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Any minute from now, Pokkle expected the storm to begin.
Flocks of birds fleeing in the opposite direction, small woodland creatures burrowing away, and the overall sensation of the woods themselves hunkering down in anticipation, had colluded to urge Pokkle to make haste and find shelter in the hills before it was too late. Pokkle heeded these warnings at his own pace, pressing his luck in order to cover more ground until delay was no longer an option. Just as the sky was breaking open, transitioning from light flurries to silently plummeting sheets of snow, Pokkle stumbled forward and collapsed into the narrow opening of the nearest cave, groaning in tired relief as rolled onto his back and savored the immediate absence of stinging snow lashing against the exposed patch of skin between his goggles and the rim of his knit cap.
Frigid air poured into his lungs like cold water as he pulled down the damp scarf covering his mouth. The rock against his back sent up a chill that went straight through his thermal layers, as if the cave were made of ice and not stone. Now that he was out of the wind, it wouldn’t take long to light a fire and thaw himself out. He rocked himself a few times to the side before rolling onto his side and flopping onto his stomach. Employing his famous Hunter’s resolve, he compelled his stiff joins to bend and bear him a few steps deeper into the cave. He’d collected some wood for a fire. After clearing a spot and building a small fire-pit out of stones, he took out a started and dry kindling from his pack. Once the fire caught on the thickest branches and was crackling away merrily without his help, Pokkle sat back on his heels and evaluated the situation he was in and what he’d have to do next to ensure the success of a mission that seemed destined for disaster from the start.
From the moment he’d agreed and set out, Pokkle stanchly refused to let himself believe he was wasting his time. Sightings of the local megafauna called the Frost Elk were months and even years apart, but this wasn’t enough to dissuade a dedicated Hunter. Part of the trouble was the data itself, since hardly anyone in the area ever went looking for a Frost Elk on purpose. The beasts only appeared fleetingly in the dead of winter, far from human settlements, and usually in adverse weather conditions. They were considered a sign of misfortune, since it was commonly believed they appeared to people lost in the woods as a warning that one was on the brink of dying in the wilderness. If someone were beyond hope and succumbed to the elements, the Frost Elk was then said to bear that person’s soul away, back to their home, to haunt their former dwellings and still–living relatives until the proper rituals were performed to put the spirit to rest in absence of any physical remains.
Much of the physical evidence for these stories that Pokkle had been shown had come in the form of large hoof prints, the most recent of which was cast from the snow after a blizzard in which a local trapper had gone missing. Such footprints were all most people ever saw of a Frost Elk, since, supposedly, Frost Elk used the positions of stars to navigate to the soul’s home, and therefore deposited their cargo at night without being seen.
Pokkle, of course, hadn’t believed any of the local folklore pertaining to the Frost Elk, although an animal fitting its physical description absolutely existed. He’d seen hides and sets of antlers with the distinctive Frost Elk pattern, but besides the unusual coloration, nothing separated these mythical Frost Elk remains from those of the average Great Gray Elk already native to the region. Science agreed with Pokkle. At the end of the day, the supposedly supernatural Frost Elk was little more than the result of a genetic mutation affecting the coloring of an otherwise normal Great Gray Elk. Part of the reason they seemed so elusive was that, for most of the year, a Frost Elk was indistinguishable from any other Great Grey Elk. Sometimes there was a bit more dappling on its coat, but a dappled coat wasn’t unusual for a normal Great Grey Elk. Only as winter approached did the Frost Elk’s characteristic appearance take over, with the hair of its seasonally thicker coat growing paler towards the tips than near the skin, giving the elk its namesake frosted over look.
Whether because of the Frost Elk’s supernatural aspect or because of its rarity, its pelt and antlers were highly prized. In the Frost Elk’s native region, its remains were regarded as religiously significant items imbued with immense spiritual power, while internationally, they were considered exceptionally rare treasures and demanded a steep price on the black market. The result was that, due to high demand outweighing the limited availability of Frost Elk specimens among the already low Great Grey Elk population, one group of poachers had changed their tactics and started going after the pelts kept by local villages. Many of these relics were over a hundred years old, unwittingly preserved by the power of worshipers’ Nen trickling into them over years of veneration and making real the villagers’ expectation that these items would endure by their own spiritual power for several lifetimes, if not all of eternity. Although there were no clear, codified systems of worship surrounding the veneration of the Frost Elk or its remains, the theft was traumatic enough to leave villagers bereaved and desperate to call in a Hunter to track down and capture the poachers, or else, capture another Frost Elk to replace what had been stolen.
Ideally, Pokkle hoped to accomplish the first condition of the mission before the poachers sold their prize, and it was lost forever in the clutches of an anonymous, private collector somewhere else in the world. If he were too late, he’d be required to replace the item by hunting a Frost Elk and bringing its remains back to the village.
