It was still dark when Atissa walked the narrow forest trail to the west of Grumpy Old Horto. It didn’t bother her. She had walked the trails of the western half of the Half-Moon Valley all her life.

The noises around her slowly changed as the inhabitants of the forest awoke. Those preferring the night had already retreated into the shadows.

Atissa enjoyed this time of day. She always rose before dawn to begin her chores while listening to the birds greeting the morning in the trees around their hut.

The trail ended in a wide clearing marked by lots of old tree stumps. When the Helcenaean settlers arrived in the valley, this was the first area they had cleared out. They had built their village, Logger’s Home, hugging the shore of the lake, allowing them comfortable access to the valley’s waterways.

Atissa had come out north of the village. As she got closer to the buildings on the outskirts, she noticed how the soft noises of the forest were slowly replaced by others. To her, the settlement with its tightly packed houses often felt like a world from the rest of the valley. When she had asked uncle Tatros about it, he had only nodded and said that it smelled too.

The village was still mostly asleep. Families living here would start their daily work at first light. Cooking food, repairing tools, and performing all the tasks necessary to prepare, store and transport the valuable timber.

As she passed the first of the wooden houses, four lazy eyes followed her. The dogs knew Atissa and didn’t give alarm. She waved at them. They had sensed and recognized each other minutes before.

Dogs, mules, and a couple of goats made up the measly group of farm animals that the settlers could call their own. The journey over the mountains was too long and hazardous to bring large herds. Or so her uncle had said. Atissa had still been a baby when they had come here. Horses and cows, she only knew from stories.

The first rays of sunlight came over the mountaintops as she reached the caster’s house. The shutters were still shut so Atissa closed her eyes and concentrated. Her Gift was mostly instinctual but at a short distance like this she could still easily sense the movement within the house. Judging by the light steps, the caster’s wife was already roaming around her home.

Atissa knocked lightly on the door and waited.

“Who’s there?” a quiet voice asked from inside.

“Atissa. I am here for the axe.”

A noise of wood against wood sounded from inside and the door opened. The caster’s wife stepped outside, looking down at her. Atissa was shorter than most women in the valley. And she disliked it. At almost fifteen - an adult - her hopes of growing a little more were rapidly disappearing.

“You are early,” the woman said curtly.

“Greetings,” Atissa said, pushing a strain of black hair under her bandana. “I am going hunting beyond Ipras’ place today.” She wasn’t very good at dealing with the village women.

The caster’s wife looked her up and down while wiping off her hands on the apron she wore over her long tunic. “Wait here.” She disappeared into the house and returned a moment later with a cloth bundle.

Atissa accepted it and unwrapped the yellow axe head. It was small, meant for a hatchet.

“Tatros wanted to make the handle himself?” the woman asked.

Atissa nodded, carefully storing the valuable tool in her bag.

The caster’s wife watched her with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t bring the bow?”

“It’s almost done,” Atissa said, trying to ignore the coldness of the woman’s gaze. “Uncle Tatros will bring it himself once he has tested it.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “It would probably be a bit too big for you.”

Atissa forced a smile. “Yes, mine is smaller and weaker, but it is enough to bring down a deer.” She patted the long leather casing on her back that housed the unstrung bow and arrows.

A steady draw took strength. Uncle Tatros’ bows were all carved from a single piece of wood. The longer the bow, the stronger it was and the further the arrow would fly.

Not that reach means much in the thick forest, she thought. Having been practicing woodcraft since she could walk, Atissa considered herself one of the best hunters in the valley. Uncle Tatros outdid her in accuracy, but there wasn’t anyone that could move as stealthily through the underbrush as she.

She didn’t say any of that out loud of course. Instead, she waited for the older woman to dismiss her from the uncomfortable conversation.

“Before I forget”, the caster’s wife said, “I talked to Reva yesterday and mentioned that your uncle might come by. She said if you catch something big enough, they would trade. Looks like their better hunters are all on the Drive.”

“Thank you,” Atissa said, delighted. “I will go by Ipras’ if I catch something good.” Ipras’ camp was the biggest settlement besides Logger’s Home. She would have to hunt a good-sized deer to make it worth Reva’s while. Even with some of the men away on the Drive, she had a lot of mouths to feed.

“Ok, then,” the woman said, turning away with one last glance at Atissa’s legs, bare but for the material of her tunic just about reaching the middle of her thighs. “My husband is looking forward to your uncle’s bow.”

“I will let him know,” Atissa said. “Have a good day.”

