Completed [Unforgiving] The Early Hunt (Part 1)

[Marrin]

1st Day of Autumn, 513 AV Dropped off at the Forward Camp South of Mt. Skyinarta and wedged between the Kavinah Bay and the Western Sea, Marrin had set up camp. Fall had only just begun, and from the looks of it this hunting season wasn’t going to be their best. This trip was planned to be 3 days long, with one of the Endal coming to retrieve him and his catch on the evening of the 3ed. This excursion was to be Marrin’s first outside of his apprenticeship. A mere week ago he’d gradutated from his mentor’s grasp, moving on to become a hunter all his own. Petch the failing seasons, he would not disappoint his former master by bringing back little to no catch. The bow his master had given him, a shortbow carved and painted with wings along the front and a Wind Eagle’s head emerging from the handguard, was beautiful beyond comparison. It had been of his master’s own creation, from finding and carving the wood to spinning the drawstring himself. It meant something the new Avora, accomplishment and the symbol of his caste. It was his trophy of manhood. Stringing the bow and slinging it over his shoulder, he looked to the sky. It was just past midday, and the sun was not directly overhead…so Marrin decided to follow the sun and head West, into the wooded valley and along the mountainside. He was at a low altitude, and had to constantly look around in search of any tracks of animal droppings that might signify the presence of any possible prey. He didn’t want to dig into the week’s worth of preserved rations he had brought for himself if he didn’t have to. His traps and snares would go into finding food for himself, while his arrows would find their place in the flesh of beasts that would go to Wind Reach. Almost by chance he heard the sound of a chittering red squirrel. Freezing, as to not make any noise, he listened further. There were two, at least, in the trees above him, chattering away and no doubt having what would seem like a very interesting conversation for those with a brain smaller than a walnut. He slowly crouched, making sure not to alarm his possible food source for the next few days, and went through his backpack until he found his Trappers Kit. He carefully set up two tiny snares, snatching an acorn from the ground with a gloved hand and rubbing a small amount of squirrel scent on it before setting it close to the trap. Hopefully by the time he returned, one of the beasts would have been caught.

[Marrin]

As quietly as he could manage, Marrin crept away from the site of his set snares. He watched his feet, dodging any loose stones or crunchy looking leaves. He wasn’t anywhere close to perfect, he could still hear the footfalls of his boots without trouble, but his slow movements and movement away from the tree seemed to keep the flighty creatures from dashing off through the trees. He made note of his surroundings, making sure he always knew where he was. He hadn’t been into the valley before, only along the side and ridges of the mountains. This was to be his first time lowland hunting, and he wanted to make sure he always knew where he was in relation to the camp. He’d have to remember how to get back if he was to return to where he set his snares and have a meal in the evening. As he moved further and further from the snare site, he noticed that he was encroaching on a meadow. He slowly pulled off one of his gloves, putting one of his fingers in his mouth and pulling it out to test the wind. It flowed down from the mountain at his back, from the South, so if he wanted to make sure no potential prey smelled him coming, he’d have to make his was around to the East or West side of the clearing at least, if not North. Pulling his bow from his shoulder, he moved in a wide quarter circle to the Eastern edge of the clearing, knocking an arrow as he peered to see what could be there. There were a large collection of boulders to his left and behind him, and a number of trees obscured him from view from the meadow without doing too much to hinder his own sight. The wind gently brushing against his face, he watched as two large moose drank from what seemed to be a spring-fed pool. There was no way he could make the shot from here. Even if he crept past the trees he’d have to go another 30 yards into the meadow before he could make the shot with confidence, and if he got that close without any cover there was no doubt he’d be seen. If he was seen, they’d either run or get aggressive, and as the rutting season had just begun, Marrin wasn’t too confident they’d take to running. Near the edge of the pool, on the opposite side of the water from the moose, there was another patch of trees. Only just visible through the shadows was a large chunky boulder with a number of hand holds. If he could make it over there and climb the boulder, he would have the perfect shot and there was no way the bull’s intimidating antlers of hooves could reach him. Time was of the essence, for if the pair left the watering hole before he got the shot, he would have wasted time and effort. If he made the shot, on the other hand, it would be well worth it. With little more than a smile, Marrin made his move.

