Only a while ago the blackness was absolute, but now the mist was visible, silvery. Against this backdrop the trees were silhouettes, still as an oil painting and darker than raven feathers.
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I had been surveying the parameters of the woodlands for a few hours now, and my perspective from the highest bough of an old tree had turned useless. The chilly morning breeze was cold and biting, blowing away any signs of potential tracks.
I had brought myself deeper into the woods than I usually risked, but hunger blurred my senses. My stomach was hollow and churning yet I pushed the feeling away, focusing on the main task ahead. That was all I could do, all that I had been able to do for these past hours: focus on hunting an animal, to keep my family and myself alive and fed. And now, with the heavy fog and gusting winds, I would be lucky to spot anything – especially if it is on a tree, scarcely able to see just a few feet ahead. Smothering a groan, I eased off the tree.
Twigs crunched under my fraying boots as I landed on my feet. I ground my teeth. Low visibility and now unnecessary noise, I didn't need to add anything more to that list.
The sky was now awash with streaks of pink and orange. I knew that if I didn't leave soon, I would have to maneuver my way back home in the dark, and with the carcass I saw a few months back, I shuddered, I didn't want to be the feast of a faerie.
Not that I was much to feast on. I'd turned gangly from all that retching and torturing, leaving me very much just skin and bones. Weaving as nimbly as I could between the trees, I unslung my bow and continued my way into the ever-thickening undergrowth.
I knew of a small brook nearby, cutting across the middle of a decently sized meadow. Hopefully, something would come by. Hopefully.
After what seemed like a few minutes of searching, I crouched behind a bundle of thickly woven brambles. The gaps between their thorns gave me a half-decent view of the misty clearing. The fog was lighter now, rather translucent than opaque. It only gave me a better advantage of making the kill.
I sighed quietly through my nose, digging the point of my bow into the soil. I couldn't help but admire the fresh colours that surrounded me. The emerald green of the grass and the clean white and warm yellow of the flowers. I savoured these moments, moments where I could escape reality and indulge in the thoughts of colour and tone and shape. I had often envisioned a day in which it was just me in my cottage where I would buy paint and charcoal and put those colours and tones on canvas, or even on bits and pieces of my furniture or the cottage's walls. I would have time and enough money to feed myself, and I would grow old with these wonderful shapes and designs surrounding me.
It was not likely to happen, perhaps ever. And so I was left with moments like this, adoring simple beautiful prospects in nature. I couldn't remember when was the last time I had done this – taking a few minutes to marvel things around me.
The rare kisses and moments with Aslan Inerys were not included. Those moments were hungry, desperate but never once lovely or kind.
I eased into a more comfortable position, resting my brow on my bow. I slowed my breathing, calming it until it was slow and steady. My ears strained to listen to the forest over the wind, now a soft sighing unlike the cruel howling from before. There was still nothing though, confirming my thoughts about my fruitless hunt.
I winced as I stood up, leaning on my bow for support. I could already imagine what my brother's faces would look like if I had returned to the cottage empty-handed.
Bushes rustled from across the expanse, I halted.
Drawing my bow was automatic. I peered through the thorns, searching for the source of the noise and my breath caught.
There, across the clearing was a small doe. Not too scrawny, yet big enough to feed my family for a week or more.
My mouth watered. As quiet as the rustle of grass, I took my aim.
The deer came out of the bushes, looking left, then right, before approaching the stream. It knelt on its hind legs, bending down to drink from the brook, clearly unaware that her death waited just right around the corner.
It looked so serene, so calm that for a split second, I hesitated at letting the arrow fly. I took a careful step forward. A twig snapped. The doe's head shot up, saw me, and sprinted into the shadows of the trees.
"Shit."
Tripping over a rock, I raced after the doe, determined to hunt it down. I couldn't afford to lose it, I had been so close to killing it but of course it had to slip out of my grasps. I gripped my bow tighter, the feeling of it giving me little comfort. The sun was already slipping away, the most about fifteen minutes before nightfall.
I shuddered. Faeries from the immortal lands of Asteria hunt at night, in tight packs that were on the prowl. I pushed myself harder, giving myself a burst of energy. Still, I would rather spend the night with a hungry belly than finding myself satisfying the appetite of an animal. Or a faerie.
I squinted my eyes, trying to find the doe amidst the bushes and brambles. I had never come this deep into the woods before, it had a dark aura. Mysterious and alluring. The air crackled with electricity and gave off an unusual metallic stench. It was overwhelming but I continued pushing through the branches and leaves.
The doe seemed to slow down, but I couldn't tell if it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. I gave the last of my strength away as I shot forward.
I staggered.
The metallic stench was so unbearable now that it was near-dizzying to breathe in the air. I lurched forward and braced my hands on the soft grass, taking a moment to clear my head. White noise was ringing in my ears as I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on my breathing. In and out – inhale and exhale. Forcing my eyes open, I plucked my bow from the ground and aimed once again.
The doe stood as still as a statue, its ears perked, listening for any noise.
This is it. You can't miss.
I checked my aim, tightening my grip on my bow before inhaling. With a whoosh of air, I let the arrow fly. I watched it pierce the air, cutting cleanly through the many plants that cluttered the forest floor. It was like a shooting star, soaring across the sky before landing with a solid thunk on its flank.
Blood seeped out of the wound from the arrow as the deer collapsed onto the ground. It writhed in pain, it's eyes and limbs twitching violently. Its chest rose and fell with each breath, each slower than the last. At last, the doe heaved its last breath and its big brown eyes stared blankly at the sky. For a second, I wished I could feel remorse for the dead thing. But this was the forest, and it was what I had to do to survive.
I released the breath I didn't know I was holding. The tightness in my chest eased, and I loosed a sigh, my breath clouding up in front of me. A smile crept on my face as I sauntered forward into the smaller clearing.
I took my time with each step, letting my legs regain their strength from after the sprint. Using these precious seconds, I looked around my surroundings.
The metallic stench from before had lessened, now just a background scent aside from the earthy smell of soil. The fog had vanished completely and the undergrowth seemed neater, more formal. I furrowed my eyebrows.
Something isn't right.
I lifted my head to the sky, now cloudless and more vibrant. There were more wildflowers, in shades of pastel pink, yellow and purple. I bent down, running my hand through the grass, feeling its feathery touch. It too was the more vibrant version of its colour. The scenery looked perfect – too perfect, as though it was a scene came to life from a fairy tale painting.
I brushed the thoughts away, thinking that it was just my eyes, but the backs of my hair stood up. I whipped around, scanning the willowy trees and short bushes before deeming it normal. A warning nagged the back of my mind but I silenced it. I only had precious minutes left before night and I needed to get moving.
A rapid examination of the doe told me it would be a struggle to carry it, being bigger than I had expected. I knelt pulling out my hunting knife from my pocket. Though it wasted valuable minutes – valuable minutes in which I could have started my trek back home – I cleaned my arrow the best I could.
The fresh blood warmed my hands, one thing I would be grateful for during my journey back home. Using my hunting knife, I tore out a piece of my thin, cotton shirt, wrapping it around the doe's death-wound. It was going to be several miles back to our cottage, and I didn't need a trail of blood acting as breadcrumbs for every animal that has claws and fangs straight to our doorstep.
Grunting loudly against the weight, I grasped the legs of the deer and spared a final glance at the unrealistic clearing. Maybe I imagined it, but I saw a pair of blazing sapphire eyes watching me go, burning into my back as I ambled away.