The woman closed the door and Atissa turned away quickly. She would take the path south of the village past Ipras’ camp. If she wanted to bring down something big for Reva, it would be better not to have to carry it too far. Thankfully, there were some good hunting grounds in that direction.

Atissa walked swiftly, desperate to leave the village behind her as quickly as possible. The woman’s last glance had annoyed her. Being out all day, Atissa wore a short tunic, just as men and boys did. But she was close to coming of age, and her attire was starting to attract more and more critical looks from some of the women.

If Temiras can run around like that, why can’t I, Atissa thought annoyed? Many of the men sacrificed to her for fortune during the hunt. Uncle Tatros had told her stories about the gods, but they had always felt as distant to her as Helcenaea itself.

Atissa looked towards the western mountains. One day she would like to cross them, cross the sea and see her uncle’s homeland.

The clearing ended and the road continued into the forest. Atissa planned to follow it till after Ipras’ camp. Ipras had been one of the founders of the settlement. He was old now, but he still led his family’s men into the woods every day.

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Atissa liked Ipras. When she was little, he had often given her honey from his family’s hives. A year ago, he had even asked her if she wanted to marry one of his grandsons. Being drunk at the time, he had considered it a great idea, but the women had intervened, and the proposal hadn’t come up again.

Not that I want to marry any of them anyway, she thought. Atissa shrugged to adjust the position of her bag’s leather strap on her shoulder. For a moment the idea of belonging to a big family clan had felt nice.

Somebody is there.

Her instinct warned her long before she heard their voices. With three quick steps she disappeared into the undergrowth, moving so carefully it was almost as if she had vanished on the spot.

Peering through the leaves, Atissa recognized three women from Ipras’ family coming down the path. Chatting away, they were paying no attention to their surroundings, which Atissa was very thankful for.

Ditsa was the oldest of the three. She had come to the valley four years ago, married to Ipras’ youngest son. Much to Atissa’s confusion, Ditsa had taken an instant dislike to her and never missed an opportunity to show it. At least when her father-in-law was not around.

The other two arrived last year as brides for Ipras’ grandsons and Atissa had not bothered to learn their names. They had become Ditsa’s followers right away. Like her, they had come from Riadnos and the valley was a foreign place to them. Atissa would have liked to talk to them about the world beyond the mountains, but not with Ditsa around, calling her a dark-eyed barbarian.

After waiting until the girls were some distance away, Atissa returned to the path. Hiding from them irked her a little bit but it was better than the alternative.

A short time later, she passed by Ipras’ camp. It was still called so, but over the years it had grown into the biggest Helcenaean settlement after Logger’s Home. The half a dozen log houses were built close to a bend in one of the small rivers that fed into the lake.

Atissa dashed straight into the underbrush. After only a couple of minutes, she came across a trail that animals used to water at the river. Taking the leather casing from her back and unwrapping her bow, she decided it was here she would begin the hunt.

The leather was sown together with the fur on the inside, protecting the bow even when she was running. Just as she had done with her bag. Just as she had done with her cloth. Only her tunic had come from the village, her uncle exchanging it for meat and leather skins. Since then, Atissa had mended it many times.

The fabric had been made in Radinos and been brought across the mountains by the men on their return trip from the annual Drive. Atissa loved how the woolen weave felt light on her skin, especially during the summer.

She spun the bow. This one was the first, she had helped to build. Uncle Tatros insisted he teach her all he knew about woodcraft. She pulled out the four arrows she carried with her and examined them. The fetching was straight, and the bone tip was fixed firmly to the shaft.

Satisfied with her preparation Atissa started the stalk. She carried both the bow and the arrow in her left hand, leaving the right free to move branches to reduce the noise she made crept forwards.

For the next hour, Atissa snuck through the underbrush, finding several tracks along the way but quickly dismissed them. After years of learning woodcraft from her uncle, she could read footprints and broken branches with just a glance.

Climbing a low hill, her instinct finally tingled. Slowing down, she carefully peered over the crest. The other side of the hill was steep, falling away in a sharp drop. At its base, the forest gave way to a meadow of tall, luscious grass. A creek formed a border on the other side.

There!

Atissa could not explain how she knew. The grass was standing too high to see anything, but her eyes were immediately drawn to one specific spot. Her instinct - her special Gift - told her it was there.

A wild pig? She carefully inched forward. No, a deer. She just knew.

Her prey was laying in the grass, resting. This was a challenge. One of several.

For a clean kill, the beast had to stand up and show its side. Atissa also couldn’t shoot from the hill. The angle was bad and there were too many trees between her and the edge of the clearing.

