The jackalope stamped its foot hard into the snow, packing it down. Ears swiveled around the small twists of black antlers on its fluffy head. It dipped its head and used the antlers to clear away the space it had patted down, upturning soil. Its long spindly fingers closed around a stick and it began to munch. The ears swiveled slowly around.
Sylvie pulled herself up over the edge of the rock outcropping, pulling back the bowstring. She was too far out to hit the shot from here, knowing the wind would yank the arrow right off course. There was a slight tremble to her hands that she stopped by steadying her arms against the rock, the bowstring drawn by hooking onto a piece of bone on her gauntlet. The bow stayed drawn by her thumb folding over it, her gauntlet holding most of the weight.
From overhead, she heard the distant cry as the falcon dove. It spooked the jackalope, who tried to run farther away from Sylvie. It was then that the white dire wolf burst from under the snow he had been laying under, snapping at the jackalope. The plump creature turned and darted back toward the rocks where its den was.
Jackalope and the dire wolf darted across the distance, though as it got closer to the den, the dire wolf peeled off. Sylvie released her thumb and the arrow flew. The brown-feathered arrow buried itself into the jackalope’s breast, and the beast was still, crimson spilling out onto the snow in a slow oozing pool stark against the white.
“Yes!” Sylvie laughed, pushing herself shakily off the rocks. She slid down them on her butt, though she underestimated how far the way down was, hitting it hard with an oomph.
“Sylvie!” There was a flap as the falcon descended, landing on the icy rocks. She flared her wings, turning concerned amber eyes onto the girl below her.
“Ah..! I’m okay. I’m alright, Alya.” She groaned as she pushed herself up. The constant ache in her bones seemed sharper at the moment, blooming across her legs. She was standing though, with nothing broken. Just more pain to add to the normal amount for now.
The falcon clucked disapprovingly, her whole breast fluffing up. She took flight again, landing near the jackalope.
“Good hunt, little sister.” The dire wolf gave a slow yawn and settled on his belly.
Sylvie smiled as she took her knife, cutting the arrow free.
“Thank you for this meal, spirits.” She was careful to try and preserve the shaft, cleaning the blood off to slide it back into her quiver. The jackalope was plump and big enough to bulk out a stew, she figured.
“Do you feel like stew, Iske?”
The dire wolf stood with a huff. His tail made lazy circles in the snow as he came to Sylvie’s side.
Sylvie pushed the jackalope over the back of the saddle with some effort, and then slid her foot into the stirrup, lifting herself onto Iske’s back.
“It will do, little sister. You hunted well.” Iske moved across the snow, carrying her toward their encampment. Sylvie squinted against the fading sunlight that reflected across the sparse trees of the tundra.
Trailing back to the embankment where they had stashed their supplies and snow hovel, something twisted in Sylvie’s gut. A tingling feeling that at first made her think of nausea. She was about to dismiss it when, above, Alya let out a cry of warning.
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The spiraling white smoke reaching into the sky caught Sylvie off-guard, and she pressed her body to Iske’s as the two climbed over the outcropping. Below, her tent was smoldering, and the drying furs were folded over a tall figure’s arm.
Sylvie did not slide down from Iske’s back, though there were tinges of despair in her stomach. The sight held her heart in her throat.
“We should leave. It’s a loss.” Iske began to edge backward, but as he did, his great paws disturbed the snow. The cascade fell down on the men below.
“Wolf! Wolf!” The cry rang out from the men, who rushed to their sleds. Iske bolted, attempting to cover the ground before the packs of kal’ye dogs could get started. Above, Alye surged ahead in the sky, and Iske bolted after her. Sylvie worked at her bow, half turning in the saddle to look behind as the five tribesmen exploded into movement after them.
“They don’t even call out for a hunt anymore. Just see prey and start screaming.” Iske took long strides to carry them over the snow. He was fast, but the kal’ye dogs worked in teams, and with four pulling a sled, they began to gain ground.
“They’re almost on us.” Sylvie felt sweat underneath her parka and furs, her fingers fumbling at the moment on her bow.
“Shoot, Sylvie. Take the lead dog out.” Even though he was panting, Iske’s voice was clear and calm to her. Sylvie hesitated, trembling while she tried to draw the bow when suddenly the largest team was upon them to the side. The man drew back and threw the spear despite Sylvie being on Iske’s back.
Iske and Sylvie rolled into the snow. A bloom of ache started in Sylvie’s ribcage, sucking in only a half breath as anything deeper sent stars across her vision. The dire wolf snarled, turning his head and snapping the wooden spear out of his shoulder as he turned to face down the men. Sylvie tried to get to her feet, but her hip failed her, keeping her on her knees.
She tried to pull the bow string back to realize it had snapped. The leader of the men pulled his dogs up short. A dark, stormy grey eye gazed down at both of them as he raised his spear. The spark of life seemed gone in the essence of a gnarled, hungry face.
He raised the great ornate spear to bring it down on Iske, and Sylvie screamed. The ice and snow beneath them rumbled suddenly, fragmenting outward in deep fissures that opened underneath the man’s feet. A swirl of green light danced upon it, and the other hunters pulled back. Their dogs screaming and yipping at the sudden danger.
The ground opened, and first, it swallowed the hunter. His eyes widened, one hand reaching out desperately as if some spark at least screamed ‘Live!’. The ground swallowed Iske next. The dire wolf’s cries echoed like a young pup from the swallowing. Alya dove, her talons stretched out like she might do something, anything.
They snapped at the back of Sylvie’s parka just as the ground gave way beneath her. She reached out for that distant sky. No scream, the sound too caught in her throat. Then she fell, a weightlessness that descended as the walls of ice and earth rose up around her.
She was only aware of the flap of Alya’s wings. The surge of green twisted around the falcon at the moment. The magic ripped through her in desperation, and it was a talon that caught the three on their endless fall into the depths of the earth. Alya’s wings barely fit in the gaping fissure at this size, slamming against the walls. Despite the pain, the falcon did not drop her friends.
The landing was not gentle. The icy ground met them with a painful thud, and Alya crumpled. Her size returned to diminutive as the magic soared outward, brushing past Sylvie’s arms. Tendrils of green imposed themselves against the canyon of ice that surrounded them.
Sylvie stared at the distant light. They had fallen so far, there was barely any hint of the sky anymore. Nor could they hear the yipping of kal’ye dogs. Her mind was filled with desperation, but moving seemed impossible. Then a rough tongue was running across her face.
“Little sister?” Iske’s growls were punctuated by fear. It was only after she groaned that he exhaled, sliding onto his belly with his head across her shoulder. Somehow, the ice beneath her seemed wonderfully solid. She pressed her gloved hands against it with a pit in her stomach. When it did not crack under her weight, the pressure was comforting. She could fall no further.