Chapter 11: Hunting the Plains

Previously

”Alright, boys and girls, this way!” Someone shouts in an unusually hyper voice, hollering in delight as he pulls pass the large tree –it has half a dozen X’s marked into it– immediately banking right to go towards the southern pastures. The pastures are most known for the deer that graze there, so, understandably, we start here. I smile slightly. This means I might be able to get a catch early.

Now

We travel through the forest, our spirits high. The men and women are tossing taunts and bets around as we move, everyone eager for a catch. Thyra and I stay relatively close by to each other: we don’t want to lose one another in the crowd. By now we’re nearly in the middle of the pack.

The path we’re travelling on is overgrown with weeds and obstructed by the occasional fallen tree. “When are they gonna bother to fix this path?” I can't help but shout after having to make my horse jump over the fifth log in ten minutes.

“They’re lazy and stupid!” A woman yells back.

“We’ve been trying to get them to clean this bloody path for years!” A man adds. “If we want it done, we will have to do it ourselves.”

“Authorities.” I scoff, earning some laughs.

***

The group started to slow down: we’re here. I can tell because the trees have started filling out, the sky is more visible, and the land has become flatter than the graduate climb it was a few minutes ago.

We all have our horses at a walk now and have stopped talking in case there are animals nearby. I grip the bow firmly, hoping it’ll be of good use today. I had taken it from my house this morning, it was my mother’s. She won’t notice it’s gone, though. She hasn’t used it in years.

I notice that everyone is taking their helmets off now, lipping then to their sides or their saddles. I glance across at Thyra, and we shrug. We reach up and unclip our helmets, lifting them off our heads quietly. No one seems to care; no one is looking at us, to be honest. I fasten it to my saddle securely, happy that I have my full vision back.

“We need to stay unnoticed,” Thyra tells me, and I nod in agreement, giving her a thumbs up.

“Alright.” Someone whispers from at the front. “We’re here.”

We continue walking forwards for a moment until we’re all in a clearing, where we stop. I look around the pastures. It’s pretty empty, but I spot a few deer grazing in the distance. They’re not facing us. Everyone is silent now, the air tense. A bush rustling nearby has us all flinch, and we look at it wide-eyed, waiting to see what it is. After a second, a rabbit springs out of the bush and starts bouncing away as fast as it can.

A sharp sound cuts through the air and an arrow flies over my head, striking the rabbit right in the head. Nearly look my bloody head off! Sheesh, maybe I should have left my helmet on.

“Bullseye!” Someone whispers, delighted. “That’s my dinner right there.”

Some quiet laughs run through the group. I shake my head, I hope that person is an expert archer. I’d rather not have my head taken off anytime soon.

We nudge our horses to walk forward, the man who shot the rabbit quickly dismounting to grab it and his arrow, before remounting and joining the back of the group. We travel across the plains, the grass tall enough to brush our heels. No one spoke a word and the only sound heard was the jingle of the tack.

The deer continued to graze throughout our approach, and as we get closer I am able to make out there are six does and one stag. I run a finger over my drawstring, itching to drive an arrow through one of the animal’s hearts.

We’re only a few hundred meters away now. The deer are so engrossed in their meal they haven't noticed us. Above, a bird caws loudly, startling some of the deer's and causing them to look up. One of the people in front of us holds up an arm, indicating for us to stop. My heart beats quicker. Our horses will only be able to chase them for so long.

I pull my horse to a stop with everyone else, grabbing an arrow from my quiver and knocking it silently as I wait to see what happens. The deer watch the bird take flight from the only tree in the entire plain and swoop towards the forest. We all freeze.

“We have to do this now!” Someone whispers from the back.

“On my count, we charge!” A woman mutters.

“One,” I gather the reins in one arm, looking ahead towards the target.

“Two,” the deer put their heads back down.

“Three!”

Kicking my horse’s side, I urge him forward, and the entire group surges forward as one unstoppable force. I drop the reins, trusting my horse to know what to do and raise my bow into the air.

The deers look up at the sound, sniffing the air. They turn to look at us. We’re but a hundred meters away. They spin on their heels and flee. We drive our horses to run faster.