[Marrin]

His feet made quiet crunching noises as he made his way through the underbrush. He tried searching the ground for large, smooth stones to silence his steps, but they were few and far between, and he often missed stepped. One of the moose, the bull, looked up from his place by the water just as Marrin ducked behind the tree. His luck was the only thing that kept him from becoming the immediate target of the bull’s pent up aggression. Marrin peeked around the edge of the tree, looking at the large male that he hoped to make his prey. He was only a mile or so from his camp site, though with a carcass that big he’d have to butcher it here and make a number of trips, which could lead to some scavenger activity. The bull was huge, much larger than the young man, with enormous nostrils and eyes as black as obsidian. Its fur was shaggy, sticky with sap in some places and matted in others, and the rack protruding from his temples was an impressive branching bowl shape. I’m making plates out of those when I bring you home he thought to himself, smiling silently as the bulls attention returned to the pool of drinking water. He couldn’t have long now, and decided that he had to make his move for the rock quickly if he was going to get more than a single poor shot in. He dashed from tree to tree, pressing his back against each of their thickly studded trunks to make sure he remained unseen. Within five chimes he was edging around the side of the boulder, making his way to the back so he could climb without risking the immense horns of an angry bull moose. Though there were plenty of hand and foot holds in the speckled marble surface, Marrin couldn’t help but have difficulty. He’d never been much of a climber, and constantly had to look from where his hands and feet were to where he wanted them to go, annoyed as his bow constantly bumped his hip from its placement upon his shoulder. He missed his placement a number of times, scraping the toes of his boots against the stone as he climbed, though all damage to them was purely superficial. Just as he got to the top of the rock he heard the moose wading into the water, the two of them looking to bathe themselves on the warm autumn day. Marrin couldn’t contain his glee, grinning widely. If they were in the water, they’d have a harder time charging at him after taking his first shot, and he may be able to get a few more in than he’d first expected. Crouching low to his stony perch, he unshouldered his bow, knocking an arrow, deciding to aim for the back of the neck while the animal ducked his head to drink. He squinted through the whipping winds, trying to judge the best time to strike. The winds were doing him no favors, however, coming off the mountain and disrupting his eyesight. The shot he made was going to have to be quick if he didn’t want his eyes to dry out and lose his vision in the middle of aiming. Just then, the moose ducked its head, bowing to drink once more from the quiet spring waters. Without thinking Marrin drew his bow, pointing with his left hand where he wanted the arrow to go, releasing the arrow as soon as his archery glove brushed the corner of his lips.

[Marrin]

The arrow ricocheted off the antlers with an embarrassingly loud clatter, shattering in a burst of splinters that showered the pair. While the cow got spooked and started to run, the bull looked up, searching for the source of the projectile. Marrin could tell from the posturing of the moose that he’d charge the next threatening thing he saw, by now quite furious with any who would threaten his mate. ”By Priskil’s light…” he muttered, swearing quietly to himself as he knocked another arrow. Not taking any time to aim had made him miss, he knew, so as he pulled the bow string back once more he hald for a moment, making sure he was pointing in the right direction and correcting for the wind in his face. The tension of the bow was great, especially for a frame as thin and lanky as his, and the draw weight soon made his arms tremble. Before he knew it he was shivering, releasing a vibrating arrow that missed its mark by a mile and buried itself in the spring. ”Well, that didn’t work…” he muttered under his breath as the bull locked eyes with him, bowed his head, and began to charge through the water. A thousand thoughts, most of them panicked, raced through Marrin’s mind at that moment. Without a thought another arrow was in his bow, being pulled back nearly to his ear. The bow creaked as it was pulled just up to its capacity before the bolt was released, a desperate missile spiraling through the air in a frantic attempt to find security. The horns of the moose crashed into the boulder at the same moment as the arrow buried itself between the ribs of the beast, tearing through flesh and cracking bone. The moose let out a honk of pain and confusion, having jumped to reach his intended target but not quite high enough. Small chunks of granite fell away as it scrambled to regain its footing, dusting the ground and soaking up the blood that now dripped from the bull’s hide. It collapsed, falling to the forest floor, but quickly grunted in pained effort as it began to stand again. Marrin was bewildered, having forgotten momentarily that he had the safety of height at his advantage. The moose was stumbling now, having to recover from head trauma and surprise internal bleeding. Marrin could hear its labored breaths, but it didn’t look like it was going down without a fight. Blood dripping from its lips, it prepared to try again.