Being the result of a mere genetic variation in a relatively common species, there were no legal limitations on hunting and killing a Frost Elk beyond those that applied to the Great Grey Elk in general. However, since the characteristic coat change was at its most vibrant outside the general deer and elk sport-hunting season, most Frost Elk trophies were poached or stolen. They were smuggled out of the country on foot to be sold on the international black market, where the circumstances under which they’d been acquired could be easily glossed over. Unlike trophy-hunting poachers, however, as a Hunter hired by a local village, Pokkle’s hunt fell under an exception given to rural villagers to capture deer and elk any time of year, Frost Elk included. Although it was legally sanctioned, he’d personally prefer if things never came to that point. To Pokkle, hunting any beast for a reason as pointless as collecting some part of it to mount on a wall and look at, whether that were a temple wall or a private home collection, was a criminal waste of an innocent life. Unfortunately, the probability of having to hunt a replacement pelt and antlers himself increased the longer it took him to locate the poachers-turned-burglars. Once the poachers met their comrades in the mountains and smuggled the stolen relics out of the region, the items would become nearly impossible to track without undergoing a deep investigation into the heart of the underground market itself. An investigation of that magnitude would take a team and recourses Pokkle didn’t have, and so, his only options were to press forward and intercept the poachers, or turn back, restock, and begin a hunt that could last weeks.
Pokkle sighed heavily, staring into the fire until his vision blurred. He looked away, at a point deeper into the cave, and his vision went black, his eyes slowly readjusting to the dim.
The firelight stopped at a slanted back wall, revealing the cave was nothing but a small cavern with no other exit or entrance. This was a reassuring sight, since it meant there was no chance he’d end up sharing this space with an unwelcomed guest that might’ve startled and fled deeper unto the cave when he’d stumbled in, only to grow bolder and attempt to chase him out later. The perilous mountainous ridge he’d been forced to travel to save time was ridden with caves and gullies of various depths and sizes. Many were shallow, such as the veritable nook where Pokkle sheltered now, but some were deep and created a deadly hazard in inclement weather conditions. Part of the reason people were less likely to return from the woods after getting lost in winter was because they’d fallen into a ravine or sinkhole concealed by the snow and ice. Due to the risk, Pokkle’s progress had been slower than he’d have liked, and the storm outside only detained him longer. His quarry had most likely encountered similar difficulties. They had a four-day head start on him already, but an earlier storm that’d prevented Pokkle from setting out for two days had undoubtedly slowed their progress. In ideal conditions with minimal snowfall, an expert guide traversing the area would take five full days to reach the border where the smaller forest paths intersected with the most commonly used smuggling trails continuing on through the mountains.
Pokkle, using Nen in addition to an almost supernatural sense of danger, had moved more quickly than an average human, and intended to reach the border the next morning. As he estimated the amount of time added on by the storm and the snow it’d leave behind, a shadowy figure moved somewhere beyond the curtain of snow falling heavy and fast across the mouth of the cavern. A snowdrift had already started to build up, giving the impression of a smaller opening and causing whatever large creature was on the other to hesitate. A narrow appendage, probably a foot, struck out probingly and knocked a clump of the built up snow aside.
Pokkle’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted yet from staring into the fire, so he expanded his En and used Gyo to make sure he wasn’t facing a threat from a magical beast. What looked like pair of icy tree branches entered the cavern next and sloppily swept more snow aside. Pokkle leapt to his feet. He took a step back and lowered himself while materializing an arrow between his fingers and taking aim at the door.
The tree branches revealed themselves to be a pair of massive antlers as they pressed deeper into the cavern. The creature bearing them was a massive cervid caked in snow. It stood bewildered for a moment after encountering the brightness and warmth of the fire. The flames flickered, reflected with liquid clarity on the mirror surface of the cervid’s wide eyes. It snorted and sprang back. Pokkle expected to hear it thundering off into the distance, but the blowing wind and blanket of snow underfoot muffled its hoof beats after only a few short bounds.
Pokkle lowered the arrow and searched about the cavern for something to block the entrance from more wild animals. There were a few small stones and rocks scattered about, but nothing that’d keep anything larger than rabbit out. As if it sensing Pokkle’s realization that he could do nothing to stop it, the cervid returned to the entrance of the cavern. Its hesitation had lessened, and, though it shied from the heat of the fire, it entered the cavern all at once, keeping close to the wall. Two more tip-toed skittishly after it, making the already small space tighter as they huddled together at the opposite end of the cavern near the opening, too afraid of the fire to draw nearer.
