I look up from the blood on the ground, and grip the rough wooden handle of the spear a little bit tighter. The crude stone spearpoint was nicked badly, and covered in dried blood. ‘This thing won’t last much longer.’ I thought. I run two fingers through the blood. It’s still wet. I’m getting closer then. I push up from the ground using my spear for support and continue following Piper to the next spot of blood which is several dozen meters away.

Piper is a young wolf I picked up a couple of months ago, after I killed her mother. I had been looking for game to hunt, and as I was walking, I must have gotten too close to the wolf’s den, that, or her mother was desperate and hungry enough to go after me. Next thing I know, I was pinned against a tree, fighting off Piper’s mother, with the haft of my spear the only thing keeping her from ripping out my throat. I managed to push her off with adrenaline fueled strength, then after a short fight, I came out on top.

After leaning back against the tree, resting after my close call with death, I heard a whining behind me. I followed the whining about ten meters until I saw a hole in the base of a large fallen tree. That’s where I found Piper. I’ve been training and raising her ever since. Today is her first actual hunt.

I’ve been following the stag for the last hour fairly successfully. There were a few times I had gotten off track, and Piper had to help me pick up the trail, such as when it had run through a creek, or when it had run over a large rock outcropping, or if it just ran through a particularly thick patch of forest. This had happened on and off since I had first hit it with my spear about five kilometers back; it hadn’t been running in a straight line either, as it doubled back on itself twice already. Back in the present, I look around. We’re currently in a lightly forested canyon with shear walls that climb about twenty meters. The stag can’t be far, as this is a dead end canyon. I’d chased game in here previously. Based on how fresh the blood was, it’s definitely starting to slow down. It won’t be long until we find it.

Thomas is walking with me in well appreciated silence, sharing in my sense of isolation. He’s quiet as always, and I’m not in much of a mood to talk anyways. I can’t help but think about how I could have saved us all this trouble if I had simply thrown a spear straight. The scene from an hour ago played over and over in my head like a bad movie. It was a bad throw, I knew it the second it left my hand that my aim was ever so slightly off. What would have been a solid blow right behind the shoulder which would have killed it on the spot, turned into a lung shot. Sure, it would still kill it, but it would take far longer to do so while leaving the animal to suffer.

I’m starting to think that this whole little trek is starting to be a lot more trouble than it’s worth. I can probably find new prey a lot faster than it’s going to take to track this damn thing down. Hell, it probably threw itself into a ravine somewhere just to spite us. However, I don’t like the idea of leaving something to suffer just because I screwed up, so I’ll continue my chase.

When I first started this hunt, I followed it for a short distance and found my spear on the ground at the base of a tree. It had a badly chipped head and a long crack in the handle. ‘Bad luck. I’m gonna have to make a new one from scratch when I get back to camp. Can’t have an almost broken spear, now can we?’ I think. Apparently it had been knocked out as the bulky stag ran by the tree.

Since I was still close to camp, I turned back to get Piper and Thomas. I would need Piper’s nose to have any chance at all of following this thing, and I’d need Thomas to help carry it’s substantial frame back to camp. Depending on how far it went, and which direction it went, it could be troublesome, as we are surrounded by numerous ravines and craggy mountains. Not to mention the thick foliage that made up this god forsaken forest. I was thinking this would be a good trial hunt for Piper. Throughout her training, I’ve seen that she was very good at it. She took to the training quickly, and followed commands well. She followed most of the scent trails I made back in camp, so I think she’ll perform just as well out here; so far, I’ve been right. Hopefully she behaves when we catch up to our quarry; If she chases it further away before I can get another, hopefully more accurate, throw at the it, it may run even further into the canyon, which isn’t helping anyone. It’ll continue to suffer, and we’ll have to carry it back further.

While we were walking along, following a rocky stream bed, Thomas grabs me by the shoulder, abruptly jerking me back to reality, and pulls me down to the side behind some taller brush and rushes. Piper, who had been leading, had her tail in between her legs and was getting as low as possible. A submissive position. Well, that’s not good.

Moving from a sitting position to a crouch, I look at Thomas, a questioning look on my face. He put his finger to his lips in the universal sign for silence, and gestured for me to come closer. He pointed ahead of us slowly, and whispered in my ear, “There’s a wolfman eating our deer. We should leave.” Thomas and I had seen a pair of them once before since we had arrived. Terrifying things. Luckily, we saw them early enough while they were still several hundred meters away. It’s a good thing that they are not common, because if they were I probably would not be standing here right now, considering that they’re two and a half meter tall, hundred and eighty kilogram humanoid wolves that can move like their namesakes.