[Marrin]

Marrin had time for maybe one more arrow if he was quick, but it would leave him no time to recover should the shot end in a miss. If he had to take a chance, it shouldn’t involve ending his life should he fail. He had to have a backup. Had to have something… He remembered the dagger strapped to his chest. He’d bought the harness only just that morning, and he felt that it may end up being what saved him today. Casting his bow aside, he grasped the handle of the ear dagger and yanked it from its sheath. The bow landed in the cushion of pine needles with a soft sound, nearly impossible to hear over the sound of the moose’s breathing and its hooves hitting stone. It leapt into the air, bounding higher than before, its antlers coming at Marrin at full speed. He fell backward, sitting on his heels and setting his back against the stone as the moose clattered its hooves against the stone, trying to find stability. The pain in his hips was immense, stretching him beyond his normal range of flexibility. In that instant he vowed to stretch every morning before the hunt, in hopes that he’d be able to provide himself with a greater kind of survival capability. Knife in hand, Marrin slashed wildly at the underbelly of the moose. Its hide was tough, its fur matted and clumped in places, forming an odd kind of armor that seemed to repel his blade. It glanced off several times, the slashed becoming more and more desperate. Finally, Marrin took it in both hands and plunged upwards, thumbs fitting into the little ear-shaped slit at the pommel of the blade. The hand positioning provided him with greater force, all focused on the singular tip of the blade. It punched through the hide with ease, sliding between the ribs of the creature and into its organs. He heard the thing honk with pain, legs trembling on the unstable surface and the weakness it suffered due to blood loss. Marrin yanked the blade out, one of his elbows colliding with the back of one of the moose’s knees, collapsing the leg beneath him. The great beast tumbled to the side, falling off the great boulder and landing on some of the rocks that lay below. It lay, labored breathing only adding to its pitiful state. Blood dribbled from its mouth and gut, slowly coating the ground and feeding it. Marrin gasped for breath, suddenly aware of how close he had been to dying only a moment before. He wiped down the dagger quickly, sheathing it and using his hands to slowly push himself up. His hips and knees ached, but not from much more than the stretch. He looked to his right, seeing his bow was intact and fine beside the boulder. Over the left side of the rock the moose lay, slowly dying as blood filled its lungs. Marrin felt sorry for the creature, and retrieving his hunting knife from his pack as he stood, hopping down from the rock. He kneeled by the bull, staring into its pain filled eyes. He put a hand on it, patting it gently. ”You put up a good fight, friend. Thank you for sacrificing yourself so that Wind Reach may continue to live. You’ve made one petching good story for my first hunt, and an excellent first entry to my journal. I thank you, and assure you that we will honor every piece of you.” In a quick and fluid motion he pulled his hunting knife across the beings throat, blood spattering the ground as it took its final breaths. A loud grunt was the last thing the moose had to say before its eyes glazed over and it ceased to move. Marrin cleaned his knife, putting it in the second sheath the harness provided for him. It would be easier to access from there, and he wouldn’t have to go to his backpack every time he wanted to cut something without using his fighting dagger. He looked at the beast as the blood continued to flow. It was massive compared to Marrin, despite being a young looking bull, as if it had just reached maturity. It was perhaps 600 lbs. give or take 10 or 20 lbs. He’d have to find a way to get the beast back to camp, and dragging it wasn’t going to do him any good. He looked around for anything he could use, scanning the trees for any useful material that someone could have left behind. Maybe a broken body sled or some other such device. After a moment, Marrin looked up and grinned, a splendid idea coming to mind. He went to his backpack and retrieved his axe.