Pokkle didn’t move for a long time. Of all the large, wandering creatures one could encounter in these woods, it had to be three Great Gray Elk that’d joined him. He was unsure of what to do next. Sleep and rest were officially out of the question. He couldn’t risk getting trampled if one of the elk shied and bolted in a panic around the cavern, inspiring its companions to join it in a futile attempt to escape nowhere. If one touched the fire as well, the pain might throw them into an even greater frenzy. The best solution would be to make them to leave, to chase them out the way they’d come, but Pokkle couldn’t be sure where they’d run if he startled them. There was nowhere to escape avoid them, not even a niche or shallow depression in the rock he could squeeze into for protection in case one of the elk decided to lunge at him instead of bolt.
The largest elk eyed Pokkle warily, as if reading his mind and promising with a slow glance that it’d absolutely run him down if he tried anything. Pokkle hardly dared to breathe after catching its eye, but he couldn’t remain crouching in the corner for hours with an arrow materialized between his fingers, waiting out the storm. The fire would die out left unattended, and he didn’t have enough kindling to waste on starting it up again.
“I’m,” he said and stopped. Three heads swiveled in his direction, two anxious with the whites quivering at edges of their sockets, the third remaining sedate and cautious, waiting. Pokkle wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to explain himself verbally before making a move, since it was impossible three elk would understand. He’d wanted to calm the two most anxious ones and reassure the third, but all he could think of doing was rationalizing with them as if they were people. Even before he’d uttered the first syllable, he’d realized the idea was absurd and had given up after the first word.
Instead of speaking, Pokkle dematerialized his Nen arrow and then bent down, closer to the ground, so that at least he was sitting. The time he took to gradually settle in place and unfold his legs felt like a full quarter of an hour, when realistically it’d been hardly five minutes. The two anxious elk watching him only seemed to calm after he stopped moving and held perfectly still for several continuous minutes. If his clothes rustled or his breath came out in anything above a whisper, however, the muscles in their shoulders would tense and their bodies would inch down, winding a spring that would launch them away the moment they perceived an oncoming threat.
Even before he’d become a Pro Hunter, Pokkle had been adept at stalking prey. He knew how to hold still for long periods of time in more taunt and tiring positions than the one he was in now, a notched arrow in his hand ready to fire the second he got an opening. Compared to hunting, sitting in relative ease and comfort across the cavern from unexpected company was simple. The main difference, as well as his biggest problem, was that he wasn’t in control of whatever was going to happen. He had no idea what the other would do, what split-second decisions he’d have to make if the fire so much as cracked ominously and sent the elk into a panicked scramble. When hunting, despite the physical stress of freezing and inching forward over and over as he gradually closed the distance between himself and his prey, Pokkle knew how matters would play out. He’d either succeed on his own, or he’d fail on his own. His prey, if it never detected his presence, wouldn’t have a part in deciding the outcome. Everything was in Pokkle’s hands, from start to finish. He knew the script and what precisely he was holding out for as he sat still, waited, and watched.
Now, Pokkle was trapped, waiting and watching for something he didn’t know. All he could do was strive to diminish whatever risks he imagined existed, but he couldn’t tell for certain if his precautions would play off, or if factors coming down to nothing more than pure chance would ruin him anyway.
The fire, which hadn’t been built up with enough fuel to last more than an hour, needed tending, or it would burn down to embers long before nightfall. Pokkle considered letting it die. Perhaps the flickering and wavering shadows on the walls were making the two anxious elk more skittish, since they might register as hidden threats dancing around in every corner. He’d almost made the final choice to let the fire go and endure the cold when he looked up towards the larger, more serene of the three elk and held its gaze a second time.
The elk’s dark face was hard to make out in the growing dim, but, at the moment, it looked as if there were less cautious hostility in its eyes than before. After a pause, it snorted and shook its head, as though shaking off a fly. Along with this went its entire pretense of standing on guard, and it lowered itself to its knees, settling on the ground near the mouth of the cavern. The two others picked out spaces to settle down as well, their entire demeanors transforming, growing suddenly calmer and quieter. Pokkle, who’d stared in astonishment at the other two following the bolder elk’s lead, looked back to the bolder elk again, but it’d already turned away to stare out at the snow.
Reassured, Pokkle moved slowly towards the fire, bringing it back from the brink after tending to it for a bit. The cave was full of light again. The boldest elk grunted as the sudden heat flared up and warmed its flank. Pokkle couldn’t tell if this was a sound of approval or a dismissive snort. Could elk critique anything? Pokkle was a Magical Beast Hunter, but he wasn’t a human encyclopedia on the intelligence and general disposition of every animal that existed in the entire world. His skills went more towards memorizing a beast’s magical abilities and knowing general characteristics about its behavior depending on if it were a prey animal or a predator, and where it fit into its biological niche. When it came to his working knowledge of creatures like common elk and other cervids, he’d only really studied how to track them and keep them from detecting his presence before he got a good shot. He’d never expected to end up trapped in such close quarters with three large elk in the middle of a raging snowstorm, where knowing a little more than how to capture or kill them might be relevant.
