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Winter came on early, the end of Gloreth's twenty-fourth year. This might not have been a problem, but the harvest hadn't been as bountiful as the village had hoped. To add to their worries, more and more had become ill. Many had died.
For the first time in a long time, it was a woman who led a hunt. Gloreth donned a thick fur cloak and the most recent sword made by their late blacksmith and led those with health and strength to spare into the woods.
Her older cousin, Nathan, was the one who found boar tracks. The sword felt heavy in her hands as she directed the others into specific positions in the woods.
They had to be careful. A fully-grown wild boar could feed them all for at least a month, if they rationed it out properly, but could also easily kill them all.
In the distance, the sounds of howling made her cringe. Thankfully the rest of the party were in position, so none of them could see her momentary weakness. Perfect...we have wolves to look out for, too. Normally they steered clear of the village, but she was well aware of the paths desperation could take.
At least there were no bears. They usually slept through the entire winter season, according to Nimona.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of guilt at the memory of her old friend. Perhaps her mother was right; perhaps she was a monster. Perhaps their village was safer without her in it.
But that did not mean that Gloreth wanted any harm to come to her. Hopefully, wherever she was now, she was safe. Hopefully, she was happy.
In the distance, she saw a flash of red. It was the cloak of another of the village's young; this was Bren, a boy seven years her junior. She and Nathan wouldn't have even entertained the notion of him coming along, but then, this was what desperation had driven them to. He'd made a motion; a wordless signal.
It was safe to move. Well, safe as it would ever be.
She moved slowly, not wanting the crunching of her boots to alert the creature. She kept a wide berth from the hoof prints in the snow, only fully stopping when she came across a clearing.
There it was, a large, bristled lump of brown amidst the fresh white of the snow. Nathan peered at her from behind a tree on the opposite side, brandishing a morning star. To his right, Old Gill (something he called himself since, at thirty-seven winters old, he was now the oldest living man in the village; it made him laugh, and only him) slowly raised up a wooden bow and notched an arrow.
Gloreth held up her sword, which caught the sunlight, which reflected on the creature's back. Old Gill pulled back, aiming for the boar's side.
She swung her sword down, the silent signal they agreed upon. Release.
Old Gill's arrow landed true. With a squeal, the beast got to its hooves. Despite its great size, it moved quickly, beginning to charge. Gloreth's grip on her sword tightened; she held her breath until she saw Old Gill release another arrow, this time into the bristled fur on the hump where its neck met its back.
It managed to determine which direction the arrows were coming from; as it headed in Old Gill's direction, Nathan took his turn to attack, swinging the morning star.
It looked like a powerful blow, but it did nothing to slow the boar down.
"Nathan!" Gloreth didn't bother staying quiet any longer; as the beast knocked over her cousin, she ran in his direction.
Miraculously, he was all right, albeit with the wind knocked out of him. He coughed as she helped him up. "'M fine," he grunted. "But look..."
Gloreth followed the line of his arm and gloved hand. Sure enough, she saw it; the fresh hoof prints in the snow were now accompanied by dark red blood that shined in the sunlight.
"Excellent!" She raised her sword. "It'll lead us right to it."
They moved, with Gloreth in the lead. She could practically taste the roasted, succulent meat; her stomach growled at the thought of it.
Perhaps it was hunger that clouded her judgment. Perhaps it was simple excitement mixed with bloodlust. Either way, she ran ahead, leaving her hunting party behind.
It made it that much easier for her to trip and fall over an embankment. She cried out as she tumbled down. When she tried to right herself, she hissed at the sudden pain in her left ankle.
When Gloreth sat up and opened her eyes, a pair of inhuman gold ones were boring right into hers.
Slowly, she turned her head. Another pair from an equally furry, pointy head, though these ones were pale blue, almost white.
Of course. She'd known there were wolves. And where there was one, there were sure to be more. They traveled and worked in packs; it was made them so dangerous.
As she looked from one pair of black lips pulling back to reveal sharp yellow teeth to another, all she could really say was "Shit."
