Red Scar

PROLOGUE-3 The first hunt

She yawned.
A high sound came out of her throat as she yawned, then yawned again. And again. She put a hand on her mouth, and tried to abate the wave of yawns that besieged her . The earlier day, she'd had no food or sleep. Her bony frame was peeking out of her half torn shift and rough, dirty trousers. Her eyes were sleepy, but she could not sleep. She needed to hunt. She needed to eat. Her stomach was in turmoil, aching and growling and giving her no respite. She needed to eat, and eat soon.

There was no breeze today, only a still chillness that spread throughout the line forests that streched across the mountain. The woods were straight and narrow, perfect for building. The leaves were covered with snow. It had been snowing since three days, and it had only stopped today. Of course there was no food because prey were scarce. No, she had seen prey, to be frank. A rabbit. A faraway deer. But she could not hunt them. The summer she survived with gathering and bartering, but now there was nothing to collect, so nothing to eat.

Her dagger was hanging limp in its leather cover fashioned out of skin. The leather was so used it had a roughish smoothness to it, and it felt good to the touch. The woods were her home now, since she had run away, and the dagger was a constant companion. She had killed a few animals too. But they were all easy hunts. This was going to be hard. Harder than others.

She had seen nothing. Perhaps that was because of the fact that she could be seen by the prey. She decided to climb up a tree, and keep watch over the forest beneath her.

She had learned to climb up the trees after a month of living in the forests. She neede another month to master it. Her calloused, rough hand gripped the tree bark and her feet clutched at the bends of the tree. She wiggled her toes slowly, then climbed up the tree. By the time she was at the top, she was huffing slightly.

She looked like a barbarian. Savage. Her attire was very rough and primitive. A simple cotton shift, it streched down to her knees and was cut in the sides to allow mobility. Her shift was torn in several places, in the shoulders, at the edges. The thread was frayed and popping out everywhere. The trousers were originally brown in colour. A soft, good brown. The brown was very much discolored by deep brown of the forest soil and white snow. It was also torn and several leaves and sticks stuck out at places. The shirt's hood was popped on her head, hiding her hair mostly. A few strands were coming out, stray ones that were a soft golden in color and looked like liquid lamplight. Her green eyes looked out from the abode of green leaves like twin lights, framed by a pale face . She looked out, her face serious and blurry in the morning filled with a slight fog.

She looked out from behind the curtain of leaves . The leaves were white too. Her knees were crouched on the crook of branches, and she was almost kneeling downwards, looking at the ground with her hands tightly gripping the wood . The wood's bark was a bit wet from the rain, and felt good to her touch.

She was alert. Her breath was coming out in short, silent puffs of vapour that travelled beneath her and fogged her vision. But her vision was sharp enough nonetheless. The ground beneath her  was covered with a blanket of leaves, trampled by snow and feet. Some her own, and some of other animals. She did realise that she needed to learn to hide her feet to keep off the predators, but she didn't know how to do it. She didn't know a lot. Or she wouldn't be hiding. It was her fault. Her fault to be insufficient in her skills.

She kept her eyes peeled out to the forest. She could she far enough. Her ear was still and looking out to feel any kind of voice that came at her way.  Yeah. No way she'll lose a prey today.

Something soft. A soft sound. Very close. Behind her.

I whipped back my head. Shocked. Someone had evaded my sense of hearing and came so close to me. I was angry at myself, poising my dagger for a strike. A grey something jumped at me. The soft thing. I almost shriek in alarm and surprise. What is this. What is this? My brain was alarmed, blaring out alarms of danger . The soft thing was surprisingly strong. It was a wolf. A predator. A predator set to hunt her, the hunter. Suddenly she had become the prey , and not the others. The wolf knocked her back. Now she screamed as the branch beneath her slipped , broke, and she fell headway to the ground. She was alarmed. The ground was not hard, but as her head struck the soft bed it still felt pain and whirred . She quickly got up , one hand pressing her hand to help her get up and another clutching her painful head. A soft growl sounded inside her stomach. She was hungry. She needed to hunt . But whatif she became the hunt.

The wolf sprung at her from the tree. It landed right in front of her, then bared it's teeth in anger. It wanted her. She released her head and , the other hand still supporting her half kneeling poise, struck out the dagger. It shone in the soft sunlight. The knife was pointed at the wolf. It growled low.

Then it jumped at her. She rolled away from it, a wave of pain wrecking in her bruised and wounded body. But she resisted the pain , rolled and got up from the ground again, facing the beast. The beast jumped again. It's teeth gleamed. She felt...so weak. A sudden fear overcame her. She was already so weak. Could she fight?

She thought, no. So she ducked and ran.

She could hear the wolf following her. It was a lone wolf. There weren't many lone wolves, most of them were in packs. But there were a few lone wolves as well. They were rare, but the lone wolves tended to be stronger than the pack ones. This wolf was one as well. It'd be difficult to kill. Or run from.

Her head was still whirling. Her vision was unsteady, looking out at things three or four times. The trees seemed to be running at her, pressed so close together. Her speed was not much. She could feel the beast catching up. Then she waited. And she turned. Watched the beast come at her. Running. The beast sprang.

Her dagger sang it's way through its throat. Right at the middle. And the strike was clean. A lucky one.

It died .