Pokkle sat back against the wall and reached for his pack. He took out some provisions, assessing and re-rationing them out in relation to his change of circumstances. He didn’t know how long the snowstorm would last, but the forecast hadn’t hinted at anything that’s take longer than a night. It was a heavy enough storm to be inconvenient, but it wouldn’t trap him. If anything, it’d only make navigation slower and the going more cumbersome.
In the best-case scenario, the storm would slow the thieves he was perusing enough that he’d be lying in wait to catch them before they could disappear into the criminal underground. There was so much time to make up for still. He could only hope he was better and faster than they were, though a voice in the back of his mind told him such hopes could be in vain. He wasn’t from this region and didn’t know the terrain as well as criminals who made a living poaching in this forest. Perhaps his limited experience was enough of a disadvantage that….
Pokkle gritted his teeth and made a small sound of irritation, driving the looming thought of failure from his mind by getting annoyed at it for even crossing his mind. He clenched the protein bar in his hand so tightly it crumbled in its bag. One of the anxious elk went still and watched him, but Pokkle ignored it. The boldest one made a sound, and the anxious elk relaxed and looked away. A second later, once he’d calmed down, Pokkle decided to eat the crushed protein bar now, for dinner. Then, he’d settle in for a long night of waiting out the storm.
As Pokkle knocked back the crumbs of crushed protein bar, he noticed that something about the brightness within the cavern seemed to linger longer than it should have. He’d been avoiding staring at the elk directly in case it was interpreted as a challenge, but now he looked over and noticed for the first time that, while two of the elks’ coats had long since lost their blankets of snow and ice, one remained splattered all over with white.
Pokkle gaped and dropped the quarter of a protein bar in his hand.
It was a Frost Elk.
The elk was a younger male, smaller than the other two, and one of the anxious pair that’d been eyeing Pokkle with so much concern since they’d arrived. It was braver than the one that’d startled at Pokkle crushing a protein bar, looking perfectly content and safe where it sat, the closest of the three elk to Pokkle and the fire. It sensed his stare as it lingered and looked back, almost as if it were asking him what the matter was. Pokkle dropped his gaze and collected the provisions from the cavern floor along with the open protein bar wrapper that thankfully hadn’t spilled. He hastily finished it and shoved everything else back into his pack, not daring to look up again as his mind began to race.
More likely than not, he was already too late to catch the thieves. He’d only brought along enough food and gear to get him to the border and back. Deep down, he’d always expected that this first part of his mission to fail, but he hadn’t reached the border yet to prove it. Though slim, he stubbornly held on to the possibility he’d somehow intercept the thieves if he pressed on as hard as he could, because the last thing he wanted to do was hunt a Frost Elk, not only because it’d be a waste of life, but also because the biggest hurdle hunting Frost Elk wasn’t just scarcity, but also time. A Frost Elk was only clearly distinguishable from a Great Grey Elk during what more or less the most dangerous time of year to be traversing the forest. Adding to the pressure was the fact that there was no knowing how many weeks it’d take to find another Frost Elk if he let the one in front of him go. He might not see another for the rest of the season and have to come back next year. Someone else might be hired under the assumption that he’d failed twice already and wasn’t reliable. What would that do to his reputation? In a few months from now, it was unlikely the disappointed villagers would remember the circumstances he’d been forced to work under. He’d been sent to capture thieves days after they’d struck the village, right before the region’s characteristically bad winter weather had taken a turned for the worst. Failing that, he’d been expected to hunt a Frost Elk, an animal as elusive as it was highly sought after, in peak storm season through to winter’s end, when the elk would begin to shed. Nothing about the mission’s conditions was ideal. A year from now, those details would all be forgotten, and he’d only be known as the Beast Hunter who’d arrived and failed at, what on paper, seemed the most straightforward and simple request a village could make.
Pokkle couldn’t help but cast a few linger side-glances towards the Frost Elk, reaffirming that wasn’t covered in snow, that the color of its coat was how the fur itself grew. The anticipation welling inside him was growing too much. He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and adjusted his position so that he was sitting cross-legged on the ground in reach of the fire.
Sitting with his legs crossed under him wasn’t the safest position to take in uncertain circumstances. If the elk shied and bolted around the cavern, he’d have waste precious fractions of a second in reaction time to uncross his legs before springing up and away. He hadn’t chosen the position for his own safety, however. The elk were also sitting in a position they couldn’t easily spring up from, making his overall disadvantage against them negligible. Instead, the sitting posture worked to hold Pokkle back psychologically, since making it superficially more difficult to act lessened his temptation to do so. He knew himself and knew that he didn’t want to kill the Frost Elk, despite his logical mind telling him it’d be the best choice and his only guarantee for success. One arrow would be all it took. The other two elk would run away in fear and horror, or else he’d kill them, too. Then, he could skin the Frost Elk, saw off its antlers, and bring these items back with him to the village without having to worry about chasing after thieves.
