The End of the Hunt (2)

Alend was up before him in the morning, bedroll already folded up and packed away. He tossed Ein another hunk of bread, barely a mouthful and tough as a rock. Ein's mouth was unbelievably dry, but he ate it anyway. Ein crawled from the warmth of his blankets, slapped some life into his cheeks, and shook his limbs, ironing out his fatigue. His fingers felt cold and leaden in his gloves.

"Come on," his father said. "Let's not waste any time."

They were ready to go in moments. Snowfall has stopped at some point in the night, and patches of dirt and grass emerged like bleary brushstrokes on a blank canvas. The land changed as easily as the wind—some days he saw the bright, verdant leas opening from a layer of weathering snow. Other days the snow piled so heavily it smothered everything under a thick white blanket.

They slogged further along the trail, Ein leading and his father following. They tracked the prints at a steady pace, no stopping nor speaking—the hunt had stretched on for too long. Each day away from home, their family starved. Ein's thoughts of his mother and little Cinnamin kept him going, and he was sure his father felt the same. Ein noted the clumps of hair and fur snagged in the bushes, scratchings in rock where the buck had clambered across, and half-bitten stalks of grass. They found another piece of scat, but didn't stop to analyze it.

The sky grew brighter, just a bit, and Ein thought he saw a single ray of light peek out from behind a cloud. Then, just as soon as it had appeared, it was gone.

"We're getting closer," Alend said. It was noon.

"Are we?" Ein had been mindlessly following the tracks, too lost in thoughts of food and sleep. His feet were sore, his eyes prickly, his muscles burning with exertion. They were likely going to skip lunch as well.

"Fatigue is no excuse for tardiness," Alend said. "Look at the tracks and tell me what you see."

Ein resisted the urge to snap a reply. Instead, he took a glance at his feet. Then, he blinked and looked again.

"Al'Ashar's eyes and ears," he muttered.

They were no longer following a single target. Somewhere along the way, a pack of beasts had joined the trail, their pawprints running rampant across the buck's.

"Wolves," Alend said. "From last night, no doubt. Look at the width between each step. They had it on the run."

It was true. The stag's walking pattern had changed from a simple trot to an all-out sprint. How had he missed it?

"Let's keep moving," his father continued. "I think we can afford to go a bit faster. Our buck is probably dead by now; the earlier we confirm it, the earlier we can head back."

Ein nodded, and they broke into a trot. Sweat dripped down his face and cooled on his skin, soaking his clothing. His breath escaped in puffs of white, the travelling bag chafing against his back, his heart beating furiously—he'd never ran on a empty stomach, on five hours' sleep, and in temperatures below freezing before. His mind began to wander, veering away from the trail on the ground. But Ein shook awake as the snow ended and mossy-green grass began, and he paused.

"Come on," Alend urged. "Why are we stopping? Every step we take is a step further from home."Ein stared at the ground. What little snow last night had vanished, melting under the light of midday—taking with it signs of the animals' passing.

"Get on your knees," his father said. "You don't need snow to track."

A flame of frustration welled within him. He knew all this; he knew what to do. He had just been too tired and hungry to focus.

Come on, he berated himself. You can do better than this.

Ein bent down and angled his head so that the light shone a glossy layer on the grass, highlighting the small inconsistencies: bends from footsteps and the stalks snapped at unnatural angles to the ground. There were faint marks on the ground, places where dirt and grime had either been pressed together or wiped away by a footfall. The trail wasn't dead; far from it. Alend saw the recognition on his face and nodded.

"String your bow," he said, "and let's run."

Ein slid his bow from his pack, looping the string around both ends. Giving it a few strums, he nodded at his father. He felt fresh and alert, the tiredness gone from his limbs, his body no longer sluggish. Things were about to come to an end, for better or worse. Alend raised his own bow, an arrow already nocked. Without waiting for a response, he broke into a jog.

For a man of his size, Ein's father moved surprisingly swiftly. His boots barely made a sound as they pressed into the dirt, his cloak flapping behind him. Ein felt like a clumsy beast in comparison, rousing the entire forest with each step. They stole through the trees and the trail, across patches of snow and grass alike, hopping over stones and through snow-crusted bushes. Every so often, Alend bent down to the ground to make sure they were still on the right track.

In half an hour, they'd covered several miles of ground through the twisting growth, following the wolves and the buck deep into the woods. It was familiar yet unfamiliar. Ein had spent many a day of his childhood in the woods, but, covered in snow, he barely recognized it anymore.

"Ein."

