"… Saga…not what it looks like…"
Saga gasped, looking over her shoulder. Nothing but tall trees dimming the sunlight. Everything was motionless, even the leaves unmoving in the still air. She saw no one there.
Am I just hearing things?
Where did that feminine voice come from, echoing in her ears? She shook her head and resumed moving through the forest.
Supple leather wrapped her feet, sliding through the grass at a measured pace. A hunter had to be quiet as an assassin and swift as a knight. Her fingers gripped the shaft of her recurved bow, a precious gift from her late parents.
Today, Saga faced the painful anniversary of her parent's death. This day eight years ago, her parents died fighting monsters while adventuring. Unlike her twin sister, she didn't like feasts and recounting tales of the dead to celebrate them. She remembered them in her own way. She came to this forest every day, feeling them in solitude, holding their memento, the bow, and hunting as they once did with her. She felt their presence; sometimes, she spoke to them in whispers.
But she would still participate in the feast. And she would make sure to put down her contribution. That's why she was looking for a game.
Her vigilant eyes scanned the bushes to catch a glint of the eyes that lay wait in the shadows and odd stripes that blended with the vegetation. Her ears registered subtle shifts in the foliage blanketing the forest floor, picking up the faintest sound of movement. She was not your average sixteen-year-old.
She had a small, lanky frame. But she carried herself with courage, like a proper hunter, miles deep into a forest infested with hungry bears, marauding wolves, and prowling cats.
Under her hunter's attire- which was a light leather vest over a short gray robe and black pants of thick fabric- you could count her ribs. With trap like limbs- unassuming yet springs to life in the blink of an eye- the remarkable agility in her movements impressed even her twin sister.
She finally arrived at her traps. Berry bushes sprouted in the shadow of towering redwoods in bright, make-you-giddy kind of colors. She knew better than to pop one in her mouth. Having proper knowledge of the flora in the forest meant that you had a lot of- not very useful- information packed inside your brain, which Saga had. She'd rather keep her face buried in a book than fight with swords like her twin. The snare was empty.
She sat on the ground, looking at the unsprung snare in disappointment. Strange that the small animals avoided this path even though for them, it was like their highway. She unsheathed her hunting knife. Seven inches of sharpness. She used it to disable the trap. She didn't plan on returning to the forest anytime soon, and a good hunter never left untended traps still active. She stood leaving a sigh.
She looked up at the sky and made a disgusted face. The sun smiled at her softly. She found the smugness of it irritating. She preferred the dark. She dreamed of going out to hunt at night. Joining the wolves, howling with them in the moonlit forest, stealing life, and tasting its raw glory. Imagining the thrill made her pulse quicken and her spine tingle. She wanted to feel what it was like to be a real hunter and work with nature-given weapons, instead of relying on silly traps and tools.
But of course, if she ever dared to leave the house at night, aunty Yrsa would nail her feet to the floor. Saga rarely felt frightened, but she didn't dare summon the ire of her aunty.
The empty snare dispirited her. She didn't believe in jinxes, but in her experience, an empty first trap always led to a fruitless day, which in turn created a hollow feeling inside her chest. She hated that feeling.
She moved on to the next snare. Empty, as she feared. The next one too. And the one after that. She didn't come here for meat, but to relive her memories with her parents. They had cherished her and showered her with love. And now they were gone as if they never existed at all. Saga has been running to the forest for the last ten years, searching for meaning, trying to make sense of the loss that left her shattered. Whenever she'd fail to catch any game, she'd see the disappointed face of her mother, who'd taught her the ways of a hunter. Each day, their memories grew fuzzy.
Her knuckles turned white as her fingers gripped the bow. Gritting her teeth, she marched over to her final and most elaborate trap. It spanned the radius of five trees, comprised of complex rope works, weights, and nets, not to mention steel wires! Without tons of foliage and vines covering it all up, it seemed as if a giant spider had weaved a huge net over the jungle floor.
She gazed up at her masterpiece. The most powerful and sophisticated trap in her arsenal. Intended not for little bunnies or turkeys, but enormous elks and hogs…
She froze. The trap was sprung.
Five thick ropes formed a star in the air. The "body" of the trap hung from the star's center, which resembled a spider's hanging cocoon. The trap had caught a huge furry ball.
She didn't know what to make of it. The furry ball didn't move. How did that ball spring the trap? Is this a prank? Is Siren messing with me? She shook her head. Siren would rather punch her in the stomach than bother herself with all this trouble just to hassle her twin.
Should I bring down the trap and see what's in the ball? Saga hesitated, recalling the time when a lynx got trapped in her cocoon. It looked like the dark lord Bodak's personal pet. Oh Narld, the harrowing screams it made! It still haunted her nightmares. What if that ball became a surprise like the lynx?
Suddenly her ears picked up a sound from nearby. She closed her eyes in attention. Soft clucks and purrs. She grinned as she opened her eyes and silently paced towards the sound. She peeked behind a girthy redwood.
Three fat turkeys pecked the ground unaware. Feathers of brown, and shimmery green with subtle copper hues let them hide in the underbrush. Now it was too late. They were all hers.
She pulled three arrows from her quiver and hooked them. She aimed her bow as she drew the string. The birds scratched at the ground to uncover hidden morsels and picked at them. She released the arrows.
Three arrows impaled each of the turkeys before they could let out their loud "gobble-gobble" in warning. Buried in the ground, the arrows held the birds' death throes. They quickly grew still and silent.
After she cleaned her arrows, Saga happily picked up the birds by their feet. This would be a good contribution to the feast of remembrance. It was time to head home.
She paused. Should I go without checking out the ball in the cocoon? She felt uncertain, yet found herself walking in that direction. She paused before the cocoon pregnant with the furry ball. Still unmoving. What exactly is that?
She sighed, and put down her catch under a nearby tree. Surrendering to curiosity, she pulled out an arrow and aimed her bow at the rope which held up the cocoon. She released the string. The arrow took off and sliced right through the knot responsible for holding together the entire cocoon. As soon as the rope was severed, the cocoon opened up from the butt end like a quickly unraveling umbrella. At that exact moment, she had an ominous feeling that she'd pelted stone at a beehive. Released from the cocoon the furry ball plummeted towards the ground.
As soon as the ball crashed into the forest floor, it burst into hairy, spiked legs and spine-chilling screams with metallic scrapings, like nails on a chalkboard. The creature jerked in pain and used its many legs to jump to its feet. And Saga got a good look at what it was.
It's an arachnid monster!