north of the palisades. It was called the Warrior Wood for more than the rumors of the place. Ingrid's father, Olaf, had taught her why a few times.

A crunch of trees hitting the ground echoed in the fading light. Beasts weren't all the same, but they were all within the northern woods. Something about the place keeping them within the canopy of leaves.

She could have gone back to the same tree as before, but with more time and less worry. She looked for a specific set of branches in the upper parts of the trees.

Spruce trees were both common and very straight trees by nature, which made them great for making planks and posts. Yet, they didn't offer much comfort. However, Ingrid had a few tricks that would at least give her a night's sleep.

Gathering the bark from saplings in strips and chopping a few of the thicker ones down. She took her haul to a tree with paired branches on the same level as one another.

Next, she placed the armload of thicker saplings between the spaced branches. It was a slight angle, but would work for a night. Then, she braided the long strips of flexible bark together, while pulling one end with her feet.

The result was rope, well rope like, material. Part of it she used to secure the saplings to the branches better. The rest she used to bind the lower branches to the base of the tree.

Beasts were simple minded creatures, even if they had strength. If they found her they would try to climb the tree. Which would cut the braid and make the branches swat them from the bark. Giving her time to wake up and run or at least wake up.

Laying down to sleep, she couldn't help but worry about the details.

---

Olaf chided her as they sat in a tree watching the forest, He tapped his chest and then his wide nose.

He had chuckled before tilting his head,

A gesture towards the forest showed a few lights within the forest.

His voice hard, his hands tightening on his beautiful axe,

---

Ingrid finished burying her latrine before the sunlight broke the horizon again. She needed water today, and there was a river nearby, but there would need to be a good plan. All creatures needed to drink, and flowing water would be a gathering ground.

Checking her gear and considering what her target would be. A few plans were made and discarded in a few seconds. In her, mostly, safe tree of course.

A boar type creature would be the best target for her. They mostly charged which meant it would be easy to setup some kind of spike trap. Though her father had warned her that a series of plans and backups were best.

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So, she worked for a few candles on the lower branches of the nearby trees. Cutting them off and trimming them down into long spikes. She also made more rope to bundle them together.

A Warrior always needed to carry materials from their hunts. You never knew what part of the body would be left when the Wyrd condensed. Unless you were quick enough to harvest more from the body before it turned to ash.

Olaf had once brought home a massive tusk that only his Megin allowed him to carry. While another time it was the creature's eye. Both had contained a vast amount of Wyrd, and had helped the town trade well with the sea merchants.

While she wouldn't be looking to carry the materials around for a long time. She needed a pack of some kind to carry them to a safe location. Then, she could gather and condense the Wyrd into her own Megin.

At least that was one thing that her father had already taught her. The rituals and methods for extracting Wyrd from many types of materials. It was how she had the little Wyrd she had now.

While she would never have taken from her father. There were a few plants on the edge of the forest that held obvious Wyrd. That she had practiced with, but it wasn't enough to condense yet.

If her father was right it would take a kill and the materials it left. To gain her Warrior Heart and make half a step towards being a Thrall Warrior. It's why her father had spent so much time walking her through the first Hunt.

---

Olaf admonished, after smacking her on the cheek, His eyes soften.

His rough hands raised slowly towards her, and she fell into his arms. With her cheek stinging from the strike, it still felt safe.

Those hands patted her head,

---

She breathed, none would mistake it as words unless they were in her head. Her hands moving through the knots tying the spikes all together.

This would allow her to pull on the rope to raise the line of spikes to the needed height. A small pile of colored berries and leaves sat close at hand, and the tips of many spikes had a foul odor.

The tasks needed to be done, she had done so many times her mind wandered. The rage had simmered down to embers within her heart. As her hands continued to prepare the traps and plans hammered into her bones.

A few tears had fallen and she couldn't wipe them away. So she ignored the weakness of the flesh, another waste of water. Yet, the rage didn't rise to help her this time.

By sinking into meditation while her hands worked. Helped to keep the memories and voices at bay while she completed the work. So as the sun began to fall from it's seat in the sky all was ready.

All was packed and bundled on her back using more of the crude rope, and taking a deep breath she crept towards the sound of flowing water.

A candle or more later, she could smell the rapids that flowed through the roots of the forest. No musty smells gave her hope that she arrived at a place without any animals or beasts.

The Fates could be considered kind for there was trees in the right places for her trip ropes and string traps. Which gave her further pause as she set the first such trap. It was a loose turn around the base of a tree before going up to a low branch, and then back down to the center of a row of bundled spikes.

Her father had taught her that quantity was far more important in a Hunt than quality. If you spend so much time making the best traps and tools. The Fates wouldn't reward you with as much Wyrd if they were successful in the first place.

They would break anyway and waste more time without more wounds to show for it. Which is why she was told to memorize the tight bundle of spikes instead of the even lines used for normal hunting. Megin would make the bundle more likely to leave the Beast injured, and prevent healing with the number of impacts.

Though the paste she had been taught to make would add to the pain and suffering. It made cuts hurt more and thin the blood on contact. Which would help bleed the creature while she ran and fought with the crude throwing stakes.

With another handful of leaves and sticks over the pitfall. She let out a deep breath. It was time to dig a latrine, eat something, drink, and wait. If Fate was kind nothing would disturb her traps, and the first Beast would be a boar.