It’d be simple. It’d be okay. Frost Elk and Great Gray Elk were the same thing. The species wasn’t in danger of dying out. It was just a coat color Pokkle was after.
The easy choice, however, wasn’t the right choice. Pokkle still had an obligation to chase down the thieves. Catching them would make an example to others. It could reduce the chance of further, similar thefts occurring in the future. Letting them get away with stealing from the village now would only embolden them. Instead of poaching, stealing from villages would become a viable alternative. The Frost Elk pelt and antlers Pokkle brought back would be whisked away in another year, becoming someone else’s problem. Ultimately, no village in the region would ever be able to hold a Frost Elk pelt again, not unless they fought back. Then, the cost wouldn’t just be the lives of elk, but the lives of human beings warring for possession of something as arbitrary as a variation in coat pattern.
This was why Pokkle fought to restrain himself. He wanted accolades, he wanted respect, but he didn’t want it gained through oversight and laziness. If he succeeded, it had to be in the proper way. Failing the mission outright was more valuable than cheating or taking an easy way out. In his heart, he was still sore about gaining his Hunter License through circumstances he perceived as little more than chance. His opponent in the final test, Killua, had refused to fight him, saying he wasn’t worth it and granting him an automatic victory. When Pokkle was at a low point, it felt as if he’d never been truly tested to see if he’d deserved his license yet, regardless of all the other tests he’d passed leading up to the final. To make matters worse, his Nen skills had taken so long to develop. Therefore, whenever he came close to failure, the feeling that he’d gamed the system on accident would crop up at the back of his mind. He’d never asked for anything to be handed to him the way Killua had handed him his victory. He’d never wanted to take advantage a situation so that he’d win at the expensive of striving to earn his victory. He actually wanted to strive. He needed to work hard to prove he was capable, so that there’d be no question he’d achieved something himself, by his own merit.
Pokkle gripped his knees and tried to clear his head before his mind began to spiral into useless thoughts heading in the wrong direction. He tried to think practically instead, and endless half-formed plans began circling around instead. He could trap the Frost Elk, leave it behind just in case. But, what if it escaped? What if another poacher or a trapper found it first? What if Pokkle just knowing it was behind him, tethered somewhere for later “just in case”, caused him to unconsciously do the least bit possible to complete the first condition of his mission? Didn’t something like that mean he’d already given up on himself now, only a day before reaching the border? >Hadhe already given up on himself?
Pokkle refused to entertain the thought.
The storm would taper off in the night, but Pokkle couldn’t set out safely until dawn. To make waiting easier and divert his thoughts, Pokkle walked himself through a series of Nen cultivation exercises, focusing on the aura around his body and refining its flow. After a rough start full of momentary distractions and wandering thoughts, his mind began to clear, and his heart calmed. He remained in this state for most of the night in lieu of sleeping. He only stirred when brave elk sitting nearest to the entrance moved its head to peer fixedly out into the softly falling snow, studying it. Pokkle pulled himself back from his meditative state and turned to look over as well. The weather, at last, seemed to be clearing up.
The fire was low, reduced to embers. Pokkle prodded at it and gathered some reserved branches to build it up again. The brave elk shifted its weight and then rose with a huff to its feet. The other two stood and took a few wobbling steps as well, both looking expectantly to their leader while occasionally eyeing Pokkle with serene disinterest. The growing fire made the shiest elk concerned enough to sidestep away after a sudden, but soft, crack. The Frost Elk, on the other hand, encouraged by the hours spent in Pokkle’s presence without incident, lowered its nose towards the warmth without getting any closer. Pokkle looked it straight in the eyes.
“Get out,” he said. The Frost Elk froze and stared at him, startled by the sound of words there was no chance it understood. Pokkle held its gaze a little longer, and then looked down into the heart of the fire.
This was an important lesson: he needed to assign one of his Nen arrows the ability to leave a tracer on his prey. It should be small, like a dart or a needle. He’d have to set restricts to determine how it’d affix itself to the target and for how long it’d remain in place. At the advice of his Nen instructor, Pokkle had kept a few unassigned arrows on his fingers for just this sort of thing. Nen abilities were supposed to be developed and evolve over time as one learned more about themselves and how they operated using their powers. A modification that’d determine the use of an entire finger, however, would need more time and a clear head to construct. One had to set limits, conditions, consider every advantage and disadvantage, whether a tracer was a valuable use of an entire arrow slot or not. Maybe he could modify an arrow that already existed? One also had to keep in mind that, although right at this very moment creating a tracer felt like the smartest choice in the world, maybe later, in some other situation, things might seem different. He’d been warned not to be too impulsive and let his arrogant self-assurance decide in two seconds what needed several days to mull over. It was important to wait. He had to hold back before making a rash decision. It was all about making the best choice.