A few arrows fly at them, but only two hit. One strikes through the heart of one, while the other goes straight through one’s neck. I pull the drawstring back, aim, and release.

Time seems to slow as the arrow flies through the air, rotating gently. Its target is the stag. But it falls short when the stag takes a sharp turn to run into the forest with the rest of them.

“Damn it!” I hiss, pulling the horse to a stop with one hand. Everyone else is slowing down too. I spot my arrow on the ground, surprisingly not broken. I shove my bow over my shoulder and dismount. Thyra rides up to my side and gestures for the reins. I hand them to her with a thankful nod, and walk over to my arrow, bending down to pick it up.

“Didn’t get a hit either?” I ask Thyra after she hands me back my reins and I remount. She shakes her head.

“This close!” She replies, scowling and lifting a hand to pinch the air. “I was this close!”

“No worries, friends!” A man shouts, helping to fasten one of the two carcasses to a hunter’s horse. “The hunt has only just begun!”

Everyone lets out murmurs of agreement. I return my arrow to the quiver. The group stays put for about five minutes, waiting for the hunters to secure their catch.

Thyra and I are towards the front of the group, talking with a man as we wait to move on.

“A-and then I punched him in the face,” Thyra laughs. The man smirks slowly.

“So that’s why he showed up with a black eye to my place. He wouldn’t tell us why!”

“Wait, he’s related to you?” I ask, amused. The man nods solemnly.

“Unfortunately, Sture is my idiot of a cousin,” he tells us.

“I heard he murdered his sister. Is it true?” I ask curiously. The man— his name is Bol— winces.

“Yeah, it was an accident though. She shouldn’t have snuck up on him in the middle of a bloody battle!”

“But, good soldiers should always be aware of their surroundings!” I blurt before I can stop myself. “He should have been looking around himself— the enemy loves to stab you in the back,” I add. I guess I pay a lot of attention to my father… if only he’d do the same to me.

Bol blinks and shakes his head. “While that is true, it can be difficult to take note of your surroundings when you’re fighting three people.” He defends.

“Yes, but it’s not impossible.” I respond, Thyra clears her throat before Bol or I can add anything else.

“We moving on or what?!” She shouts to the group in a demanding way.

So much for being subtle and unnoticed. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah let’s go!” I yell, backing her up as always.

“Alright, alright, calm down!” A man chuckles as he swings into the saddle. “Onto Fools Mountain, then!”

I nudge my horse into a Trott, staying up by the front with Thyra and Bol. Chatter starts amongst the group again, and Thyra and I start talking with Bol once again as we cross the rest of the plain and entire the shade of the forest.

“Ok, that’s a fair point— about it not being impossible.” He tells me. “Sture hasn’t always been the brightest, he’s a bit of an act first, think later kind of man.”

“Is that why he decided to climb the side of the watchtower?” Thyra wonders in amusement.

“Oh, no. That was a dare!’ Bol responds happily. “My fault.”

“What were you gonna do if he fell?” I ask, chuckling.

“Run.” Was Bol’s reply. I snorted.

“How loyal!” I remark sarcastically. Bol laughs loudly.

Over the treetops, you could see a mountain. It wasn’t too big: it would only take us half an hour to get up. Last I remembered, the tracks were large enough to walk our horses side by side with one other person. The mountain is a good place to go because there are plenty of goats that reside on the island, along with the occasional wild yak, strangely enough. Someone even caught a white leopard once—my father got that banned.

“What’s the biggest catch you’ve got?” Bol asks. I pause to think.

“Fully grown stag,” I reply with a shrug. I had caught it on the last hunt I went on.

“Mine’s an adolescent bear. The bloody thing took four arrows to take down!” Thyra exclaims.

“Impressive,” Bol nods. “But mine’s a wolf. Got me a nice jacket out of that.”

I let out a whistle, impressed. Wolves are hard, because they’re pack animals and difficult to fight off in numbers. The group continues to move on at a walking pace, we don’t have a path now so we have to manoeuvre around natural obstacles. A happy mood was back, apparently, everyone is eager once more for a catch.

The mountain stretched tall above us, a few birds circling. It, most definitely, was going to be cold up there.