Five days had passed, and I hadn't caught a single hare. Disaster.
All I could do was sit on the outskirts of the village, staring at the vast fields with a slingshot in hand. A few times, I managed to get close to a hare, but I couldn't hit one. Each day was the same: I woke up at dawn, wandered off into the wilderness, hoping for luck, and didn't return until evening. This routine also allowed me to avoid the inevitable confrontation with my family.
Now it was the sixth day. I'd almost lost all hope, sitting at the village's edge, feeling more helpless by the minute.
"How are you holding up, boy?" a voice suddenly asked from behind me. "Losing a family member is a heavy burden…"
I turned my head and saw the hunched figure of the village elder. He smiled at me, his expression full of sympathy.
"It's true; it's hard," I replied, feigning sorrow.
Honestly, I'd already forgotten about Ksawery.
"Does staring at the green fields bring you solace?"
"Yes, it brings me peace," I lied without hesitation.
"Son, life is a cycle," he began in a monotonous tone, as though he'd said it a thousand times. "Birth is the beginning, and death is the end."
"Unfortunately, we can't change that."
"That's true, but we must move on."
I didn't know how to respond, so I remained silent.
"Look at those hares in the distance. Many of them die at the hands of predators, yet they don't let it bother them. They continue to reproduce, ensuring their survival."
At that moment, an idea began to form in my mind.
"Spring is a time of birth, boy. You shouldn't mourn for too long," he said as he walked back toward the village.
"Thank you!" I called after him.
Could this random encounter have saved my life?
Maybe there was still hope. After all, Jan and I hadn't specified what size the hares needed to be. Spring was the season when hares gave birth, and their burrows likely still held young ones. After five days of observation, I knew exactly where the entrances to their dens were.
With newfound energy, I headed home. When I arrived, no one was around. Mark was working in the fields, and the rest of the family was inside. I went to the shed where we kept our only cow, grabbed a shovel, and set off toward the fields.
It was around noon when I reached the first burrow. I began digging. I knew it was impossible to catch adult hares this way; their tunnels always had multiple exits. But fortunately, they didn't have the instincts of cats to carry their young to safety.
After two hours of digging, exhaustion was setting in, and I still hadn't reached the main chamber. But I didn't give up. This was my only chance to escape this crisis.
After another two hours, I broke through to the underground nest and heard the squeaks of young hares. Five tiny hares! They were about a quarter the size of an adult. I was incredibly lucky. As I pulled them from the burrow, my hand brushed against a hard object.
Hmm… A smooth surface, slightly pink. Was it a salt stone? I couldn't believe it. A quick lick confirmed it—it was salt. I'd never seen anyone in the village use spices. This could be valuable. It would definitely be better to sell it than to hoard it.
With five young hares in hand and salt in my pocket, I felt like I'd won at life. After five days of failure, something had finally gone right. I couldn't deny it—I'd been lucky. There was a chance I could have dug all day and not found the main chamber.
After leaving two of the young hares in the chicken coop and burying the salt stone behind the house, I set off toward Jan's despised hut.
An hour later, as darkness began to fall, I spotted his oak-log cabin in the distance. I approached and knocked on the door.
"What do you want?" came a gruff voice from inside.
"Guess who."
"I'll teach you to joke!" he growled as footsteps approached the door.
When it opened, I was met with the familiar smell of alcohol, unmistakably Jan's signature scent.
"It's you, brat," he said, as if addressing a worm. "Come to annoy me again?"
Who's annoying whom here?
"No, I've come for the knife."
"Ha!" he laughed mockingly. "Where are the hares? Gonna pull them out of your sleeve?"
"No, my pocket."
I pulled out three young hares, holding them by their ears. Jan's eyes widened in disbelief.
"What the—?" he stammered. "How did you catch them?"
"Sorry, I don't teach pups."
Maybe I shouldn't have said it, but I couldn't resist. Jan stiffened like a coiled spring.
But…
He said nothing.
"Young ones aren't worth as much as adults," he said begrudgingly. "Let me see them."
"No," I said, pulling my hand back. "I won't fall for that trick again."
"Someone tricked you, boy?" he asked, amused.
The nerve of this guy.
"First, the knife."
"Still, three young ones aren't worth as much as three adults."
"We didn't specify their size," I countered. "It was supposed to be three hares, and here they are."
He thought for a moment, shook his head, but finally relented.
"Fine, have it your way," he grumbled, handing me the knife.
"Have it your way…" When I heard that, I nearly lost it. I'd given him a pheasant and three hares for a knife that had originally been mine.
"Stuff them where the sun doesn't shine," I said as I left.
I turned on my heel and headed home. I didn't want to spend another second in the company of that old bastard.
"Pleasure doing business with you," I heard his amused voice call after me. "Come again!"
An hour later, I arrived home. When Mark saw me, he marched toward me, ready to take out his anger on me as he had been doing for days. His son was dead, and his knife had disappeared, but beating a child just for walking into the house…
Mark was as much of a bastard as Jan.
"Ball, get over here!" he shouted.
I walked slowly, knowing what was coming. Then Izabela stepped between us.
"Mark, leave him alone!" she said, arms crossed. "He didn't do anything."
"How could he not?" Mark snapped, his anger boiling over. "He's responsible for Ksawery's death—and probably stole my knife, too."
"The boy didn't do it!"
"We'll see how he squeals," Mark growled, closing in.
That's when I pulled out my ace.
"Uncle, wait!" I shouted. "I walked through the area where the monster attacked us."
Mark looked at me like I was an idiot.
"And why should I care?"
"Look what I found near the spot where Ksawery was taken by the wolf."
I pulled out the knife with the engraved stag. Mark stared at it, disbelief etched on his face. The timing of the knife's disappearance aligned perfectly with the day his son died.
"Klawery stole your knife, probably intending to use it on the pheasant I was hunting."
He didn't say a word. He just stared at the blade.
The silence was broken by Antek.
"He's lying, Father!" Antek yelled. "Don't believe him!"
For once, I agreed with Antek, but it didn't matter. My version of events held up, even though I'd fabricated the knife story.
"Shut up!" Mark barked at Antek. "You've disappointed me."
With those words, Mark walked toward the bedroom to join the weeping Aniela.