The three elk departed while Pokkle stared into the fire and deliberated with himself in painstaking detail, drowning out every other thought with overflowing concerns about his Nen ability. By the time he finally tore himself away, the three elk were long gone. Pokkle sighed and slumped back, shutting his eyes to get in more of a nap than a full night’s sleep before dawn arrived and it was time to head out.
As expected, the snow had ceased falling. The eerie stillness in the air pressed hard on Pokkle’s ears as he cautiously stuck his head out of the cavern entrance. Conditions were good enough to travel, albeit with even greater caution than ever before. He doused the dying embers of the fire and headed off towards the border, picking his way with the utmost care to avoid falls and the occasional hidden mouth of a ravine whose rounded, snow covered edges blurred into a background of identical stones and underbrush all blanketed by the same thick cover of snow. He went as quietly as he could as well, careful not to completely drown out the surrounding forest noises with the crunch of snow compacted underfoot. In such a densely wooded area, he might hear his adversary before he spotted them, especially if they were moving in a group and bearing a heavy load. The thieves would never imagine someone might be out here looking for them, especially after the storm that’d just passed. Plus, they were only a half hour away from the border. For all intents and purposes, they were in the clear, and could let down their guard.
Pokkle arrived at the narrow road leading up to the mountain pass that marked the end of the pure, untamed wilderness as it gave way to a system of established trails and the remnants of on-and-off again human development back when what were now mostly smuggling routes had been vital pathways through the mountains. The trees in this region were thinner, since more of them had been periodically cut down, and the paths were broad enough to make even when they were buried in snow. And yet, although the wilderness had officially ended here, but there were no signs of life other than Pokkle and a few small, scurrying animals that fled upon hearing his approach.
Pokkle frowned and doubled back. He took to the trees and observed the various paths joining road from above so as not to disturb the faintest traces of footprints below. So much care turned out to be unnecessary. No-one had passed through the area for some time, especially not after the recent storms. Pokkle was probably the first person there in over a week. It seemed obvious he must’ve passed the thieves at some point. They might’ve found inadequate shelter or dawdled in the forest. It was possible they’d even gotten lost if they’d been caught by the storm unawares. Pokkle didn’t like the idea of having to hunt the entire forest for them, which would be tedious work with no guarantee he’d find them before someone or something else did. He groaned and climbed up into a tree with branches wide enough to conceal himself. There was no way to know this early what exactly happened. The best he could do was settle in for a bit and wait.
Hours passed, and still no sign. Since he was using Gyo periodically to survey the area, Pokkle wouldn’t have missed someone passing with the pelt and antlers. Long venerated items in such pristine condition stood out like beacons in landscapes with relatively low concentrations of accumulated aura. A formless doubt began to gnaw at the back of his mind. He didn’t want to get caught in another storm out here where the tree cover was so thin. Instead of taking his chances waiting exposed forever along the road, Pokkle decided scout more of the area using Gyo. It’d be easier to get the drop on the thieves if they were still in the forest anyway. He could use the trees as cover as he aimed his arrows.
The only traces along the ridge were those Pokkle had left himself. Gradually, he expanded his perimeter, growing more certain and he searched that the thieves had been driven off course in the storm. It was impossible for them to have reached the pass before him without leaving any evidence. None were supposed to have been Nen users. They were average humans bearing a large pelt and full set of antlers. To continue forward through the storm would’ve been too great a risk considering the dangerous terrain.
At last, as he reached the limits of the widest search perimeter he’d set so far, Pokkle spotted lines of broken snow cutting a trail through the forest. The markings turned out to be three sets of narrow tracks with round points on the ends like punctuation marks. He dropped down from the tree he’d been perched on to take a closer look, despite the fact the tracks obviously weren’t human. Actually, they were the tracks of three unusually large cervids, one of which had been so massive it’d left behind the clear, deep imprints of hooves that didn’t drag as deeply through the snow when they were lifted like the other two. Pokkle’s mind flashed back to group of Great Grey Elk from before, the young Frost Elk among them. His heart beat faster as the temptation to abandon his search and follow after the elk instead surged up within him.
This time, Pokkle didn’t resist. He couldn’t say what exactly he was after as he followed the three lines of winding elk tracks deeper into the forest, allowing them to lead him far away from the more navigable terrain used by most woodsmen and trappers when passing through the area. As the trees and boulders lining the path grew denser, he remembered how a Frost Elk was said to be one of the last things a wanderer was supposed to see before dying alone in the forest. At the moment Pokkle felt perfectly fine and healthy and in control of his own situation. It was cold, of course, but he wasn’t about to die of it. He chided himself for even entertaining the thought, suspecting the only reason he’d remembered such a ridiculous superstition was because of guilt, since he was moving deeper into the heart of the forest while ignoring his mission to catch the thieves first. He was heading off course in pursuit of the Frost Elk now, though he still wasn’t convinced whether or not he intended kill it once he found it.
