Chapter IX

As the day pressed on, the spring sun began to penetrate the canopy of the Adirondacks. At night, the Dark Zone had the tendency to live up to its name by appearing to be a dark and dreary wilderland with a hostile vibe that instilled fear into the hearts of those who wandered near its borders. However, when the sun was high and the woods were illuminated, the Dark Zone could be seen as a beautiful and peaceful land of valleys and forests full of life, in spite of its reputation.

Along the shadowy floor of the mountainous woods, a young girl wandered. Though she looked somewhat older, the girl was quite young; only fourteen years old. She had long, black hair that hung down her back and over her shoulders. Her clothes were poor; stitched primarily from leather and fur. Her face carried an expression of boldness and gallantry, yet also a sense of compassion and love. Her home was not located anywhere along the borders of the mountains. It was here, in the middle of the Dark Zone itself. She had never wandered beyond these territories. This was all she had. It was all she needed. Unfortunately, for several years, life had been very difficult for her people. So difficult that even the woods she had walked all her life had become dangerous.

She hiked as stealthily as she could through the morning woods. In her left hand she carried a short, handcrafted bow, and slung on her back was a quiver that held about a dozen arrows. Aside from that, she was also carrying a small knife tucked into a sheath on her back just above her waist. It was no secret that she was hunting for something. She woke up at the first light of the morning sun and crept out of her home for the sport. It was not something she was able to do everyday because her older brother did not allow it, but she hunted whenever she found the chance.

Suddenly, she halted in her tracks and began glancing around, as if she heard something that caught her attention. The girl looked down at the ground in front of her. She knelt down and examined the dirt of the forest floor for tracks. Sure enough, there were signs of deer tracks. Judging by the size, she figured they probably belonged to a single juvenile host. They were fresh tracks, possibly a few hours old. With this information, she consulted her knowledge of the mountains and the terrain of her home. She knew that just a few miles north of her position, the mountain would split into a narrow, rocky trough. There would be a small creek spilling out of the trough to be met with many others to form a pond on the edge of a valley. If there was a herd of deer nearby, then the pond is where they were mostly likely headed. The girl stood back up with a confident posture and ran off silently deeper into the woods toward the mountain trough.

It was about a two mile journey through the trees and hills, but the girl traversed the rough terrain quickly and very quietly, as she had done so for years. When born and raised in the heart of the mountains, one learns to memorize their environment, and to know every rock, leaf, and stream that rushes down the mountainsides. It takes strength, passion and a great amount of willpower to call the mountains home. The girl’s people lived in these lands for many generations. They were self-governing, minding their own business and cared little for the dealings of the Outside world.

The girl’s name was Rowan. A skilled hunter from a young age, her every breath and fiber she dedicated to the well-being of her home in the Dark Zone – or at least, that was what she wanted. For a long time, her people were farmers and hunters in these territories. Now, they were warriors and survivors.

Nearly twenty years ago, long before she was born, the mountains were entered by an enormous group of Outsiders. Rowan’s father was the leader of her people, and the Outsiders informed him that they were seeking a place in the Dark Zone to call home, promising their services in exchange. For a time, there was peace, but for as long as Rowan could remember, tensions had been consistently growing between their two peoples – and then, about five years ago, the worst happened.

At last, Rowan found herself coming to a break in the dense woods. She was getting close to the trough and the pond where she predicted she might find the deer. The sunlight grew brighter, and before long, Rowan stopped near the edge of the treeline. She could now see through the trees; the edge of the woods looked down upon a pond sitting in the middle of a small valley at the edge of the rocky mountainside. As she scanned the area, she could see a single small deer with its tail turned toward her as it drank from the water. It was completely oblivious to her presence.

Rowan crouched down and pulled an arrow from her quiver. Not blinking, and keeping all her focus on the target, she slowly positioned the arrow and pulled back on the string. She lined up her sight perfectly along the arrow. One simple release of her fingers and the arrow would fly with blinding speed at her prey. She held her breath to hold steady, but suddenly, the deer stopped drinking and looked up. Rowan froze, waiting to see if the deer would make another movement. Luckily, it did not see her, rather it was looking off into the distance at the mountains.