[Marrin]

Axe met wood with a solid THWACK! sending bark in all directions. The tree he’d chosen had a number of low-hanging branches, thick and expansive as they shot in all directions. Most of them were a good two or three inches in diameter, making his work challenging but not impossible. He’d remembered the thin, sturdy rope his survival kit held, thinking that perhaps he could make his own homemade body sled big enough for the moose. That way he wouldn’t have to drag the moose all the way up the mountain, all that fur getting tangled in leaves and underbrush, and instead just have to make sure that the two points of contact the rack would have with the ground didn’t get caught on the occasional rock. Not to mention he’d be able to walk forwards rather than dragging the beast backwards, using muscles that were much more used to climbing the lowland hills than the muscles he used for walking backwards. The seventh branch came off the tree after the eighth swing of the axe; crackling and snapping until it lie in a heap on the ground. Marrin straddled the branch, as he had the others before, taking the axe by the head and ramming into the joints where the twigs met the larger branch. One by one they popped off, quickly grabbed and discarded among the other pile of twigs. After the branch was bare of any tiny obtrusions, he quickly rolled it over to the pile of other similar looking branches, all with their twigs cut off. The straightest one of the seven had its bark cut off in two places, little more than the width of Marrin’s torso apart. These were to be his handholds after he lashed the rest of the branches together, allowing him to push with greater force on the inside. Taking the two longest branches side by side, he chopped the longer one down so that it fit the length of the slightly shorter one. Then he lay the others across the top, making sure they went a little beyond the outside edge of the frame branches. Then he took the rope from his bag, lashing the branches together. After a short while he noticed they weren’t staying tight, slipping ever so slightly at the edges. He quickly unraveled them before, axe in hand, chopping some small notches into each of the branches. When he reapproached the task of lashing the branches together now, if was far easier. Fitting the rope into the notches he’d carved, they held more sturdily than before, not slipping and sliding up and down the branch every time it shifted. Marrin didn’t know many knots, those he did know being relatively simple. He tied the lashing cord as best he could, but after all was said and done it was still slightly wobbly. That will have to do for now. The sun is starting to set and I need to check my traps if I’m going to eat tonight. Just thinking about food made his stomach growl, his last meal having been early that morning before his trip to the market. Rushing himself now, he dragged the wood structure over to the carcass of the beast, setting it down beside him. The blood flow had been reduced to a mere trickle now, but it would still be enough to attract predators that caught the scent. Marrin was in too much of a hurry to notice, however, putting all his effort into rolling the beast onto his construct. It was difficult work, great strain being placed on his upper body as he threw his back into the lift. It seemed to shift a centimeter at a time, barely able to move the bull’s monolithic weight. His stubbornness prevailed, however, his effort causing the great carcass to give way as it rolled over onto the makeshift body sled. He smirked in approval, having dominated the great beast. That’s when his arms began to feel like jelly. He tried to lift them, shaking them out as best he could but they simply didn’t wish to respond, choosing instead to sit limply by his sides, aching and moaning like elderly men in rocking chairs that hadn’t had whisky for days. His arms wanted no part in doing any more work, and the sun was setting more quickly than before, as if Syna and Leth were racing around Mizahar, seeing who could move faster than the other. It didn’t bode well for the exhausted Marrin, the cool early autumn chill beginning to nip at his cheeks. He needed to get back to the forward camp. He was tired, hungry and frustrated with his body’s unwillingness to obey him. A wolf howled as Leth peeked through the trees.