The tracks came together before a broad clearing, the elk having formed a single-file line before they proceeded. Pokkle was cautious about entering an open area with so much unbroken snowfall. Dangerous falls might await him just behind a drift, ready to swallow him up and trap him until spring if he slipped and tumbled down. He went slowly, keeping close to the path cut through the snow by the elk themselves. After a few dozen feet, however, the tracks ended abruptly, though there were no signs of any of the elk nearby. It was as if they’d taken off into the sky, or had flickered out of existence mid-stride. Pokkle paused and, as a precaution, got down into a defensive position, drawing an orange Nen arrow. He listened close, but the only sound was a soft breeze and the occasional cracking of trees in the cold, their branches protesting the weight of the snow they’d been laden with.
Despite the strange circumstances he suddenly found himself in, Pokkle remained oddly calm. His sense of danger hadn’t been triggered yet, and he trusted that sense even more than he did his Nen. Elk didn’t frighten him, even if they could fly or teleport or otherwise utterly conceal their presence in a supernatural manner. Magical beasts were Pokkle’s forte. If he ended up the first to discover the magical abilities of the Great Grey Elk, it’d do wonders for his career as a Beast Hunter, even if the current mission never arrived to a satisfactory conclusion.
Pokkle used Gyo, hoping to catch residual signs of Nen use in the area. When he looked in the direction the tracks had been heading before they’d disappeared, he noted a faint glow of aura emanating in an uneven line running perpendicular to his current position. The aura poured out dimly, like light from a downstairs room, leading Pokkle to assumed there was a ravine up ahead and that whatever was given off aura must be inside. Staying low, he crept closer to the source, and was shocked by how suddenly a gorge opened up at his feet. If he hadn’t gotten down and crawled forward, he could’ve easily taken a step too far and slipped, plummeting down what looked to be fair and potentially fatal drop.
Pokkle inched closer to the edge, only enough to peer down and see where the aura was coming from. It was shadowy below, but the snow reflected some of the afternoon sunlight down, allowing him to glimpse a series of crumpled figures. They were three in total, the same as number of elk from earlier, but Pokkle wasn’t sure these figures were elk. The sheet of snow partially burying them wouldn’t have had enough time to cover three fully-grown elk that’d been sheltering in the cavern with Pokkle during the worst of the storm. Plus, what little he could see of the figures wasn’t especially elk-like. A better look with binoculars revealed that they were covered in long, brown fur and slumped over, as still as if they were dead. Indeed, of the three, only one radiated aura, but the flow of that aura off the body was unnatural, being focused in one place and without a definite shape.
Pokkle gritted his teeth and squinted harder, but the only way he’d know for sure what he was looking at was if he went down into the gorge himself and investigate the figures close-up. He didn’t relish the prospect. At least two of the figures had to be dead, or else in a state of Zetsu so complete they’d erased every sign of life from their bodies. With a tired sigh, Pokkle moved away from the edge and prepared to head down. Part of him was convinced, for better or for worse, that these figures had something important to do with the disappearing elk tracks. If Pokkle wanted to figure out the mechanics of this beast’s magical ability, he was going to have to run the risk of taking its bait and enter the gorge, or else skip what might be his only chance to make a real discovery and go home empty-handed.
In anticipation of the terrain, Pokkle had packed plenty of climbing gear. As he made the long and careful preparations for the climb, he debated with himself about his decision. There was a real possibility this might be a trap, but frankly, Pokkle had no way of knowing which action he took would trigger it. Perhaps turning back, the most logical choice if one had any interest in self-preservation, was how the beast actually intended for him to respond. At the same time, Pokkle had needed to use his own Nen to locate the three figures at the bottom of the gorge in the first place, which hinted at the fact that maybe he hadn’t been supposed to discover them at all. Maybe the purpose of the trap was to send him plummeting down the gorge to his death after them, becoming food for whatever was lying in wait below. If Pokkle hadn’t spotted the strange aura rising up from the gorge and been put on his guard, then following the path the disappearing elk tracks had point in would’ve easily resulted in just such an outcome.
Pokkle resolved himself to the trip down as he grasped the rope and lowered his body, taking his first step over the edge into nothing and feeling for a foothold in the wall. Nothing jumped out and grabbed him, which was a good sign. One major drawback of fighting with arrows was the fact that, if even one of his hands was otherwise occupied, he couldn’t easily react to a threat. As an emitter, he had a natural inclination to stay out of the immediate fray, so this weakness normally didn’t get in his way. At times such as the present, however, crawling down an icy rock wall into a shadowy gorge towards potential danger, Pokkle wished he’d come up with some better alternative measures to defend himself.