I guess luck’s not on our side today. Motioning for Thomas to stay where he is, I move to a gap in the bush, open the leafy curtain wider with my hands, and take a peek at our furry friend. It’s fifty-ish meters away, hunched over the deer facing  to the left of us, and has already helped itself to a sizable portion of our prey, which is laid out on a large, flat slab of black granite, with it’s throat in pieces. Blood is gathering in an ever growing pool underneath the grisly wound, complementing the red muzzle that the wolfman was sporting. It was finished off recently then. The wolfman has a small gash on its chest, which is probably a defensive wound from the deer thrashing around in its final moments. A final “Screw you!” in defiance at its impending demise.

There are several things about this wolfman that are strange, however. Sure, Thomas and I have only seen two, but if we take those two as the norm for the wolfman species, then our fluffy friend here is a little peculiar. There are a few key differences between this one and the pair we had observed before.

The first difference is it’s white fur, which covers the entirety of it’s body. The second is that accenting the fur are red markings painted on it, almost like bloody tattoos, focused in the chest and neck area. The tattoos don’t look like a toddler slathered paint onto a canvas either, they’re symmetrical and seemingly runic in nature. The third difference is that this thing is massive. It’s at least a head or two taller than the pair Thomas and I saw previously.

So based on this, I think it’s safe to say that it’s albino, which is cool in itself. It also means that it’s somewhat weak to sunlight if my knowledge from home carries over here. I’m proven right when the wolfman shields it’s eyes when it surveys it’s surroundings.

My eyes widen in surprise when I see it’s gaze lock onto our position. When I see it’s nose twitching, I realize that we’re upwind of it. Our eyes meet. Mine, green and full of worry and fear. The wolfman’s red, and full of pride and anger. I guess I stand out like a sore thumb. I duck a bit lower, only realizing as I’m doing so that slower movements would be more beneficial in this sort of situation. However, as it’s already seen me, there’s not much I can do.

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To my horror, it stands up and stalks towards us on sturdy legs, it’s large paws spreading in the dirt. At my feet, I hear Piper whine with worry. She hunkers down a little further, but at least she isn’t running back to camp already. It’s good to know that she’s loyal to me, at least loyal enough to stay with me through danger. Both Thomas and I make eye contact, an unspoken understanding to fight. If this thing decides to chase us, we wouldn’t make it even twenty steps before we’re taken down.

I look closer over my companion, to see that his knuckles are white from gripping the spear too tightly, I look down to see that I’m doing the same thing. I look at Thomas and see that he’s tensing up, ready to spring, and I do the same. Better to strike first and startle it, then to let it get the initiative. The best defense is a good offense, after all. I think that’s the phrase. If it’s the other way around we’re probably screwed no matter what we do.

Time goes by slowly as it slinks closer to us, staying low to the ground. My heart is pounding in my ears, and my breathing turns ragged. I am not a fan of this plan, but it’s all we can do. When it is only a few meters away, Thomas, as flushed as I am, his eyes in slits, lunges forward, a primal scream as his battlecry, I follow him, my shoes sliding in the loose dirt, my knees quaking all the while.

We cover the distance between us and the wolfman in an instant. Before it can react, he buries his spear in it’s gut. Just like I did the deer, it won’t kill it instantly, giving it enough time to try to kill us first. The wolfman yelps in pain, reeling back onto it’s heels, but it’s far from finished. I lunge as well, an instant after Thomas, but even though I was right behind him, I’m just a split second too late. It turns away quickly, batting Thomas aside with one large padded paw, it’s claws catching Thomas across the cheek. With it’s other paw, it bats the head of my spear away, getting a slight cut on the pad of it’s paw as it does so. It retreats two bounds on quick legs, Thomas’ spear in tow, blood spilling from the grizzly wood and splashing to the ground as it does so.

It never takes its eyes off us and uses its uninjured paw to, almost gingerly, pull out the bloodied spear and lets it fall to the ground with a crack, the flint spear point breaking on a smooth river stone. I charge it in an attempt at keeping it from attacking, but this time, it’s ready. Out of the corner of my eye, while I’m charging, I see Thomas edging around to the side. He probably hopes that he can get to the remains of his spear and help me out without drawing the things attention while unarmed. It meets me halfway, it’s chest rising and falling with the exertion, a snarl on it’s face.

Then it’s on me; a broad paw, with razors for claws, slamming into my chest and throwing me to the ground as my only warning of it’s arrival. I can barely breathe. It goes for my throat while I’m disoriented, but luckily this is the moment Piper decides to show her loyalty. An instant before my life would be ended, Piper charges at it and leaps onto it’s back, yipping as she tore into the beast. Still pinning me to the ground, the wolfman diverts it’s attention toward Piper, turning it’s large head. It swats at her with it’s free paw. Piper barely dodges the strike by jumping back to the ground, nipping it it’s heels.