At this point, Rowan got a better look at the animal. Small as it was, she realized that it was not a juvenile fawn, but an adult doe. Its head was smooth where a male’s antlers would have grown. Rowan let out a quiet sigh, unable to bring herself to knowingly slaughter a female animal while hunting. Relaxing her muscles, she began to lower her bow.

Just then, the doe took notice of her presence at the edge of the woods. It stared at her with wide, dark eyes and did not move a muscle. Rowan just stared right back with a look of compassion now instead of the gaze of a predator she had before. The doe stared for a moment and then shifted its attention to its right. Rowan followed and slowly looked over toward her left.

There, about thirty yards away, a second animal walked out of the treeline as if it were also headed toward the pond. It was a large, adult buck. Its antlers were grown but a little small, telling Rowan that this buck may have just become an adult. Unlike the doe at the water, this buck remained unaware of her presence. Rowan regained her position to kill, pulling the arrow back and getting steady. As she did so, the buck now froze and looked directly at her.

“Etime’re,” she whispered under her breath in the tongue of her people, which translated most closely to “Forgive me.” Without hesitation, she released the string of her bow.

The arrow soared out of the treeline in the blink of an eye and hit the buck in the side just behind the socket of its front leg. The buck let out a cry of pain and toppled over onto the ground. Rowan smiled with a sense of success as she stood up and ran over to her kill. The doe had already taken off and was out of sight now. The buck, on the other hand, was still alive and writhing on the ground in torment. As sad as it was, Rowan knew what she had to do. She knelt beside the dying deer and pulled her knife from the leather scabbard around her waist. She pinned the buck’s head down on the ground and swiftly forced the blade into its heart. The poor animal gasped for air and then in seconds, it was dead.

Rowan took a deep breath. She brought her right fist up and placed it gently against her forehead, and then lowered it down to rest against her heart. To her people, it was a gesture of respect, acknowledged by the heart and soul, and she used it now as if she were thanking the deer for its sacrifice. She then pried the arrow from the deer’s flesh. She pulled a small canteen from her belt and dropped a little bit of water onto the head to clean the blood from it, and then she placed it back in her quiver amongst the rest.

The next step of her hunting session was the tougher part. She knew she could not carry the entire carcass back to her home by herself, for it would be a several mile hike through the mountains. So she would come back later with the means to haul it. She did it all the time.

Rowan withdrew her knife and then dragged the buck back into the dense woods. In there it would be safer from bears and crows and any other scavenging animals. She found the tightest cluster of trees she could and then she reached down to her belt. On the right side she was carrying a pouch containing a rope which she planned to use for this very purpose. It had been folded and wrapped together in itself to make it easy to carry, but she unraveled it to reveal that it would extend out to great length. One of the ends of the rope was tied to a small metal loop, which she would use to help anchor it. Rowan took the rope and searched for an open branch high enough from the ground. When she found one, Rowan wound up and threw the rope with the looped metal end into the air. With perfect accuracy, the rope travelled over the branch and fell back to the ground. She retrieved both ends of the rope, and then tied one end of it firmly around the dead buck’s hind legs. After testing the stability of the rope and the branch upon which it hung, Rowan grabbed the other end of the rope and began hauling up the carcass.

Expectedly, the load was quite heavy. Rowan pulled on the rope with all her strength. She lifted the deer up slowly but steadily. As it rose higher, she had to move further back and keep choking up on the rope, until at last she found it to be high enough. Holding on tight to the rope, Rowan quickly wrapped it around a large nearby tree. She wrapped the rope around its base several times and then slipped the metal looped end under the other layers and hooked it onto a knot sticking out of the trunk. She checked the security of the metal loop and then made sure the rope leading up to the high branch was tight. It was definitely one of her best jobs. That game high above her was going nowhere until she returned.