Past the thick elms in a snow-covered forest, a young man sat patiently in the brush of slumbering bushes. His breath was slow and deliberate, with only the barest wisp of condensed air escaping his lips. His steely silver eyes concentrated on a thin, deep-orange line streaking across the landscape. At its end stood a horned, four-legged creature, glancing warily around before lowering its head to resume eating a small rodent it must have recently killed. The beast's bristled black fur rippled like shadows with the wind, a natural shield against the biting cold.
A hulking form of flesh covered by a dense thicket of fur, with thick muscles bulging from its legs and a singular horn protruding from the top of its cranium, the animal resembled a woolly rhinoceros. Massive and intimidating, it was unmistakably a Hooded Horn, one of the deep forest's most elusive and dangerous creatures.
The young man, now certain the beast was preoccupied with its meal, extended his arm slowly and reached into the quiver strapped to his back. He nocked an arrow onto his bow, his movements careful and silent as not to alert his prey. His eyes followed the translucent orange line floating in the air, centering on the creature's chest. With deliberate precision, he drew the bowstring far behind his body, feeling the taut resistance, and released.
A sharp whistle cut through the frigid air as the arrow streaked toward its target. The beast flinched, but it was too late. A sickening thud rang out as the arrow pierced deep into its chest, embedding itself in its heart. The creature's eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and defiance, as if it briefly contemplated resistance. But the strength in its massive form faded quickly. It slumped to the ground, its warmth seeping into the snow as the cold enveloped its body. The thick, matted fur no longer mattered. Darkness claimed the beast.
The young man exhaled deeply, his breath trembling with relief. Success. With this kill, his small family could survive the brutal winter months that loomed ahead. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight of the moment, the tension leaving his shoulders as he reached for the small whistle hanging from a leather string around his neck. He blew into it with great force, sending a shrill cry echoing through the mountains. Soon, the crunching of dried leaves and the thud of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of others.
The group of hunters emerged from the trees, their faces weary with frustration. Being summoned by the whistle was a serious matter—its call indicated an emergency and demanded an immediate response, no matter the cost. The redness of their fingertips and the exhaustion etched into their expressions revealed they had been out in the cold for hours, likely chasing their own prey before being interrupted.
Their irritation faded as their eyes fell upon the felled beast before them.
"Gods, Grey, did you kill that Hooded Horn?" exclaimed a burly, bearded man, his voice equal parts disbelief and admiration. "That'll feed us for days!"
"I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't an emergency," Grey replied, standing and dusting snow off his knees. "Figured this would be better than a couple of Tree Rodents. Besides, I couldn't haul this back alone. I'll split it with you if you help dismantle it and carry it to the village."
The bearded man, Keen, stroked his chin thoughtfully before barking orders. "Charge, Bark, head back to the village and grab two sleds and plenty of rope. Move quickly—nightfall's not far off, and we'll need to finish before then."
Two men straightened and sprinted toward the smoke plumes rising in the distance, their footsteps crunching through the snow. Keen turned back to Grey.
"Alright, my men and I will help," he said, his tone carrying the weight of negotiation. "But I want the head, the pelt, and all the bones. Most of the body too."
Grey's gaze didn't waver. "I want to keep all the legs—that's where the good meat is. I also need some rope and smaller pelts when we get back, and your men will handle most of the hauling. The head and the rest of the body are yours if you agree. I'll give you the bones, but only if you let me use your smokehouse. What do you say, Keen, Deal?"
Keen narrowed his eyes, weighing the offer. The Hooded Horn's horn alone made the creature a prize worth sharing, and while its flesh was notoriously foul, the legs were an exception, known for their rich flavor. The pelt and bones were valuable, too, but Grey's terms were fair. Even without the rich leg meat, he and his men could easily hunt some Tree Rodents for the nutty flavors. In addition, with the horn, he could make a powerful pole arm for his atlatl, giving a fierce improvement to his current power. At the end of the day, truthfully, he cared very little for anything other than the horn.
"Deal," Keen said finally. "Root, Fleet, let's start carving. Grey, get over here—we need to move fast."
Keen did not need to be selfish at this moment, nor did he want to get on Grey's bad side. Although rare, Grey would create opportunities like this for his squad. According to the village records, Grey would become a member of Keen's squad upon his coming of age. As part of his year of training before becoming a full adult, he was brought out with Keen's squad, but in reality, Grey would always hunt on his own after the first couple weeks, and never take the squad's spoils unless he directly contributed to them. Keen was keenly aware of Grey's circumstances in the village, more so than most people, and he had kept a good relationship with him despite the situation.
The other two men, who had been watching the exchange, rose and joined Keen and Grey in butchering the creature. Their knives glinted in the fading light as they expertly cut into the thick hide, working with practiced efficiency.
"Not that I'm complaining," Root said, slicing through a foreleg, "but how'd this thing wander so far from the outer woods? I've only ever seen them when all the squads go deep into the forest together."