Alend raised a hand, signaling him to stop. Ein crouched low, and while drawing his arrow, he realized his father wasn't doing the same. They hadn't stopped because they were nearing their prey, or because there was danger. They'd stopped for a different reason.

Ein stepped up to his father's side and looked at the ground: a splotch of dark red, rust-like, the blood of an animal seeped into the dirt. Bushes had been broken in a struggle of some sort, claw and bite marks marring the base of nearby trees. It didn't take a skilled tracker to understand the buck had been killed.

"Where's the body?" Ein asked.

Alend wordlessly pulled apart the bushes and stepped through. There was more blood, splattered along the ground and the undergrowth. Snow began to fall.

They found the corpse a little while later, under the shadow of a rocky outcrop. The buck lay crumpled on its side, soaking in a pool of frozen blood, stripped from neck to tail: only its bones, bowels, and bloodied fur left in the ground, loosely strung together by the spine. Its ribs stabbed the air like broken fingers among the reds and whites of flesh and fat. Half an antler lay broken and discarded, partly embedded in the packed dirt. Alend bent down and placed his knife against the corpse, sawing away at the freezing fur without a moment's pause.

Ein walked over and pulled out his own knife. They worked quickly and efficiently, taking what little that could be taken; bits and pieces of fur could make a pair of gloves or a cap. Some shreds of meat attached to bone that could be stripped, and in a pinch, the eyes, tongue, even the neck could be eaten for sustenance—though that wasn't particularly appealing. This was what the Great Winter had reduced them to.

As Ein packed away the last of plunder, Alend stood up. He peered at a trail of prints on the ground, leading through another blood-stained thicket.

"Wait here," he instructed.

Ein didn't wait, of course. He shook free the layer of snow that had settled atop his head and stalked his father into the trees.

"Did you find something?" he asked.

"Perhaps." Alend looked at the tracks on the ground. "I wonder what happened to the wolves."

"They probably ran off, stomachs full."

Alend didn't answer. Ein glanced at the ground and frowned.

Mixed in with the tracks of the six odd wolves were another set of prints—larger, heavier ones. Something that walked on two legs, but wasn't human. They were already fading with the coming snow, but Alend seemed to have no problem following them.

"They're not the right shape to be a bear," he murmured.

What other creatures lurked in the woods? Especially big ones capable of taking on packs of wolves? There were bears… and that was all Ein could think of. Even then, wolves had strength in numbers. Snow tigers perhaps? But they were rare, and walked on all fours. These prints belonged to a bipedal creature, one with five toes ending in razor points that moved with an uneven gait.

Alend picked something up and exhaled."What's that?" Ein asked.

Alend turned and seemed to pause for a moment, hiding his find. Then, he brought his hand out from behind his back and raised it to the light. He was holding half of a wolf by the ears, its body ripped apart at the belly. A spine dangled among bloody entrails, dripping slick blood onto the ground.

Ein's breath caught in his throat. He'd seen dead animals before, but this one had been murdered in such a vicious manner that he couldn't help but gasp. It reminded him of a doll ripped apart by a child just to see what its innards were made of.

"There's more," Alend said. "Look."

He pointed into the trees. Forgoing his bag, Ein trudged over and broke through a small clearing, a meadow of sorts bordered by a few jagged rocks and stunted trees. The smell of blood flooded his nose, thick and permeating.

It was a scene of carnage. Wolf corpses lay lifeless in the snow, ripped to pieces and thrown aside like ragdolls. Entrails scattered the clearing like blue snakes, glistening under the afternoon light—as if a whirlwind of claws and teeth had run into the pack. The flesh remained on their body, untouched. Eyes open, lifeless, they looked like pups instead of predators.

"At least our trip wasn't for nought," Alend smiled grimly. Ein looked at his hand and realized it was shaking.

What sort of creature had done this? Wolves who ruled the woods, who man had feared since they'd first learned to hunt and create stone spears to wield—they'd been decimated, torn to shreds with such ease. The bodies lying dead on the ground could have easily been theirs.

He caught Alend's eye as his father bent down to skin one of the grey hides, jaw firmly set. As usual, he seemed unfazed.

"Come on, boy," he growled. "I don't want to stay here any longer than you do." He looked at the tracks, leading off into a battered section of trees. "It looks like the creature's gone the other way, but it could turn back at any moment. We don't want to be here for that, do we?"

Ein felt the spell lift, and he was able to move once more. He bent down to one of the carcasses, drawing his knife, shaving off slabs of meat to take back to the village. He tried to not to breathe in the stench of blood or think about what was out there in the woods, waiting for them.