In the shelter of the cave, Eliss's vigil was marked by a blend of concern and hope. The fire's glow was her only companion, casting flickering shadows that danced across the cave walls. Her mind oscillated between scenarios of Amukelo's return and the dangers he might be facing. She occasionally peered outside, hoping for a glimpse of him against the stark landscape of snow and rock.
Meanwhile, Amukelo advanced with caution, his every movement a study in stealth. The mountain's stark terrain offered little cover, but his determination to return to Eliss with the much-needed resources drove him forward. The sight of the hog herd, some asleep, some foraging, and others playfully skirmishing, presented a formidable obstacle. Their sheer number and the ferocity they had shown earlier made a direct approach impossible.
Carefully, he skirted the herd, keeping a respectful distance. His focus was absolute, each step deliberate to avoid disturbing the snow too much. As he neared the carcass, the sight of one hog sleeping beside it posed a new challenge. His mind raced for a solution, one that would not endanger him or alert the entire herd.
The plan he settled on was risky but it was the best among limited options. He retreated to a safe distance, far enough not to be directly seen by the hogs. His eyes then settled on a tree, its trunk thick and its branches heavy with snow. It would serve his purpose.
With measured strokes, he began to chop at the tree. Each hit of his blade against the wood echoed in the silent mountain air, a sound that seemed almost sacrilegious in the tranquility of the peaks. Sweat formed on his brow, not just from the physical exertion but also from the tension of the situation.
Finally, with a groan that seemed to carry the weight of the mountain itself, the tree began to tilt. It fell with a resounding crash, sending a shockwave of sound through the valley. The noise was a calculated gamble, designed to distract and disperse the herd.
Amukelo didn't wait to see the result of his diversion. As soon as the tree began its descent, he dashed towards the hog carcass, making a wide arc to avoid running into the path of the potentially startled herd. His heart pounded in his chest from the adrenaline that surged through him.
As he approached the body, he expected to see the sleeping hog startled awake by the noise. However, to his surprise, the hog remained asleep, undisturbed by the commotion.
Amukelo reached the carcass, pausing a moment to catch his breath and to scan the surroundings for any sign of the herd. Seeing that the coast was clear, he quickly set to work. He knew he had to be fast; the herd could return at any moment, and he did not want to be caught in their midst.
The task at hand was grim but necessary. He began skinning the hog, the thick hide a testament to the creature's resilience in this harsh environment. He worked methodically, his movements practiced and efficient. He also carved out the most nutritious portions of meat, mindful of the need to replenish their dwindling supplies.
The moment Amukelo realized the sleeping hog had awoken, a surge of adrenaline shot through him. His muscles tensed, readying for the imminent clash. The hog's eyes locked onto Amukelo, a primal understanding passing between predator and prey. With startling swiftness, the beast charged, its powerful legs kicking up clouds of snow as it barreled towards him.
Amukelo's reactions were swift, but the treacherous terrain and his cumbersome load impeded his movement. He barely managed to raise his dark sword in defense, the legendary blade meeting the hog's charge. The impact was colossal, a force that reverberated through his arm and shattered bone. Pain exploded in his hand, and he was sent sprawling backward, the world a blur of snow and sky.
The hog, believing its foe vanquished, approached slowly, its breaths steaming in the cold air. Amukelo, his vision swimming with pain, saw his opportunity in the creature's overconfidence. Ignoring the agony in his arm, he channeled his mana, binding the hog's legs in ethereal chains.
Seizing the moment, Amukelo grasped his Elven sword with his good hand. Mana coursed through the blade, infusing it with a radiant light. He thrust the sword into the hog's neck. The blade sank deep, but it was not enough to fell the creature.
The hog, now enraged and in pain, still did not roar for help, its instincts focused solely on eliminating the immediate threat. Amukelo, grappling with the biting cold and his own injury, knew he had to end this quickly. His strength was waning, each breath a ragged gasp that frosted in the air.
As the hog prepared to charge again, Amukelo summoned the last reserves of his strength and mana. He leaped into the air, an ethereal figure against the stark landscape. Mana swirled around his sword, transforming it into a beacon of lethal energy.
Time seemed to slow as he descended, the sword poised for a decisive strike. The hog, unable to stop its charge, moved into the path of the blade. Amukelo's sword descended in a graceful arc, a conduit of his will and mana. The blade struck the hog's neck at the exact spot of the previous wound, cleaving through flesh and bone with a burst of mana-infused power.
The hog's head separated from its body, tumbling through the snow in a macabre dance. The rest of the beast collapsed, its momentum carrying it forward before it finally lay still, a testament to the ferocity and desperation of the battle.
Amukelo landed awkwardly, his broken arm sending waves of pain through his body. He stood there for a moment, panting, his breaths echoing in the silent expanse. The immediate threat was over, but the cost was clear. He cradled his broken arm, the realization of his injury and its implications sinking in.
The mountain, indifferent to his victory or suffering, continued to stand majestic and unyielding. Amukelo, with a grimace of pain and determination, knew he had to return to Eliss, to safety. But first, he had to gather what he could from the fallen hog. It was a necessity, a grim reminder of the harshness of their journey and the sacrifices it demanded.
With his good hand, he resumed his task, the urgency of his situation lending him a surge of adrenaline-fueled efficiency. The wind howled around him, a lonely lament for the fallen creature, as Amukelo prepared to make his way back to the cave, to Eliss, and to the uncertain future that awaited them in the unforgiving embrace of the mountains.