Nimrod woke up next to the fire, feeling worse than he’d ever felt in his life. It was bad enough that he needed several minutes just to catalog the different aches and pains. His nose was completely clogged, and it was a toss-up on whether he woke up due to the need to breath from his mouth, or from the chilled shivering that the fire couldn’t seem to stop. Deep aches in his bones prevented him from finding a comfortable position to lie in, and what little comfort he could find was ruined by frequent wracking coughs. And to top it all off, a searing pain pulsed in his right palm, accompanied by an angry red burn. That hand was the closest to the fire, and it seemed likely that a burning ember must have flown from the blaze and burned him.

He spent the rest of that day drifting in and out of consciousness, often staying awake for only long enough to feed the fire and drink out of his waterskin. He had no food on him, but had neither the appetite nor the strength needed to go and look for something in the tower. As the day wore on, his shivering and pain slowly stopped, and by evening he was feeling like he’d actually live through the effects of his swim in the icy river.

By the next morning he was weak as a newborn kitten, out of water, and ravenously hungry. There was no question of remaining in the tower any longer, and he just hoped the wolves had moved on to look for some other prey.

He thought for a moment about taking some of the books with him. He himself couldn’t read them, but they might be of interest to the Disciple. Hopefully, enough interest that she’d buy them and help him make up for losing the deer, along with three full days of hunting. Without his pack, however, he’d have to carry the book by hand all the way back. In the end, he decided it would be better to memorize the way to the tower, and get back to it later to retrieve the books, and anything else of value.

After all, to judge by the layer of dust over everything, the previous owners have been gone for at least a decade, and weren’t likely to come back any time soon.

The essence driven overgrowth made sure that even in the dead of winter, a man familiar with the forest would be able to find edible berries, nuts and fruits. And Nimrod was as familiar with the forest as anyone. A breakfast of wild raspberries and some water from a convenient little stream (purified with one of Simon’s little pills. There was no telling what parasites were growing in the essence rich water), and he felt like a new man. Even the burn on his right palm looked like it happened a week, and not a single day, before.

By the time he was nearing the village, Nimrod was lamenting the loss of his bow. He was feeling well enough that he might have been able to catch something. With nothing but his dagger, however, he’d never be able to catch even a squirrel.

He reached the village somewhere around noon, finding it almost deserted. Which was to be expected with most of the village population at the logging site. He headed straight for the one place he knew he’d be able to find someone.

Zeke’s general store was located close to the center of the village, and dealt with just about everything related to commerce that didn’t involve a traveling merchant. Nimrod himself would normally pay Zeke a commission to sell the meat he hunted to the rest of the villagers, rather than stay in the village to deal with it himself.

The general store looked like any other building in the village. Maybe a little bigger than the cabins most of the population lived in, but made of the same ubiquitous local wood. There was no sign setting it apart. Everyone who lived in the village knew where to find the only place to buy anything other than a wooden plank. Inside, the store was crammed full of shelves holding just about everything anyone in the village would need. After all, the traveling merchants only came around every month or so, when it was time to pick up the loads of lumber. At any other time, if you wanted something you could either buy it at Zeke’s or do without.

A bell rang when Nimrod opened the door, immediately followed by Zeke’s familiar voice.

“Be right with you!”

Nimrod wound his way around the shelves crowding the store, and reached the counter just a couple of seconds before Zeke. The store manager was in his late fifties, and the remains of the once muscular physique of a woodcutter could still be seen on his portly form. His hair, once the same dark brown as most of the villagers, had faded to an iron gray, and a pair of shrewd black eyes peered at Nimrod from a wrinkled face.

“Nimrod, you’re back! I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“No time Zeke. We need to get everyone out of the forest. There’s a Beast wolf loose, and…”

“We know, boyo.” Zeke cut him off.

“You do? How…?”

“It attacked John’s team yesterday. Killed a couple of his men and wounded most of the rest. Everyone else is out there now trying to lure it out so that the Disciple can kill it. When you didn’t come back two days ago, everyone thought it got you too.”

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“It nearly did. I managed to get some distance by going through a stream, and then found a place to hide. Abyss! If only I’d gotten here yesterday, I might have been able to warn people before it got John’s men.”

“Don’t punish yourself over it, boyo. If you’ve been chased by that thing into a river, it’s a wonder you’re even still alive.”

With his news not quite as urgent as he believed, Nimrod bid Zeke goodbye and headed back home. He wouldn’t be going back into the forest until the Beast had been taken care of, but he still had work to do to replace the gear he lost.