As Piper was drawing it’s attention, I gather my strength, pushing the wolfman off of me while it was distracted by my faithful companion. After fully taking advantage of the ability to breathe, I fumble for the knapped stone knife at my waist. After a few tries, I’m able to get it free. Drawing my arm back, I stab it high in the chest, bringing it’s attention. back to me, snarling. Screaming in exertion, I draw my arm back one final time, and run my blade roughly across the beast’s throat, my  jagged knife carving a gaping hole. After which I am greeted by a red torrent falling straight down my screaming throat and all over my face.

In its death throes, it tries to lash out at me, but I swipe out at the flailing paw with my knife, seeing it flail backwards. The next thing I see out of my blood filled eyes is Thomas body checking it off of me with his shoulder. I hear the whoomph of the impact knocking the last of the air from it’s lungs. Under the combination of it bleeding out and being surprised, he actually managed to knock it off of me. If this thing were in peak condition, it would take the impact like a concrete barrier getting hit by a small car; it probably would move a little bit, but not much. While the already dying wolfman if on the ground, Thomas stabs it over and over and over with the short blade, yelling all the while, until it’s chest finally stops heaving, and the blood stops flowing out of the gaping wounds it’s accrued thus far.

I just lay there stunned, until Piper comes over and licks some of my opponent’s vital fluids off of my face. “Good girl Piper,” I whisper.

I take a moment just to order my thoughts before I sit up, and wipe the blood of my fallen enemy out of my eyes with my tattered sleeve. I feel pain on my chest, so I poke and prod at it with my hand. When I bring it back to my face, I see blood. Then the dizziness hits me. I grip my shirt tightly, my teeth gritting together, until it subsides. The blood is coming out of the three deep gashes underneath from when it had stood on my chest.  I look closer to see that there are series of fairly deep gashes about eight centimeters in length, through which, I can see a spot or two of white. Better get these taken care of later. Gathering my wits, I look around.

I look to my left at Thomas to see him on his knees, gasping, his knife still in the damn thing’s chest. I guess he didn’t make it to his spear. He’s covered in almost as much blood as I am, but doesn’t seem to be injured severely, or at all for that matter, he just seems shell shocked.

I slowly get to my feet, just now realizing the gravity of the situation, that I almost died; after petting Piper for a moment, I walk the short distance towards Thomas, putting my hand on his shoulder in a reassuring manner. I lean forward and see that there are a few tears running down his ruddy cheeks. “That thing almost killed us! That thing could’ve killed me!” He babbled. After that, he clams up, and I leave him to calm himself down.

I take the time to retrieve my knife and make my way over to the savaged deer, and squat next to it, examining the damage to it’s hind quarters. Whenever I kill something, or are the cause of something’s death, as I have been many times in recent months as one of the group’s hunters, I thank it for it’s sacrifice and state the reasons I needed to kill it before I butcher it. It’s a foolish thing to do, but before I got here, I hadn’t yet killed anything. At first I found it hard to kill, so I needed something to make me feel better about the act, and then it sort of just became a habit. I tried killing something and then cleaning it without completing my little ritual, and it felt sort of wrong, so it stuck. I butcher the deer in quick, efficient movements, removing the intestines, but keeping the liver and the heart. I wrap them in some cloth and wrap it like a sash around my midsection.

After the field-dressing is done, I looked upwards and realized that it was only mid morning. All of this had happened within an hour and a half of when I’d woken up this morning. The thought that my life could end so abruptly at the start of a seemingly normal day terrifies me. I feel sick to my stomach so I sit down for a moment and let it pass.

Collecting myself, I move over to the wolfman, looking it over. I don’t see anything new. All I see is the same creamy white fur with red markings. Looking closer, I examine the markings to see that like I thought, they’re runic in nature, meaning that this thing probably has at least the basics of language, but it didn’t bother talking to us, although I suppose we didn’t give it the chance to. Looking back to the runes, we probably wouldn’t understand it anyways, as I can make nothing of these runes.

I doubt anyone would eat wolfman even if I could bring it back, so I leave it alone. I mean, we’re not so staved that we would eat this. Sure, it may be unrelated to us, but the possibility of maybe eating a sentient creature, as I suspect this to be, even in the basest sense of the term, makes me feel sick to my stomach.

I move back towards the deer, making sure everything a can remove that we won’t eat is removed. Walking to the front of the animal, I tie the hand-wound chord I keep around my torso around the antlers of the stag and start pulling it back towards our camp, one agonizing step after the other. After a few meters, Thomas gets to his feet and moves over to help me. I hand him a good length of the chord and he helps me pull it back towards camp.

The others are relying on us for food, so we can’t let any of this got to waste. We’re risking it in this heat already as it is. Thomas sees what I am doing, and does the same for the remains of the large deer, pulling it by the antlers. On my way, I bend down and pick up my spear, only to see that the tip had shattered when it hit the ground. I guess I’ll think of a better design when I get back. Lady Luck sure wasn’t smiling on me today. That’s for damn sure.