Project Dream Preview, Chapter 6

“T’is a pleasant day, but Northern Winters,” Hinto shuddered, “are c-colder than I’m accustomed,” he marveled at the dreary skies beyond the frostbitten canopy, “did you scar the trees…?” Alo was sev’ral paces ahead, “are they markers…? Where do they lead…? Alo–?”

“Tracks” he knelt, “one set, near the last…”

“Ah, it seems these woods aren’t barren after all. You’re clearly experienced,” they pressed on, “may I ask who taught you?”

“No.”

“Your father—?”

“No.”

“Your forebear—?”

“No. Leave me be: you vowed.”

“…Ah…how I poorly keep them…” 

Upon the weald’s silver skin, they weaved past ivory veiled thickets ‘til stationed aside the scarlet blemished tree trunk; the distant forager’s prints poured over the ledge.

“Excellently done, Alo, and in great time; this buck,” Hinto crouched, enchanted by its regal demeanor, its prouder coronet, “is the largest I’ve ever seen.”

“Clearly you’ve not seen many—”

“Pardon?”

“T’is amiss…” 

“Amiss how?”

Alo soughed, “have you…ever caught hares?”

“No…why?”

“Afore they’re snared, they’re conditioned to trust disabled traps with minor meals…”

“So…?”

“For every recent hunt, there’s but one deer, always in the Clearing; when shot, t’will flee South, downstream…”

“Ah, you overestimate them: they’re simple creatures, not Ursine,” he unracked the crossbow, “simply be thankful we found it at all—”

“It would’ve been sooner if not for your ‘antics.’” 

“Those Keendans flocked to me,” his aim rose, “I asked not for them—” yet t’was forcibly skewed, “what’re you—?” 

“My hunt. My find. My kill.”

“Ah, with a longbow? T’is too far—”  

“I needn’t your faith, merely be silent…”

“You’re sincere…?” sporadically, Hinto’s gaze flicked between the runt and prey, “…fine…” Alo reached to his quiver, “you were warned…”

“…At last…” it hissed within, “at last,” his right arm faintly trembled, “…at last…”

“…Remember…breathe,” a draft gently helmed the arrowhead, “steady…focus……clear—”

The shot soared: the stag lashed, aspout from its newly lodged spile. 

“No…” it rushed Southward, farther than one could gander, “slightly off…Songa…forgive me—”

“Incredible!” 

“-Huh?”

“Your shot,” Hinto skipped and pointed below, “at roughly ninety strides!?”

“I…well—”

“Stall not, we’ve a chase! T’is strong—if t’was any other, it would’ve surely fallenA”

“Y-yes,” Alo swayed, “a…a path’s nearby—” 

“No, we’ll slide from here: t’will be faster.”

“Slide…?” he stepped forth, Hinto, aback, “no…we shouldn’t: I’d rather we—uh!” yet a shove cast him into a tumble; Hinto’s hollers shook the forest around them.

“I told you!” snow was brushed from his pants, “when I was young, my companions and I would roll Sampata’s hills, although they were far taller.”

“As did I, here,” Alo emerged from his shallow plot (he unknowingly laughed), “the last I recall, I…I…” he felt at his back, “…what’ve you done…?” 

“Hm—?” 

“Look what you’ve done!!”

“What?…Ah…” the slope was riddled with saffron-featered reeds, “damn…I failed to consider them—”

“How heedless!” 

“At ease you’ve still one left—”

“The one too short to fire?!”

“If it’s too short, why carry it?” Alo tried to climb for his lost munitions, “ah…no matter I’ve plenty of rounds: learn to use my crossbow—”

“I need these!” he slipped.

“…T’is too steep. I’m deeply sorry, however, we must continue—”

“I’ll not leave, not without them!” 

“But…the buck…” the runt’s fingers dug, yet found no holds, “later, I swear, I’ll correct my mistake,” Alo vainly reattempted, “though we’ve Ursine to feed…”

“…Countess lost…” it hissed within, “all for your name…” Alo panted, “…may all be as you deemed…”

“…Alo…? Alo, I’m sorry—” aside, Hinto was barged, “forgive me, I thought—”

“Focus…our mission’s yet finished…”