Arven crouched, wishing for his bow. He hefted the spear in his right hand, trying to feel exactly how to throw. He wasn't bad with the weapon, but if he ever found good enough materials to make a decent bow, he would switch in an instant. His first attempt as a bowyer in human lands had been a complete failure, though.
He quietly took a breath, focusing on the present. The deer was tugging on low branches, pulling leaves off a few at a time, then nosing at the ground looking for something better. Spirits, guide my aim.
With all his strength, he threw.
The deer somehow sensed the danger, but not quite in time. Arven's throw didn't kill the deer but it sank deep into one haunch. The animal twisted, trying to get free, and bounded away. Arven jumped up and gave chase. It was possible that he had wounded one leg enough to slow the animal. He needed a second opportunity to finish it off.
The deer was gaining ground, but not so quickly as it would have when unwounded. I have a chance. Arven leaped a fallen log and pushed off of a flat boulder, trying to gain speed without injury. He lost sight of the deer, but kept going. A minute later, he picked up the trail.
It was a long chase. Arven had lost count of the miles before he started gaining on the deer, which was slowing. Both of them were tired, but Arven was quicker to recover his stamina, so he chased the deer relentlessly. Finally, he got close enough to hit it with a rock, stunning it. Then he sprinted over and finished the poor creature with his dagger.
I am sorry, little forest soul, but we need your meat, your skin. You will not die a waste. Spirits, give it peace.
The deer was heavy, almost too heavy. Arven was not confident that he could carry his kill back by sunset. They'll panic if I'm not back by nightfall, but it can't be helped. He hung the animal from a sturdy tree branch, then cut off the head, letting the corpse bleed out onto the forest floor. The brain and eyes were delicacies if prepared properly, but Arven did not have Orvan to cook, and he needed to reduce the weight a bit. He dressed the animal as best he could.
While he waited for the blood to drain, he set about making a new spear, with a simple wooden point for the moment. It was always good to have more weapons. The materials were not what he would have wished, because he wasn't searching far, but it was better than nothing. When he judged enough time had passed, Arven settled the deer carcass on his shoulders and started back to camp, glad of the chill in the air that would keep the meat from spoiling as quickly.
It wasn't hard to find his way using water-sense. He recognized each creek and pond he had passed during the pursuit. The days were getting shorter, and he was fast running out of light. It wasn't until well after dark that he finally staggered back into camp with his load.
“It's Arven!” Rillik cried, stepping out from behind a tree. His woodcraft was improving, when he thought to use it.
“Welcome back!” Sheema called.
“You got a deer! Bring it over,” Brallik urged, clearing off the flat boulder nearby.
Arven and Brallik worked together to carve up the carcass, and Brallik focused on cooking the meat. Arven considered what he could do with the hide, and started the tedious process of scraping it clean. As he did, he looked over the camp.
A giant wild rose bramble served as a barrier on two sides, blocking animals—but not the elements. Three giant trees provided partial shelter, and they had spent some time gathering logs and cutting them to size, building very rough wooden walls. A log cabin was not a typical dwelling for the elves, but Arven was familiar enough with the idea that he could put one together simply enough.
Simply, but not easily. The amount of work involved was daunting, and Arven would have to do most of it himself. Their somewhat elaborate lean-to would serve for the moment, but if it kept getting colder like this, they would need a much more solid home to protect them from the weather.
They had tried to find a cave, but all the ones Arven had scouted were occupied, and Arven was not confident in his ability to evict the current tenants. With a couple more hunters at his back, and his bow, he would have done it. But Arven had to work cautiously. If anything happened to him where Sheema couldn't find and Heal him, the others would be in great danger.
So far, they had avoided any contact with humans. They lit fires only at night; the thick trees would block the glow of the fire, whereas the smoke rising during the day might be spotted miles away. In his scouting and hunting, Arven had only found old signs of humans passing by in a couple of places.
Sheema was making him a hat to cover his ears, in case he was unable to avoid a close encounter. She had chosen the color to blend in with the foliage. Arven didn't have Kervan's memory, but he practiced his few phrases of Western every day, trying to make his voice sound as much like Tom's as possible, so as to have a less obvious accent. A meeting with humans would be extremely dangerous, so anything to improve his odds was welcome.
They were still eating the human food, but their supply was dwindling. Sheema had figured out how to cook the nuts so that they were edible, and every day she and Rillik gathered those and the black berries, as well as some mushrooms the Healer had identified as safe to eat. Arven's hunting was not going as well as he would like, however.
They weren't desperate yet, but Arven was beginning to toy more seriously with the idea of sneaking into a human camp or settlement at night and stealing some food—or better yet, a bow. He sighed, and looked at the deer carcass. If I can get a decent bowstring out of this, then maybe...
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Everyone was appropriately grateful for the meat with dinner. Brallik grumbled about the lost spear, since he had actually started doing some of the weapon crafting, and that had been his first real effort. Rillik wanted more fighting lessons.
We'll have to keep Rillik well away from the humans. He is far too eager to kill, especially for a young boy. I can certainly understand his hate, after losing Tolla and Fellik, but his parents would not have wanted Rillik to be so consumed by revenge. I hope Sheema can get through to him eventually.
The Healer approached him after dinner. “How are the woods?”
Arven frowned. “They still feel strange. I don't know what I sense with the animals. I wish Varga were here—she would probably know.”
“You're the best hunter from the village, Arven. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Any injuries?”
He shook his head. “Nothing but a few scrapes. I'm fine.”
