Heron was wrenched from his sleep by a deafening bang and a familiar flash of red. His overactive mind pulled his attention in every direction until he could slow his breathing enough to remember where he was. The sun had lit up the sky and their fire had gone out under a fresh layer of snow which was falling gently around him. He glanced to his camping companion, who was still asleep under a blanket of snow. He brushed the snow off of himself as he waited for his heartbeat to go back to a normal rhythm. His hands were wet and freezing, making it hard for him to fish out another Firestarter from his belt. With a bit of digging and a few strikes of his flint the fire started once again. Despite his mixed feelings on them, the Americans sure knew how to make the menial tasks easy. This was something reserved for the elites in most other places on the Erthane continent. The fire thawed the chill from his red fingers, allowing a better range of movement which meant only one thing. Time for looting.

Careful not to wake his new camping buddy, he trudged gently through the fresh layers of snow around the camp. First up was a fresh pair clothes from the drying line. Most of his garments hadn’t been replaced for a year and were held together by tape and prayer. A new warm jacket and a fresh pair of leather boots were much appreciated in these temperatures. He also grabbed a pair of leather gloves to keep his fingers from getting frostbite. He threw his beaten poncho over top of him and continued to the tents. Supplies and food were thrown into his pack, anything else would just way him down. There were a few light coin pouches, but it was probably only enough for two nights at an inn and maybe a meal. His pack was filled, and he was ready to go by midmorning.

Watching the hound’s body rise and fall made him wish he could run his hands through its thick fur, but he knew better than to wake a sleeping animal. Especially ones that could remove his head in a single bite. He’d head off toward the nearest village on his own and wish them luck, not that it really needed it. Fell-creek was only a days walk away from him and had some of the best pheasant sandwiches he’d ever had. His mouth watered just thinking about it. For now, all he had was a package of salted crackers and some jerky from the camp. Usually, noble bandits would be poorly prepared for long journeys and only pack the finest foods. This would only last them a couple nights before it all went bad, and they’d be in the woods without food or water. Noble bandits would often die this way, leaving locals to clean up after them. Unfortunately, these had been the over prepared type and had done some actual research which left Heron with non-perishables. He grumbled to himself as he ripped into a thicker piece of jerky and continued wading through the snow.

In the past these woods had been better traveled and a path had even been considered. Now that the humans were gone, nature had reclaimed it, and only a vague route remained through the brush. It was enough to know where you were going if you knew the area but not easy traveling. Another issue was the wildlife. Without a human presence the woods had filled back up with all kinds of critters. Heron watched the tree line for bears and wolves. Even in the morning light they would be hard to spot with his weak human eyes. He wasn’t sure, but every one of his senses told him that something was following him just out of sight. It hadn’t attacked yet, so it was either stalking him or it was making sure he wasn’t a threat. Either way, it put him on edge.

His caution eased when nothing came out and After hours of trudging, he finally reached an opening in the trees. A roving field of white lay before him, cut down the middle by a clear flowing river. A stone bridge stood over it in a state of disrepair but still appeared to be functional. A small sigh of relief escaped him now that he was safer in the clearing, and he decided to have a rest by the riverside. He dug a small divot in the snow for him to sit and watched the running water. Fish danced down the stream, pecking at rocks every now and then. Relaxing in the wild was nicer than he’d thought it would be. His previous journeys hadn’t allowed for many breaks, and he’d never had much time to take in the scenery. With no pressing goals ahead of him he would have lots of time for just sitting around. The thought filled his chest with a warm feeling which he was had grown recently unaccustomed to. He pulled a small fishing line from his bag and tied it to a stick. A small piece of jerky was added before he tossed the line into the river and drove the stick into the snow. With any luck, he would have a more fulfilling brunch.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

He'd been laying in the soft snow for at least an hour before he heard the line twitch. Fishing was not his strong suit so catching anything was a surprise. He lurched for the pole and was about to start pulling when he caught a slight rustling out of the corner of his senses. Had the thing followed him? The warm feeling was ripped from his chest with the return of his better judgement. With the stupid bounty on his head, he couldn’t afford to relax fully. Just because he had killed some of the bandits didn’t mean there weren’t others after him. The Court of Blue knew where his family grave stood and had probably shared the info with anyone they thought would listen. Whatever or whoever it was, they were probably trying to catch him by surprise. Ever so gently he reached for his holster. The lack of the familiar pommel of his old companion only added to the tension. He heard another rustle and braced himself to dive into further down the ditch. Suddenly, there was a loud crack of branches and before he could spin to get a look he saw a large shadow pass over him. There was a massive splash of water which drenched him in cold water. He began to pull his pistol out when he caught a glimpse of the perpetrator. The hound from the camp stood ankle deep in the water with a large fish in its mouth and a proud look on its face. Seeing the goofy fluffball staring at him brought out something else he’d recently forgotten. He began to laugh uncontrollably. “Don’t look so proud doofus. You just scared all the fish away.”

After a couple more hours of fishing, the star hunter had caught about ten and a half fish (Half because it had been half eaten by one of the fish it had caught.) and Heron had caught only one. Heron glared at the tiny fish he had caught as he struck the flint for a cooking fire. The hound was not putting him to shame and continued to prance in the glistening waters. When he had finally got the fired started, he placed the measly catch on a stick and stuck it over the flames. The hound noticed the new glow and watched from a distance. “What are you so cautious about hunter. If your as good at fighting as you are at fishing, I couldn’t lay a finger on you.” Heron mused. The hound looked away for a moment before nervously getting a little closer. It dropped its newest catch by the fire and curled into a ball of fluff, watching Heron like a hawk. Heron grabbed the new fish and placed it on a stick, earning a suspicious growl. “Oh please, never had cooked fish before?” He said smugly. The hound snorted indignantly but allowed him to continue. By noon the fish were ready to eat. Heron tossed the large one over and dug into his own eagerly. Despite its size, the pride at having caught it in the first place made it taste better than he’d expected. He’d have to try this again.

When the meal was finished Heron kicked out the fire and packed up his stuff. If you didn’t stop the rest of the way, he could still reach Fell-Creek by nightfall. As he packed, he noticed the hound watching him, whining slightly. It looked like a child who wanted to join in on a game but was too nervous to ask. “C’mon then, I don’t want to be walking out here in the dark.” The hound gave what seemed like a smile for a second before looking away in poor attempt to hide its joy. Heron sighed and started across the creaky bridge. The hound considered for a moment and decided that it would be a lot more fun to clear the entire river in one bound. “What a show off.” Heron thought.

They followed the river down until they came to the crest of a hill. The sun had just started to set when they came within viewing distance of there destination. The river ran to the side of the small gathering of wooden buildings, giving the town decent access to fish. Heron was excited by the prospect of a hot meal made by a professional and a soft bed (well…softer than the forest ground). His fish had been satisfying, but nothing could compare to a professional cook and a good catch. The hound looked apprehensive of the village, eventually deciding to split off toward the small, wooded area nearby. It was probably better this way. The villagers probably weren’t too keen on horse sized dogs that could eat an entire cow by themselves. Something told him that he would see it again when he decided to leave.