The next morning, the village buzzed with activity, a hive of motion and purpose. Hunters hurried about, securing weapons and tools, while others gathered supplies—bundles of dried meat, ropes, and flasks of water strapped to their belts. The blacksmith’s forge glowed with heat as last-minute repairs were made to bows and traps, the clanging of metal filling the crisp air.

Something was going on.

Families gathered in small clusters, offering quiet words to their loved ones, their faces etched with a mixture of worry and hope. Horses were being saddled, and large carts filled with provisions stood ready near the village's edge. Some hunters checked their arrows, running fingers along the shafts to ensure they were sharp, while others helped tie bundles of gear to pack animals. Even the children watched from the sidelines, eyes wide with curiosity and fear as the entire village prepared for something.

I guess it has something to do with the conversation they had yesterday. Are they shifting their dwelling? Or perhaps it's a festival.

The forest, looming just beyond the village, seemed darker than usual. As the hunters gathered near the edge of the village, their faces determined, Yvonne stood at the center, her voice rising above the murmur of preparations.

“We all know why we’re here,” she began, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. “This isn’t just a hunt. This is about survival—for us, for our families, and for the forest. We need to work together, cover as much ground as possible, and meet the quota. Failure is not an option.”

A grizzled older hunter, his hand resting on the hilt of a well-worn dagger, nodded. “We’ve faced worse. Remember the drought a few summers back? We made it through that, and we’ll make it through this. Stick together, stay sharp, and we’ll get what we need.”

Yvonne raised her hand, signaling for the hunters to gather closer. “We’ll split into three groups. The first will head toward the eastern ridge—there’s plenty of small game there. The second group will sweep the southern woods for deer, and the third will take the high ground in the north. If we move fast and set traps efficiently, we’ll make it.”

Another hunter, younger but hardened by years of experience, spoke up. “The traps need to be set before dusk. We’ll lose time if we wait until nightfall. Everyone needs to keep pace—no stragglers.”

Yvonne nodded. “Exactly. If anyone encounters trouble, send a signal. We’re in this together. And remember, the forest is with us—we know it better than anyone. Use it to your advantage.”

I was sitting quietly in one corner, wondering what all this fuss was about.

"Nero!" Yvonne called out. Nero is what she calls me. Can’t say I like it, but it's better than being nameless.

As I walked toward her, she grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and shoved me inside one of the carriages.

Apparently, I’m going with them. Wherever they’re going.

Before we set off, an elder from the village, her hands worn from years of work, stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. “May the forest guide your steps and bring you what you need. Trust in the old ways, and it will provide. You carry not just your weapons, but the hopes of all of us.”

The hunters murmured their assent, their spirits lifting. Yvonne, standing tall, looked at them one last time. “Let’s show them what we’re made of. For the village. For the forest.”

Soon after, the carriages moved forward in unison, heading straight into the forest. The forest greeted us with its familiar silence, a vast expanse of trees stretching into the misty distance. The canopy above filtered the pale morning light. The scent of pine, damp earth, and the sharp tang of cold air filled my nose as we moved deeper into the woods.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Yvonne led our group with quiet confidence, her hand steady on the hilt of her bow, while the others fanned out, their eyes scanning the surroundings for movement. Despite the calm, there was a charged tension in the air, the weight of the task ahead pressing down on us all. The other two groups separated from us, taking other directions as we continued moving straight.

After we reached a particular designated spot—a thickly wooded area where the underbrush grew wild and tangled—Yvonne raised her hand to signal a halt. The group of hunters around us began to spread out in practiced silence, each moving with the ease of years spent in these woods.

So, we’re here to hunt? Not surprising.

"This is it," Yvonne murmured, crouching low beside a large oak. "Set the traps along the clearing. The game trails should be active here."

I padded silently by her side, watching as the hunters moved swiftly, laying out snares and traps with practiced hands. The steel gleamed faintly in the low light as it was carefully hidden beneath leaves and twigs, set to spring with lethal precision. Despite the grim task, there was a strange beauty to the coordination of it all—each hunter working with quiet efficiency, their movements almost a dance as they prepared to outsmart their prey.

A low voice from one of the hunters, Erik, cut through the stillness. "Tracks," he said, pointing to a patch of disturbed earth near a thicket. "Horned deer, and fresh. Not more than a few hours old."