Priding himself on his preparedness and independence, Nimrod almost always kept some tanned leather, straight oak poles and the tools needed to work them. He had at least a couple of staves that should be dry enough to make a new bow, and after a meal of dried meat and fruits he settled down in his cabin to debark the wood and file out the string grooves.

The familiar rhythm of working the wood took over, and time flew around him as he filed, carved and sanded his new bow into the precise shape he wanted it to have. He’d made enough bows over the years, even selling some of them to the other villagers, that the work was second nature to him, and even soothing after the terror of the past three days.

He only came out of his semi-trance when the sound of many voices heralded the loggers’ return. Evening had fallen while he was working, and as soon as his focus broke, his stomach informed him that it hadn’t had nearly enough to eat lately. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much left in his cabin. He’d been counting on a successful hunt to fill both his larder and his pocket, and while the latter had a decent amount of coin in it, the former was standing empty after his cold lunch.

Which meant that dinner would have to be found at the tavern. On the bright side, Hanna’s cooking was much better than his own, and he wouldn’t have to argue with his own thriftiness over indulging in it for once.

The tavern was fuller than he’d ever seen it before. It looked like every single logger in the village had felt the need for some liquid courage after a day of playing bait for a Beast wolf. He made his way to one of the only available chairs in the common room, reassuring friends that he was still alive and had managed to evade the Beast and offering condolences to friends and family of the dead loggers.

He also learned one new piece of information before he was even halfway to his seat. The wolf didn’t take the offered bait, and was still out in the forest. This was a cause for concern for just about everyone. None of the hunters would be able to work while the wolf was hunting them in turn, which meant that fresh food would soon be in very short supply.

And the loggers themselves were far from being able to work at their usual efficiency. They had to remain close enough to each other that the Disciple could cover all of them, and being terrified was really not helping. And if orders for logs went unfulfilled, people won’t get paid when the merchants came along.

Nobody was in the mood for any serious conversation, and Nimrod was too wrung out himself for much more than the basic courtesies, so once he sat down he signaled Hanna’s son, Jack to bring him a plate of whatever was available. A plate of Hanna’s excellent venison chilli later, he left the loggers to their drinking and went home to fall into a deep sleep.

***

The following week saw things in the village going tenser and tenser. The wolf kept out of the Disciple’s way, and while it didn’t manage to attack any more villagers, it also wasn’t letting them get much work done.

Logging had slowed down to less than half the normal rate, and any hunting and gathering was completely out of the question. Fresh food was nothing more than a memory, and Zeke was slowly running out of preserves.

On Nimrod’s part, He managed to finish making a new bow, and went on to sewing a new backpack to replace the one lost in the forest. By the third day after he got back, he was completely recovered from his ordeal, and itching to get back to work.

He had to buy back some of his own preserved food from Zeke, and while the manager was decent enough not to raise his prices at the shortage, he still felt his hard earned funds dwindling away.

By the fourth day the Disciple paid out of her own money to have everyone in the village eat at least one full meal at the tavern every day. She claimed that it was her own failure to get rid of the wolf that caused the shortages, and so it was her duty to at least mitigate it.

Nevertheless, everyone in the village was very much relieved when, a full week after the wolf first attacked Nimrod, the Disciple strode into the village with the Beast’s pelt raised high in her arms.

Irene, the Disciple in charge of the village, was a tall, athletic woman. She had strange orange eyes that seemed too big for her face, and though she looked to be in her twenties, her hair was completely gray. She was wearing the traditional green robes of a Disciple of the Wood Element, and a long, bushy tail ringed in black and gray fur rose from behind her.

“The Beast is dead!” she cried out in a loud, clear voice. “We can all resume our normal lives.”

The entire village was listening to her voice, and cries of joyous victory rose at her words.

“I would like to implore our hunters to go out, and bring us the best that they can find. I will personally pay double the normal rate for everything you bring, so that we all can have a feast to celebrate!”

Nimrod happily ran back to his cabin to get his gear, and was back under the trees before the happy crowd had even stopped shouting. He felt the tension of the past week flow out of his body as the scents of the forest surrounded him, and gave himself away to the quiet of the hunt.

Luck seemed to be with him, for a change, and about an hour after he entered the forest he chanced upon a family of forest hares drinking from a small pond. Fitting an arrow to the string of his new bow, he aimed carefully at his targets. He had all the time he needed to ensure the first shot was perfect, but would have to shoot fast after that if he wanted to catch more than one hare.

Nimrod was just about to take his shot when another hare hopped its way to the pond. This one was significantly bigger than its fellows, and Nimrod carefully shifted his aim to the newcomer, wanting his surest shot to hit the biggest target.

He took a deep breath, preparing to release his arrow, when a stray beam of sunlight reflected out of a small horn right in the middle between his intended target’s long ears.