The question hung in the air, unspoken but shared by all. A Hooded Horn this close to the village was unusual, and its presence hinted at something deeper.
"We'll bring it up with Elder when we get back," Keen said, his voice steady. "If more of these things are wandering out here, we may need to move up the Grand Hunt to deal with whatever's driving them out. For now, let's focus on celebrating this kill."
The men nodded, their unease tempered by the promise of a hearty meal, maybe even including some of the aged fruit and nut wine Keen often kept for himself. They had been dealing with strips of dried meat and stock made from whatever fauna could be gathered and grown for what seemed an entire season, and now, at least for a day, there would be a fresh meal.
"I think there may be three or so wandering the area, if I get lucky, I can track them and I'm sure we could bag another one or more, but we'll have to convince Brawl to let us go out with him, and knowing his feelings for me, I'm sure he won't be happy with me taking his potential prey'." Grey sarcastically added, thinking of the lost profits of the possible excursion.
He knew by the next Waterday, the paths left behind by the Horns would be all but gone as if they were never there in the first place, and he would lose the ability to track them.
"Are you sure you can track another?" Keen inquired with a serious look on his face.
Grey stared back, although he had implied that he would have to be lucky, he was sure. By following the threads of light that would come off all living creatures, he could track another Hooded Horn if only a day had passed.
It seemed that Keen was fully aware that his "luck" was more than it seemed, and since he often found some prey while wandering the woods, almost never coming back with an empty bag, this was not a surprise to him.
"Yes, I'm sure. If they are in a group, I can find them, and with a good shot, and some help, we should be able to do it."
Keen let out a sharp breath, "I'll take care of Brawl, make sure you're ready to leave tomorrow... early,"
Seeing the resolution in his eyes, Grey nodded.
Time passed as they worked, the carcass gradually yielding its treasures. Each hunter solely focused on carefully carving the creature, as any mistake could harm the precious materials. The sleds arrived, pulled by Bark and Charge, and the team loaded the dissected remains onto them. Each man tied a rope around his waist attaching it to the sled, preparing for the long trek back to the village.
Bark, and Charge, pulling one with Grey following behind silently, and Fleet, Root, and Keen on the other.
As they began their journey, Fleet walked beside Keen, his voice low. "Boss, how are you gonna handle Brawl? He's not gonna like us bringing back a haul like this without cutting him in. If we go out tomorrow, he'll definitely demand that we give it up. Earthday is his squad's allotted hunting period."
Keen's expression darkened with Fleet's information. "I'll give up first rights in the Grand Hunt this year. That should keep him quiet. He might still get upset, but he won't be able to say a thing."
Root and Fleet exchanged shocked glances. First rights in the Grand Hunt were rotated among the squads, granting the holder access to the most valuable resources. Sacrificing it was no small thing.
Both Root and Fleet's eyes opened wide exchanging shocked glances. First rights in the Grand Hunt were rotated among the squads, granting the holder access to the most valuable resources. Especially the central organ, a hard orb only occasionally appearing in the center of a mystical beast, and once prepared, a person's strength would rise exponentially. Sacrificing it was no small thing.
"Are you sure about that?" Root asked hesitantly. "This is the first Grand Hunt in decades. Who knows if we'll even live to see another one? We could be old and grey before another chance like this."
The Grand Hunt, in legends, was an event that occurred far more frequently, but now, there was less need to go out, as the village's resources had stockpiled over the generations. Pelts and bones were a problem of the past, only food was still a looming issue.
Keen silenced him with a sharp glare. "The village comes first. A few more Hooded Horns will benefit everyone more than one squad's spoils."
The group of three contemplated that for a moment. They all had little doubt in their minds about Grey's forecast of the beast, their experience led them to have great faith in his ability to track.
Fleet hesitated before speaking again. "Even still... Are you ready to lose your chance to compete for Elder? Brawl won't hesitate to use this against you." Fleet was whispering now, making sure not to alert the other three members dragging the sled a few feet away from them.
With the current Elder reaching the latter stage of life, there was no question that he would soon name the next, and tradition held that if one protested the decision, a battle was held, and the winner was named. Brawl suited his name-sake earned at his coming of age well; he was an exceptional melee combat fighter, and any spar he was involved in, ended with his victory. Currently the favorite for Elder was Keen, but if Brawl challenged him, even Fleet and Root, his closest allies were skeptical at best in his victory.
As they stepped into a clearing, a fence made of sharpened Elm logs came into view. Smoke was spewing from the center of the construction, and a large gate sat in front of the group.
Keen's gaze was steady. "If Brawl wants to challenge me, let him. I'll have no regrets. The good of the village is what matters."
As they approached the village gates, the sharp silhouettes of wooden palisades rose before them, glowing faintly in the orange light of the setting sun. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the warm glow of bonfires beckoned them home.
Keen raised his voice. "Open the gate!"
The heavy wooden gates creaked open, and the hunters stepped into the settlement. Their burdens were heavy, but their spirits were lifted by the promise of a feast—and perhaps the aged firewater that awaited them.