Yvonne’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the tracks. "Good. They’re close. Spread out, but stay within earshot. We don’t want to spook them too soon."

As the hunters moved into position, the forest around us seemed to grow quieter, as if holding its breath. The only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds overhead. The tension was thick, each of us waiting, listening, alert to the faintest hint of movement.

To the east, another group of hunters had already begun to set their snares for rabbits and smaller game. I could hear faint murmurs drifting through the trees as they discussed their strategy. "Set them closer to the rockface," one of the hunters, Mira, suggested. "Rabbits like to burrow near there. We can catch a dozen if we’re quick."

The younger hunter from earlier, Garen, crouched beside a patch of dense foliage. "I’ve seen them scatter this way before. We’ll set up a net trap. That should cover the escape routes."

In the northern high ground, the third group was climbing toward the cliffs where goats and larger game could sometimes be found. Their voices carried faintly on the breeze. "Watch your footing," one of the veterans called. "The rocks are slick, and we don’t want anyone getting hurt before the hunt begins."

As the preparations continued, the forest seemed to close in around us, the heavy silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig. The world beyond the trees felt distant.

Yvonne knelt beside me, her hand resting gently on my head as she whispered, "Stay close to me. The game’s about to begin."

Suddenly, a soft rustle came from deeper in the forest. The hunters froze, eyes snapping toward the sound. A doe, or something similar to it, stepped cautiously into the clearing, her head raised as she sniffed the air. For a moment, time seemed to stop. Yvonne’s hand tightened on her bow, but she didn’t move.

"Wait for it," she breathed.

The doe took a hesitant step forward, unaware of the danger that surrounded her. The traps were set, the hunters in place, and the forest watched in silence. This was the delicate balance of survival, the moment when predator and prey came face to face, and the line between life and death blurred.

“Now,” Yvonne whispered, and with a quick, fluid motion, she let her arrow fly.

The arrow struck true, the soft thud of its impact barely audible. The doe stumbled, then fell silently to the ground. The other hunters quickly moved in, securing the kill while Yvonne remained still, her eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of more movement.

"One down," she said, her voice calm but filled with a quiet intensity. "We’ve got a long way to go."

As they dragged the doe to the side, I felt the pulse of the forest quicken around us. This was just the beginning. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting shadows that danced across the forest floor.

But as the hours passed, Yvonne’s frustration grew. She began being loud and grumpy. The forest was vast, and while the traps were working, the progress felt too slow.

Maybe they’re in dire need of some cash. That would explain a lot of things.

With a sharp decision, she whistled softly, and a nearby hunter brought her horse.

“Stay here and keep setting traps. I’ll head toward the tall grasses alone—there’s more game there,” Yvonne said, her voice firm but urgent.

Before anyone could protest, she mounted her horse and spurred it forward. For some mysterious reason—or perhaps her magic—I immediately sprinted after her, my paws beating against the forest floor as I raced to keep up.

The wind rushed past us, and the trees blurred into a sea of blue as Yvonne pushed the horse toward the meadow beyond the treeline. Her determined gaze never wavered as we approached the wide field of tall grasses, where animals often grazed.

Suddenly, Yvonne pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. I also halted myself. My stamina had hiked enough that I wasn't huffing

Still on top of the horse, swiftly she scanned the grasses. Her sharp eyes caught movement—a flash of fur near a distant patch of bushes. Without hesitation, she drew her bow, the string pulling tight as she aimed.

I watched, her form. Enchanting. She exhaled slowly, her muscles tense with focus, and then, with a sharp twang, the arrow flew.

Immediately a loud squeak followed.

I stayed still wondering wha she caught.

"Nero!" She called me her eyes commanding.

Ah right So it's like this.

I darted forward, sprinting towards the bushes where the arrow had disappeared. My legs burned with the effort. My nose detected a faint smell of blood.

[Ran 50 meters + 5 stamina]

As I reached the spot, expecting to find her prey lying still, I came to a sudden stop. What I saw wasn’t what I expected. The arrow had pierced through the ear of a similar pink rabbit I had seen not long ago, pinning it to a low-hanging branch of a tree. The poor creature dangled helplessly, its body trembling in fear but very much alive.

Its soft brown fur quivered with every breath, its wide eyes filled with panic. The arrow had grazed it perfectly, trapping it without killing it.

"Still alive, huh?" I muttered “That’s some luck.”

Now what? Should I kill it?