She considered her options. The safest choice was to retreat and approach the meadow from another direction. Or she could try to cautiously make her way down the slope. Should she make any noise, her prey would bolt immediately. She smiled.

Sitting back, she took off her bag, the bow casing, and her jacket. She only kept the bow and the one arrow.

Keeping an eye on the spot in the grass, she moved up to a crouching position. There was no movement in the grass.

Atissa snuck over the crest of the hill before pausing behind a broad tree. Plan ahead, don’t just rely on your instinct, her uncle’s voice said in her head.

She considered the ground ahead. Her best chance for a controlled descent was to move from tree to tree. It would prevent her from gaining too much speed.

She selected the next spot to aim for and started to move.

She reached the first tree without a problem. Same with the second and third. It was going easier than she had anticipated.

About halfway down the hill, she slipped.

She had almost reached the next tree when the soft forest floor below her front foot gave way. Most of her weight had been on that foot and now she was tumbling down toward the dirt.

Her right hand reached backward, desperately grasping for something to hold on to. She found a branch and gripped it tightly, managing to stop herself just before her backside hit the ground. Thankfully, the young tree she was holding on to managed to carry her weight.

Lucky, she thought.

Atissa dangled there for a moment. Held up by one foot and her right hand, she listened quietly. Nothing. There was no cry of alarm, no sudden rustling in the grass.

Relieved, she relaxed a bit.

Atissa imagined herself sliding down the hill on her butt, watching her spooked prey run off. Uncle Tatros would have scolded her. At least the part of him that lived in her head, watching her every move. I wish he’d get out of my head, she thought, then felt immediately guilty.

Careful not to loosen more earth, Atissa pulled herself back to her feet. There was still no movement in the grass below. She knew the deer was still there.

The descent continued. Humbled by her mishap, Atissa moved more slowly than before, paying more attention to the ground beneath her. Make a mistake and you don’t eat. Forget to learn from it and you eventually starve to death, Tatros liked to say.

She reached the bottom of the hill and started to sneak forward to the edge of the meadow. This part came naturally to her. Her body knew how to move, where to step.

She was close now. Very close.

Creeping across even ground, she knocked the arrow, wrapping her right thumb around the string below it. Slight pressure from her index finger held the projectile in place.

A last low-hanging branch blocked her way. Atissa crouched just enough to pass underneath it, her eyes never leaving her target.

She had reached the edge of the meadow. Still crouched, she peered over the grass. She needed to incite her prey to stand up without causing the animal to bolt immediately.

Her lips parted to produce the sound.

Something is coming.

Atissa’s Gift whispered to her even though nothing in the environment around her appeared to have changed. Yet it had. Her senses had picked it up and were now warning her. She instinctively knew that something was approaching from the other side of the meadow the same way she knew that there was a deer laying in the grass only a couple of paces away. Had her prey sensed it too?

If I did, it did, she thought, rising while drawing the string back to her chin in one fluent motion.

The deer stood, its back turned to her. Damn!

Atissa could only hold the fully drawn arrow for a moment before the effort would make her arm shake.

She clicked her tongue.

The deer turned, its ears perked up nervously. The arrow buried itself in the animal’s side right behind the left shoulder.

The beast darted forward, zigzagging a couple of times, way too fast for any bowman to adjust his aim. But Atissa didn’t have to, even if she had brought another arrow.

Halfway across the clearing, the deer fell. For a short moment, it flailed in the grass. Then, the meadow grew quiet.

Atissa’s body relaxed, a feeling of triumph filling her. It was familiar to her, but you never grew numb to this.

Breaking twigs.

This time she sensed it clearly. Somebody or something was approaching. She crouched below the grass line.

That way, she thought. She couldn’t see anything, yet, but she knew the direction.

Branches on the other side of the meadow parted and a figure in white stepped into the sun. Atissa’s eyes widened.

It was a man. One hand was holding a long staff, reaching all the way to his chin. The other was holding onto some blue fabric, slung over his shoulder. But what caught Atissa’s attention most was his upper body. It was clad in white, almost gleaming in the sunlight. She had never seen anything like it.

The man looked around. He was tall. Taller even than Ipras, if not as broad in the shoulders. His gaze wandered over the meadow as if assessing it. When he started to walk, he did so with long strides.

Then he tripped over the deer.

Atissa lost sight of him when he fell face-first into the high grass. She rose a bit more to have a better view. Nothing. The man had not gotten up yet. She wondered if she should risk sneaking a bit closer.

“Fuck!”

Atissa ducked again.