Late summer at dawn:
The canvas of the clouded sky was a mirrored perfection of golden and pink hues upon the calm water of the lake a mile out from Pinehurst. Sam waited by the waters edge for her quarry to come and quench its thrust by the lake side. The arrow was notched, but still they waited in the cover of the tall grass in silence as the deer stopped and bobbed its head a few times, but it was as a bluffing contest almost to see who might move first as the doe stilled. It seemed to cock its head with its ears twitching before it looked back.
Sam held their breath in dismay as a fawn, most likely born in the spring and now having lost its spots, also approached and gazed out with deep, beautiful brown eyes before it lowered its head to lap at the water on the grassy bank of the lake. Sam’s heart sank, yet they did not lower their bow. Sam’s deep gray eyes seemed to stand out more clearly with the mud they had caked on their face to add to the camouflage and disguise their scent. With their dark, loose curls hacked off at their slender shoulders and wearing their eldest brother’s discarded and worn hunter’s clothes that hung on their slender frame, their person was hard to spot by human or animal eyes, as they had intended.
They tried to reason with themselves that if they did not take their shot, not only would their mother and younger siblings go hungry, but a less scrupulous hunter would surely kill both the mother and her fawn. Sam knew their family needed both the meat and everything they could salvage from the animal to clothe themselves with or sell, but…
Quietly, they lowered their bow, returned their arrow to their quiver and silently cursed their weakness to any long forgotten gods they didn’t even believe in. Her mother still prayed to them, but Sam had long ceased to do so, for what loving god would have remained silent while so many implored them to aid when the lords had come, taking all the men of age to fight in their hopeless war. None of the menfolk had returned and then human predators had moved in.
Tax collectors and even less unsavory sorts offering their brand of protection for credit and favors. Greta, her friend and the blacksmith’s daughter who had taken over her father’s forge after news of his death to support both herself and her mother, had bashed in the head of one of these newcomers in town who had thought Greta would be easy prey when he had refused to pay coins, but offered payment on his terms in a much less welcomed form owed for the work she had done on his sword. The other women folk and the elders had come to her defense when the local lord’s men had tried to have her jailed or worse for killing the man.
Sam never thought they would see such dark days and took pains to make sure they did not reveal their gender and made themselves look as plain and unattractive as possible, though some people were so base that it would not even matter at all. Thankfully, Sam and their mother had been taught more than hunting skills by their father and older brothers. She had passed on those skills to her two younger siblings, Joanna and Markus.
Their mother had too much to do mending clothes for what meager coins or bartered items her neighbors could offer and looking after the household to aid Sam in their hunt, but Sam preferred it that way. The moments of solitude in the wild was a blessing away from the sense of loss and poverty that was now their home and village.
Sam knew there was another option, though she hated it; hated to think of trespassing in what had been someone’s home and taking what belonged to others. Sam felt both sorrow and disgust to think others might do such a thing to her home and village soon if things took a turn for the worst, but perhaps it was time they took the offered opportunity and risk of going further out and searching for something of true value that could be found in those elven ruins, though it felt wrong to do so.
Others, old hunters from her village, had ventured close to them and had returned with small trinkets they sold to a man working for a lord who collected such rare forgotten objects. The old hunters spoke of strange sights and strange beasts in the area, haunted things, but Sam had wondered if it was only to discourage others from searching the area as well.
Making their mind up, Sam silently retreated from the lake’s grassy bank as an early morning breeze stirred and gently rippled the lake’s once glassy surface. They still carried their bow in their hand. A hint of the coming autumn was on that breeze. The coming days and months would not get easier. Now was the time for action, before the snow came.
Sam went with a purposeful stride as they left the doe and her young behind. They would first check the traps and snares to see if they had caught any hare or grouse and then they would head home with what game they had hopefully caught and inform their mother and younger siblings of their plan.
The canvas of the clouded sky was a mirrored perfection of golden and pink hues upon the calm water of the lake a mile out from Pinehurst. Sam waited by the waters edge for her quarry to come and quench its thrust by the lake side. The arrow was notched, but still they waited in the cover of the tall grass in silence as the deer stopped and bobbed its head a few times, but it was as a bluffing contest almost to see who might move first as the doe stilled. It seemed to cock its head with its ears twitching before it looked back.
Sam held their breath in dismay as a fawn, most likely born in the spring and now having lost its spots, also approached and gazed out with deep, beautiful brown eyes before it lowered its head to lap at the water on the grassy bank of the lake. Sam’s heart sank, yet they did not lower their bow. Sam’s deep gray eyes seemed to stand out more clearly with the mud they had caked on their face to add to the camouflage and disguise their scent. With their dark, loose curls hacked off at their slender shoulders and wearing their eldest brother’s discarded and worn hunter’s clothes that hung on their slender frame, their person was hard to spot by human or animal eyes, as they had intended.
They tried to reason with themselves that if they did not take their shot, not only would their mother and younger siblings go hungry, but a less scrupulous hunter would surely kill both the mother and her fawn. Sam knew their family needed both the meat and everything they could salvage from the animal to clothe themselves with or sell, but…
Quietly, they lowered their bow, returned their arrow to their quiver and silently cursed their weakness to any long forgotten gods they didn’t even believe in. Her mother still prayed to them, but Sam had long ceased to do so, for what loving god would have remained silent while so many implored them to aid when the lords had come, taking all the men of age to fight in their hopeless war. None of the menfolk had returned and then human predators had moved in.
Tax collectors and even less unsavory sorts offering their brand of protection for credit and favors. Greta, her friend and the blacksmith’s daughter who had taken over her father’s forge after news of his death to support both herself and her mother, had bashed in the head of one of these newcomers in town who had thought Greta would be easy prey when he had refused to pay coins, but offered payment on his terms in a much less welcomed form owed for the work she had done on his sword. The other women folk and the elders had come to her defense when the local lord’s men had tried to have her jailed or worse for killing the man.
Sam never thought they would see such dark days and took pains to make sure they did not reveal their gender and made themselves look as plain and unattractive as possible, though some people were so base that it would not even matter at all. Thankfully, Sam and their mother had been taught more than hunting skills by their father and older brothers. She had passed on those skills to her two younger siblings, Joanna and Markus.
Their mother had too much to do mending clothes for what meager coins or bartered items her neighbors could offer and looking after the household to aid Sam in their hunt, but Sam preferred it that way. The moments of solitude in the wild was a blessing away from the sense of loss and poverty that was now their home and village.
Sam knew there was another option, though she hated it; hated to think of trespassing in what had been someone’s home and taking what belonged to others. Sam felt both sorrow and disgust to think others might do such a thing to her home and village soon if things took a turn for the worst, but perhaps it was time they took the offered opportunity and risk of going further out and searching for something of true value that could be found in those elven ruins, though it felt wrong to do so.
Others, old hunters from her village, had ventured close to them and had returned with small trinkets they sold to a man working for a lord who collected such rare forgotten objects. The old hunters spoke of strange sights and strange beasts in the area, haunted things, but Sam had wondered if it was only to discourage others from searching the area as well.
Making their mind up, Sam silently retreated from the lake’s grassy bank as an early morning breeze stirred and gently rippled the lake’s once glassy surface. They still carried their bow in their hand. A hint of the coming autumn was on that breeze. The coming days and months would not get easier. Now was the time for action, before the snow came.
Sam went with a purposeful stride as they left the doe and her young behind. They would first check the traps and snares to see if they had caught any hare or grouse and then they would head home with what game they had hopefully caught and inform their mother and younger siblings of their plan.
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