Everything was quiet at the bottom of the gorge. He’d set himself down as close to the slumped figures as possible in order to keep the climbing rope attached to his waist. There might be deeper drops further ahead, or some other hazard he’d need to pull himself out of. He reached the figures in a few strides, never deactivating Gyo in case whatever creature was emanating aura made any sudden moves. So far, everything was around him was still, as if the entire world frozen in the cold. He moved close enough to touch the first figure in the group, but by that point, he didn’t need to turn it over to tell what it was.
The slumped figure was the broken and battered corpse of a person dressed in thick furs who’d been laying here dead for some time after a lethal fall.
The other two figures were the same, two more broken humans. Pokkle moved towards the source of the aura next with greater confidence than before, certain he knew what it had to be.
A moment later, he’d tugged free a corner of the ancient pelt of the village’s venerated Frost Elk remains. After confirming the antlers were bundled inside, he shoved it back into the pack it’d been carried in by the dead thief and his comrades. He cut the pack loose from the shoulders of the corpse and tied it securely to himself with some of the slack from the climbing rope. Then, without wasting another minute, he turned back to the wall to start the arduous climb up and out of the gorge.
Whatever trap had been set here during the storm, it’d caught Pokkle’s prey for him and graciously left them untouched long enough for him to retrieve the Frost Elk pelt. He was thankful for the convenience, but didn’t want to think about it any more than that. He felt strangely sober now that his original mission was back at the forefront of his mind. Magical beast or not, he needed to bring the pelt back. He and the pelt wouldn’t be safe until he got away from here, this gorge, this deep part of the forest, and the stormy sky that could take a turn for the worse and trap him like the thieves at the bottom of some other steep drop.
Pokkle mentally apologized to the three slumped over figures he was leaving behind for not being able to do much for them. They’d have to wait until someone came to find them. Pokkle would try his best to remember the location and notify the authorities when he got back, perhaps even offer to lead them on the recovery mission. For now, though, he could only leave the three as they were, exposed and alone in the cold.
When Pokkle reached the wall of the gorge, he planted his foot and looked up, ready to start climbing. Only then did he spot the heads of three Great Grey Elk, one of them a Frost Elk, staring down at him curiously. He tugged with mild apprehension on the climbing rope, but it held firm. All he could do was take it in good faith that these elk weren’t a threat, that he wasn’t someone they wanted to trap in the gorge, too. They shouldn’t have a reason to evoke some mysterious Nen ability against him, not when he meant them no harm and was leaving.
Just to be sure they were on the same page, Pokkle couldn’t help but speak up towards them in an oddly normal voice. “I’m taking this back to the village,” he said, meaning the pelt. He paused and then, figuring it might as well be the case, added, “Thanks for helping me find it.”
Just like in the cave, his Gyo didn’t reveal anything special about the three elk. They were just three normal elk, staring down at him. If not for the odd sense of expectation he got from them, as though they were waiting to see him climb with greater interest than an average elk would normally express, Pokkle wouldn’t have found anything extraordinary about them whatsoever. Only the typical spiritual energy that flowed around all living beings flowed around them and up into the sky.
The largest one lowered its head and snorted at the ground, as if commenting on Pokkle’s long stare and transitioning away from an uncomfortable lull in a conversation. It then shook its head and turned away. The two others lingered a bit longer, with the smaller Great Grey Elk mimicking the larger one by snorting at the ground before it finally departed. The last to go was the young Frost Elk. It didn’t make a sound or shake its head at him dismissively. Instead, it stared at Pokkle, took a step away, and then looked back. After several long seconds, as if struggling to pull itself away, the Frost Elk was gone.
Pokkle, likewise, stared unblinkingly at the place where the three elk had been standing even after they’d moved on, feeling confused but not concerned. For some strange reason, nothing about this really struck him as odd. Perhaps a Hunter merely took it on face value when such things occurred. Perhaps that was the fundamental difference in his disposition from anyone else’s. Instead or worry, he only felt a mild sense of intrigue and excitement, as though he were on the verge of some mystery in the world, like a door that been left unlocked for him to open and explore beyond.
The pack on Pokkle’s back slipped slightly, and he readjusted its position. It’d be a hassle to lose it while climbing and have to head all the way back down to retrieve it. He sighed and thought of the empty alter wall in the village temple. The mysteries of the Great Grey Elk would have to wait a few days for him to head back and resupply. Hopefully the weather didn’t take an early turn for the worse in the meantime. Technically, there were a few more weeks left until the region was rendered utterly non-traversable by storms.
Planning his next, self-appointed mission to track and study the Great Grey Elk in winter, Pokkle gripped the rope and pulled himself and the Frost Elk pelt up and out of the gorge. The original elk tracks mingled with his own were still there at the top, along with a new set winding off in another direction. This time, Pokkle successfully fought the urge to follow them deeper into the forest, and instead, began his long trek back to civilization.