It wouldn't do for ladies to curse, as her mother kept telling her, but here in the center of mouths that were even hungrier than hers, she couldn't help feeling like she deserved such a rarity.
Over the sounds of low, deep growling, Gloreth managed to pick something else up. It was easy; there were, thankfully, no sharp winds that cut to the bone today.
No; this sound was almost like...
Like...
"Oof!" Something forced itself beneath her arms and raised her up. Then kept on doing so, until she was off her feet.
Gloreth blnked rapidly, taking in the familiar sound of large wings flapping above her. She chanced a look down, and yes; she wasn't mistaken. She was soaring through the air, above the trees and the glittering mounds of snow.
The tree she found herself in was familiar. She could remember a strong arm holding her securely at a furry pink side as she swung through its branches.
"Nimona?"
The one who'd picked her up and flown her away from the hungry wolf pack had taken on a new form. This was an older human girl; stockier. Stronger. She was dressed in furs of dark brown and red and violet, instead of the simple dress and apron she'd worn years ago, and there was a harder look in her eyes.
But Gloreth would have recognized that shade of pink in her hair anywhere.
"So. You remember me." Nimona's lips pulled back much like the wolves, sneering more than smiling.
Instinctively, Gloreth reached for her hip, then cursed again when she realized she felt no pommel. I must have dropped my sword...
"Such language! What would your mother say?"
Gloreth huffed. "Why are you here?"
"For the same reason you're out here, I'm sure." Nimona folded her arms across her chest and pulled her knees up as she leaned against the bark.
"Were you following me?" Gloreth had wondered. She'd been wondering for years what had become of her old friend. But now that they were face to face, memories of her mother's fear, the rest of the village's panic, of the fire, were resurfacing. "You shouldn't! I...I told you not to!"
Why didn't you just stay in the shadows?
"So I shouldn't have saved you just now?" Nimona laughed. It wasn't a kind sound; she clearly didn't think anything was funny. "Well. You're welcome, I suppose. No need to worry; I won't be doing that again."
Gloreth shrank back, the words stealing all the fight from her. "...Why did you?"
Nimona looked at her for the longest time, during which Gloreth could hear the sounds of the wildlife around them, including the wolves she'd just escaped...been saved from...in the distance. With a sigh that fogged around her pinkish human mouth, Nimona tore her gaze from Gloreth. Despite everything, Gloreth couldn't help missing the familiar eye contact.
"I don't know."
There were still no winds. Through the sharp, clear air, it was easy to hear the shouting of the hunting party. They were calling Gloreth's name, desperately trying to find her.
"Well. I guess that's it, then." A pair of demonic red and pink wings manifested from Nimona's back. The movement combined with the unenthusiastic look on her face felt...so very unlike Nimona, it made Gloreth's heart ache. "You wouldn't want them to catch you with the monster again, would you?"
With a flap of her wings, she was gone. Without thinking, Gloreth reached in her direction. "Wait...!"
Nimona didn't listen. She didn't look back. Just as well...if she had, Gloreth didn't know what she would have done or said.
The hunting party miserably made their way back, Nathan allowing Gloreth to heavily lean on him to accommodate her injured ankle. The looks on the other villagers' faces ranged from disappointment to outright despair as they arrived empty-handed.
At least Gloreth's mother was relieved, fussing over her throughout the night, even giving her a ration of severely watered-down stew. It tasted good after spending so long in the cold, but Gloreth couldn't help feeling like there were plenty of others who'd gone without food longer than she had.
I don't deserve this...Despite her exhaustion and the comfort of the fire in the hearth, it was hard to get to sleep that night.
She was awaken by cries in the center of the village. When she managed to limp her way out, her jaw dropped.
Near the entrance of the village was the body of the boar.
As her cousin and Old Gill got to work skinning it, saving its skin for leather and fur and carefully hacking away at meat that would soon fill so many bellies, she began to weep.
She couldn't recall a time when she'd felt so relieved, so grateful...and so ashamed.