[Marrin]

The struggle continued in even getting his belt tied, strapping the handle to his waist with it. If he could get the sled attached to him and just kept moving, perhaps he could make it to camp without collapsing. The bull was momentously heavy, despite its youth, and it was going to take a lot of effort to even get the thing moving in the first place. But if he didn’t want a single rock to be his downfall, he had to make sure the makeshift log sled was secure. He grimaced, his arms failing to respond how he’d like, feeling weak and overused. He was sure his efforts would leave him sore in the morning, and likely far into his next hunt, but he would not allow that to stop his attempts to bring his prize back to camp. He had to make it back, had to make sure nothing stole his catch out from underneath him after he’d worked so hard to get it in the first place. Before tying on the belt, he’d retrieved his arrow from the spring water, unstringing his bow and securing it to his pack. He thought for a moment of digging into his emergency rations, but decided against it. He had a full bull moose he was dragging through the valley, and there was sure to be something he could eat that nobody else at Wind Reach would want. Perhaps the genitals or some of the bones. He’d heard a story from his former hunting master that if you cracked a bone in half, there was a liquid inside that was extremely nutritious. Apparently, fresh antlers were full of the best of it, and if you could cut them off and plug the hole, roasting them over the fire made it taste good enough to live off of for a while. After making sure the straps were secure, he leaned forward and tried to march. He didn’t budge, the weight of the bull too great for the amount of force he was putting forth. But as he grew more and more frustrated, he became more and more determined, leaning further into the sled grip with every step until he was nearly at a 45 degree angle with the ground. Suddenly, he lurched forward, stumbling slightly, before picking up a slow but steady pace. He was working as hard as if he was hiking up a moderately steep incline, going about as fast as a leisurely stroll, but it was better than going nowhere and exhausting himself in the process. He guessed that at this rate, if he continued, he’d be able to reach the place he’d laid the traps before midnight, and reach the Forward Camp less than an hour after that. The air slowly became more and more chilled, still clinging to the gentle heat of summer but making way for the winds of winter. The coolness was not uncomfortable, far from it, keeping Marrin from overheating as he trudged slowly through the rocky foothills and scattered trees. He took several breaks, catching his breath and inhaling the fresh air he adored so much, the sharp scent of pine sap floating on the night breeze. The sky was clear, clear enough to stargaze, and Marrin took every opportunity to do so, choosing to look up rather than forward on particularly long flat stretches or whenever he took the chance to sit. If he didn’t pay enough attention while walking he tripped, but the injuries he sustained were all very minor and not enough to deter him from looking to the stars. Marrin held within him the deeply engrained love of the sky that all Inarta had, though his flew beyond the clouds and into the realm of Zintila. He’d always had a quiet admiration for the stars, admiring their beauty and silent grace. He wasn’t sure what to make of them, knowing nothing more of them than the name of the goddess associated with them, and nothing more of the goddess than her name. He tried for a moment to find the brightest star in the sky, eventually noticing it hanging above the peak of Mt. Skyinarta to the north. He decided to make a note of that, that the brightest star in the sky was to the north. He wasn’t sure if it would move or not, some stars did and others did not, but he tried to make a subconscious reminder to check next time the stars shone so brightly. When he eventually arrived at the site where he’d left his traps, his heart fell like a stone. “I guess antler is all I eat tonight.” The bait had been taken, the traps sprung but empty. He crouched down, inspecting each trap as he collected it for reuse. It seemed he’d not tied the knots tightly enough, and that despite being caught the squirrels had not even had to chew the ropes to escape. With a huff he put the empty traps away in his bag, disappointed at the waste of time and energy. When he finally reached the camp, his legs collapsed beneath him next to the fire pit. The march had taken five bells to go a little over a mile and a half, far from record time. He’d had to stop regularly to gather his breath, strength and motivation to continue, especially after the disappointment the traps had caught for him. He was eager to untie his belt, letting the structure with the dead bull moose hit the ground with a loud thump. One of the branches of the frame snapped, making it lopsided and useless. Marrin snarled at his misfortune, hoping he could eat before going to bed. Otherwise his stomach would be furious with him come morning.

