Amukelo stood bewildered, catching his breath in the cold, his mentor's gaze fixed upon him. "Huh?" he managed to utter, his exhaustion making it difficult to grasp the full weight of Syltar's expectations.
"Do you plan to fast today?" Syltar asked dryly, extending a dagger towards him. The implication was clear, and it cut through Amukelo's fatigue with its sharpness.
"Do I have to hunt? It's snow everywhere, I won't be able to find any animals, I don't have proper clothes, and I'm exhausted," Amukelo protested, the overwhelming reality of his situation crashing down on him. The physical and emotional toll of the past days had left him feeling particularly vulnerable.
Syltar's response was unsympathetic, his tone steady and challenging. "So your promise to your mother was just words? You didn't intend to fulfill the promise, did you?" The question was like a slap, intended to provoke a reaction, to ignite a spark of determination in the young man.
Struggling against the sting of the words, Amukelo replied with a shaky voice, "I did..." His commitment was real, but the path was proving far more arduous than he had anticipated.
"Then you have to change your attitude. With your current mindset, you will never fulfill it," Syltar asserted firmly. He handed the dagger to Amukelo, signaling that the discussion was over. "I will wait in the hut. You better hunt something good."
Fueled by a mix of desperation and resolve, Amukelo grasped the dagger. His soul ignited with a renewed purpose, he stepped into the forbidding wilderness. The weather was merciless, the snow thickening and the daylight fading rapidly into darkness. Snowstorms began to swirl around him, obscuring his vision and burying any signs of life under a blanket of white.
Amukelo trudged through the woods, his eyes scanning the ground for any movement. Hours passed with no sight of wildlife; most animals had either hibernated or migrated to more hospitable areas. Hope was fading fast as the darkness enveloped him, the cold seeping deep into his bones.
Just as he was about to give up, a small movement caught his eye—a rabbit. It was a slim chance, but Amukelo knew it might be his only opportunity. With every ounce of concentration he could muster, he stalked the creature, moving as silently as possible across the crunchy snow. When he was close enough, he lunged with the dagger, but the rabbit was quicker. It slipped away from his grasp and darted into the woods, disappearing from sight.
Disheartened and cold, Amukelo spent several more futile hours in the dark, searching for another chance. Eventually, with no success and overcome by exhaustion, he admitted defeat and made his way back to the hut.
As he entered, the warm, inviting smell of soup hit him, a cruel reminder of his failure. He reached out instinctively towards the bowl, his body craving the warmth and sustenance it promised. However, Syltar was quick to react, slapping his hand away sharply. "It's not for you. You were supposed to hunt food for both of us and look, I had to do it myself. You won't eat until you hunt your prey."
Amukelo's heart sank further, but he remembered Syltar's earlier words about transforming his attitude. Silently, he nodded, accepting the harsh lesson. Without a word, he retreated to his corner of the hut and lay down, too tired and disheartened to argue or even feel the sting of hunger. His mind was a whirl of emotions—shame, frustration, but beneath it all, a growing determination. He would not fail again; he would rise to meet Syltar's challenges and fulfill the promise to his mother, no matter what it took. As sleep finally claimed him, it was with a resolve that the next day would be different.
The relentless pace of Amukelo's training under Syltar did not abate with the new day. Each session was as grueling as the last, demanding every ounce of his dwindling strength. Driven by hunger and the stark realization that failure in the hunt meant another day without food, Amukelo approached his tasks with a desperate determination. The hunger gnawing at his insides was now a constant companion, reminding him of the stakes with every moment that passed.
As soon as the day's training concluded, Amukelo, weary yet resolved, set out into the woods again. His mind was focused singularly on the rabbit—the same one that had eluded him before. He knew it was his best chance at a meal, and the memory of yesterday's failure spurred him on. The forest seemed to mock his efforts, the rustling leaves and whispering winds sounding like quiet laughter at his plight.
Hours slipped by as he searched, the forest vast and indifferent to his hunger. Finally, his patience was rewarded when he spotted a rabbit not far from where he had failed the day before. Heart pounding, he approached it with painstaking care, each step calculated to be as silent as possible. He was nearly within reach, and could almost feel the victory when his foot caught on a stick. The sharp crack of the stick breaking shattered the silence like a gunshot, and the rabbit bolted.
In a last-ditch effort driven by sheer desperation, Amukelo lunged forward, but it was no use—the rabbit was too fast, its small body darting into the underbrush with ease. Defeated and exhausted, he trudged back to the hut, where he found Syltar enjoying a meal.
"You failed again? Don't you like food or something?" Syltar's tone was mocking, but Amukelo, too drained to engage, simply turned away and settled into his designated sleeping space, choosing rest over retort.
The following day was a repeat of relentless training, but with Amukelo even more weakened from the continued lack of nourishment. His movements were slower, his thoughts fuzzier—a physical manifestation of his fading strength. However, the prospect of sleep, and not spending hours pursuing what seemed increasingly like an uncatchable ghost, allowed him a bit more rest than the night before.
Renewed by slightly more sleep, Amukelo headed into the woods once more. The familiarity of the routine, the paths he walked, the spots he watched, all seemed to blur into a continuous loop of hunt and failure. But he pressed on, driven by necessity. When he spotted another rabbit, his heart momentarily leaped. He approached as before, hoping against hope that this time would be different.
As he got comfortably close, he lunged for the rabbit, but again, it sprinted away with alarming speed. In a reflex born of desperation and frustration, Amukelo did something he hadn't planned—he threw his dagger. The weapon spun through the air, a glinting arc of silver against the muted browns and whites of the frozen forest.
To his astonishment, the dagger struck true, pinning the rabbit to the ground. "Huh?" he gasped, stunned at his own success. A surge of relief washed over him, quickly followed by a rush of adrenaline-fueled triumph. He hurried over to retrieve his prize, his hands trembling as he picked up the rabbit and the dagger.
That night, as he returned to the hut with the rabbit, Amukelo felt a small, proud smile creep across his face. The meal that evening was more than just food; it was a tangible sign of his growing skill and adaptability. As he prepared the rabbit, Syltar nodded in approval, a silent acknowledgment of Amukelo's perseverance and success. The victory was small in the grand scheme of things, but for Amukelo, it was a crucial step forward, a sign that he might yet fulfill his promise to his mother and forge himself into the warrior and adventurer he aspired to be.