“Good. I'm always happy not to be needed for my Healing skills.” She sighed. “I've filled the rock light with magic. I've checked everyone for sickness. I don't have much else to do, except sew and make baskets and such.”
“Those are needed too,” Arven assured her. He sighed. “I'll work on the walls a bit before turning in.”
“Thank you, Arven. For everything. None of us would be able to survive out here without you, but we're doing our best not to be a burden.” Arven quirked an eyebrow, doubting Brallik was doing his best. Sheema took his meaning, and tried to hide a smile. “We're learning,” she told him.
Arven placed some more logs to build the “walls” a bit higher. It was a balancing act, to build up the temporary shelter, while placing materials that would hopefully be reused to construct the proper cabin he had planned. Building the cabin, even with what help the others could give, would take months. They needed good rest and decent warmth in the meantime, in order to keep working to improve things. Arven was very wary of their situation sliding into decline. The food supply was a constant warning in his mind about that. So was the encroaching cold that seemed to worsen every night.
He examined the pile of rocks Rillik had collected. They were all on the small side. He would need larger ones for a proper hearth and chimney, but at least the boy was trying.
Arven looked at the night sky, the biggest thing unchanged from home. The same stars, the same metals wandering slowly between them. It was a comfort. The constellation called The Sentry was higher in the sky than he was used to, because they were much farther north. The Sentry mostly stayed put in the sky, slowly turning, looking in every direction.
That's me. Trying to keep watch on the whole world and sky. But I'm only one elf. I hope my efforts are enough.
∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘
The next morning was cloudy, threatening rain again. Sheema confirmed it by asking the spirits, not that Arven needed persuading. He worried a bit. How often does it rain here? The rain is warm back home, so the rainy season is not so difficult. A whole season of cold rain, though...
Arven went out hunting again. First he checked his snares, and had managed to catch a couple of squirrels. Not great, but better than nothing. He reset the snares, brought the catch home for Brallik to deal with, and headed back out.
He spent a fruitless morning going from creek to pond to brook, waiting for animals to come for a drink. He saw a few skittish deer, but before he could take aim, they fled, and from nothing that Arven could see. It's as if the animals were all worried, on edge.
It took a while for Arven to realize that he was also being hunted.
Some instinct warned him in time, and Arven rolled to one side. A massive, four-legged beast with gray fur landed in the spot he had just vacated. He didn't know what it was called, since it wasn't native to the elven continent. It also wasn't alone.
Arven leaped for a branch overhead but didn't make it—another of the creatures hit him from behind in mid-leap, sending him sprawling, and landing on his back with a weight greater than that of a full-grown elf. Arven didn't hesitate—he heaved sideways, managing to dislodge the animal enough to look around and draw his dagger.
There were three of the beasts in his field of view. As he watched, two bounded closer. Arven managed to score a wound on one before he was overwhelmed and pushed to the ground by the weight of the animals. One bit into his arm.
Then a very loud growl, almost a roar, filled the air, and the wolves froze. The one digging its teeth in pinned his arm to the ground with its paws, and then released its bite. Arven found that he couldn't move his arms or legs. In an almost human maneuver, four animals each held down one of his limbs.
What in the world and sky...?
Heavy steps trod closer to his head. Arven tilted his head back to see another gray animal of the same kind, only larger. It walked up to him on four paws, tilting its head, its mouth open and its tongue hanging slightly out as it panted. Drool fell from the beast onto Arven's cheek.
The pack leader placed one of its front paws on Arven's shoulder, and the other pressed into his neck. Arven could feel the rough, dirty fur over his throat. The weight was almost enough to break his collarbone. The large animal gave a quieter growl and stared into Arven's eyes.
The elf felt something very strange. It was almost like getting Healing, so it was likely some form of magic. Spirits, protect me, Arven pleaded, staring back at the strangely intelligent-looking beast. A sort of pressure seemed to build behind Arven's eyes, giving him a headache. It pulsed, as if the animal were trying to knead his brain like dough. They stayed that way for several heartbeats. Again and again the pressure mounted and slackened, until finally it faded away.
The great beast roared in his face, sounding furious. It stomped on Arven's shoulder, this time breaking his collarbone. Arven cried out. The move seemed almost vindictive. Then the beast pushed off of him, grinding his shoulder further, and barked loudly and sharply at the other animals. It walked off. Arven felt two of the beasts release his right arm and left leg, and they also walked away.
The last two, however, looked ready to eat him, until another painfully loud bark made them jump. They bounded off after the others, leaving Arven alone on the ground. For a moment he held still, dagger at the ready, but when nothing further happened, he rolled over, gritting his teeth at the pain in his shoulder. I need Sheema.
He was very confused. What in the world and sky was that? They had me, they could have killed and eaten me easily. The creatures cooperated with each other—they coordinated their movements more than dumb beasts should be able to. And the leader. It inspected me, almost, as if trying to decide whether I was tasty enough to bother eating, and I was found lacking in that area, and discarded.
Spirits, thank you for my life. You must have intervened there. Thank you. Thank you.
Tom Walker didn't warn us that there were magical beasts in these woods! I'm glad we don't have things like that monster at home. Arven remembered the intelligence in those red eyes, staring down at him almost covetously. I don't know what it wanted, but it didn't get it.
I need to get home. Then Arven brought himself up short. No. I need to make sure those things don't follow me home. I'll go on a long detour.
Arven shook his head, unbelieving of his good fortune. Holding in the cries of pain he wanted to make, Arven held his left arm as still as he could, and moved off in a random direction.
Spirits, thank you for my life.