[Marrin]

Marrin had never skinned an animal before. He’d seen his master do it, watched him peel away the flesh and read about it in his required reading but had never actually done it himself. However, it quickly became evident to him that if his kill, and all the effort he had put into bringing it back here, was going to be worth his while he’d have to butcher the creature and get it out of the reach of any scavenging wildlife that may have been attracted to the smell of fresh blood. But in order to do that he had to skin it. Collecting all the rope from the tied down corpse, he removed each of the branches from his makeshift sled and went about making himself a fire. It was far too dark to be tossing around a knife with little to no experience in the action he was attempting to accomplish. Not to mention the fire would scare away predators, repel bugs, and provide him with warmth. Fire was a necessary part of every mountain man’s life. His axe was a godsend, its unique blade ideal for splitting and drying wood for fires. Pretty soon the branches that had once made up the moose land raft made a small teepee in a ring of stones, tiny dry twigs for tinder packed in the center. A few strikes of the flint and steel later and the spark took, slowly growing into a larger and larger flame. With a bit of fanning and gentle care the fire was roaring but contained in ten chimes. The wood was green and wet, spitting and hissing as the liquids escaped, but it burned all the same with the proper handling. His master had made sure from day one that he knew how to make a proper fire. It was the key to survival out here. He’d never loved his axe so much in his life. It came in handy for so many things, from lopping the branches off trees to splitting wood, and now cracking the antlers off a dead moose. His hunting knife wasn’t serrated to saw the antler off, the proper way, and wasn’t large enough to chop away at it like a kukri, so the duty fell upon his wood axe. Marrin laid the head on a large, flat wood chopping block one of the previous hunters had left to help the others, making sure it wouldn’t move before taking a step back. He’d chopped wood before. This was just the same principal, right? But with a smaller target. Surely a steel axe like this could take off an antler in one strike. He lifted it high above his head, and swung downward. A resounding crack echoed through the valley as steel met bone, steel vibrating Marrin’s hands so hard he dropped the handle of the tool. A large chip had been made in the antler, and a crack in the bone went all the way around, but it hadn’t come off. The blade of the fallen axe, however, was scratched and chipped as well. He’d have to sharpen that tomorrow if he wanted to get any more fresh wood cut from it. Determined, his drowsiness pushing him into the realm of idiotic stubbornness, he swung again and again, until the fourth chop finally sent the antler flinging away from the beast. The area near the site of the chops was shattered and splinteres, a yellow ooze Marrin could only guess was the marrow leaking onto the forest floor. Quickly, he scrambled around looking for something to plug the hole. If it was going to stay in while it cooked, there had to be some sort of cork to put in the hole to keep it from escaping. Finally he found a small pinecone just the right size to fit the hole but stop the fluid from pouting into the fire. With that small accomplishment out of the way, he set the corked antler atop the fire and pulled out his journal to write.

[Marrin]

Fall 1, 513 AV I strain to write even now, all the life gone from my extremities. I worked hard today, taking down a young bull moose in the lowlands of the land bridge between North Kalea and the rest of Mizahar. Unfortunately the thing was rather heavy, and it was a great strain on me to make it back to camp with my catch. No doubt I’ll be sore tomorrow morning, but I hear that’s how all those odd blue folk in Riverfall build all their muscle, lifting and moving heavy objects around. I wonder if it’s the work that makes them blue, and if I’ll wake up with blue biceps. I doubt as much, but I admit I know little of that masculine race. I ended up creating a makeshift sled to pull the beast through the hills, though my arms refused to aid me in my work. I had to lash the sled to my hips with my belt, holding it close to my body and retaining my movement, lest I slow and collapse on the ground. My legs and arms both feel like gelatin, and I must ask whoever reads this to forgive my poor handwriting at the moment. I promise you later writings will not be such chicken scratch. My name is Marrin, and I’m a hunter for the people of Wind Reach in North Kalea. In case this survives the ages, that’s positioned on the top of the largest mountain in Kalea. I hope that this book will help you understand a bit of our lives here, and perhaps give you a bit of knowledge regarding survival in the Kalean wilds, should you aspire to make your way out here one day. I learned the hard way today that if you tie your traps too loosely, no matter how much bait you toss around your quarry will escape. I found all my traps empty today, the bait gone and the squirrels chattering happily in the trees all around me, laughing at my folly. A word to the wise: always tie your ropes tight. The snares had sprung, that much I could tell, but it seems the squirrels had found a way to wiggle out of them due to my poor ropework. Tricky mongrels, they are. So instead of roast squirrel cooking over the fire, I’ve chopped off one of the antlers of the moose I killed earlier in the day, which is now blackening over th- Note to self, do not use pinecones as a cork to keep the marrow inside of cracked bones while cooking over a fire. They have a tendency to explode when too hot.

[Marrin]

The last sentence was no overstatement. Just as he was beginning to wrap up his journal entry, a loud bang resounded through the camp, shards of bone and bits of wood flying in all directions. Most of them bounced off the hunter’s katinu, but still some scraped his face and hands. Bleeding lightly from the small cuts, Marrin set the book down and went to retrieve the antler, now lying a few feet from the collapsing campfire. The end he’d plugged had been completely shattered, the bottom of the bone blackened and scorched. He was far from a good cook, having failed every task the kitchen chefs had given him during his bindi years as a Yasi. This occurrence only reminded him that he had to always watch the food he was cooking, lest something go wrong. The outside of the bone was blackened and hot, but the inner liquids were warm. After putting his gloves on it was safe to touch, and he managed to pick up the bone, tipping his head back and pouring the yellow paste into his mouth. It tasted like beef if it had been chopped and blended into the texture of a mashed slug. It made him want to puke, but it was the best he had at the moment, and it kept him from using his emergency rations or taking from his kill. Nobody at Wind Reach would want the antler marrow, even if it was full of vitamins. As such, it was what he had to sustain him, and although healthy it was not glamorous. He did what he had to for the sake of his people. That was the way things were. ”Petching Dek food,” he grumbled after emptying the antler, tossing it into a nearby shrubbery. It was far from filling, but he had to save the next antler for breakfast in the morning. Without it he’d be running on empty on only the second day of his trip. ”Tomorrow’s traps had best be full,” he shouted to nobody in particular. Nobody answered. He picked up his hunting knife, crouching by the corpse of the moose. If he was going to do this, he may as well do it as best he could. He tried to remember what his teacher had told him. Frowning, he wondered how the man had gotten all the skin off in a single pull. He remembered him doing that a couple times, though he couldn’t remember what cuts the man had made to get there. He’d likely end up with several shreds of hide himself, but really all he needed was to get this out of the reach of ay animals who wanted a midnight snack. The hide was tough, tough enough so that if he dried and tanned it he could make some solid armor for himself, but that wasn’t his goal. Making an incision along the neck and each of the shoulder joints, he wrapped his fingers under the skin and peeled it back. Sometimes he moved too fast, and tore the hide in places, rendering it useless. In others he moved too slow, putting unnecessary strain on his already tired arms and legs. But after all was said and done, all but the torso was stripped of skin, leaving the muscles holding it all together. He quickly gutted the creature, discarding any inedible and useless bits of the animal and carving the meat into large slabs. Then, from there, he took the thin strips of rope he had left over from his moose raft and tied them around the slabs of meat. After taking a short while to find a nearby yet suitable tree, he tossed a piece of meat over his shoulder and began to climb. The branches were fairly low hanging, but having little experience in climbing it still took quite a bit of effort. He had to lift himself from branch to branch, sometimes stretching and jumping to make it to the next highest branch. But After making it nearly 20 feet in the air, he tied the meat to one of the branches, hanging it out of the reach of any beast that might have been interested in it. One by one he repeated the process, until finally all the moose was hung by small roped 20 feet off the ground in a skinny pine tree at the edge of a larger forest. With his final work out of the way, he finally took the time to bundle up by the fire. Within moments he was sound asleep.