THE HUNTRESS #1 [EB]

1_The_First_And_Last_Hunt.docx

Forêt du Risoux, Vallée de Joux,
Saturday 25 October 2121.

The mountain stood as a majestic colossus, a timeless guardian disappearing into the sky. She concealed herself within its embrace, nestled amid luxuriant vegetation, her gaze fixed on the stream winding at its base. The wait proved worthwhile; her prey, a formidable beast, emerged at a prudent distance. The creature, with resonant steps, came to a halt beside the water. The last vestiges of sunlight filtered through the tree leaves, casting golden highlights upon its form as if in its brutality, there existed an indomitable beauty.

The beast inclined to drink, its lengthy, coarse tongue skimming the surface of the stream—a gesture almost tender, a reminder that even the most formidable creatures held a connection with the earth itself. However, she lingered not to ponder nature's intricacies; her purpose was the hunt. Adjusting her stance, the bowstring slid through her fingers, imparting a texture as rugged and refined beneath the fabric enveloping her skin. The impact rang out with precision, a blunt, visceral sound, and the beast erupted in a roar. A profound bellow that saturated the air, reverberating within the mountain's confines like a challenge issued to death itself. Nearby birds took flight in response, and it was then that the beast ascended onto its hind legs.

The subsequent arrow sought its mark in the beast, evoking an inaudible growl that stirred a primal disquiet inside her. With the bow slung over her shoulder, she crouched behind the bushes, observing as the beast resumed its posture on all fours.

"Come on..." she murmured.

It wasn't long before, with a final gasp, the beast succumbed upon the rocks of the stream. Blood mingled with water, staining it in a dark hue that descended down the mountain. A contented sigh, framed by a smile, dissipated into the air. The brown bear would more than suffice to replenish the provisions at home until the next hunt.

Several years prior, father had constructed a wooden cart for transporting the prey, yet she preferred the more primitive method of dragging the massive beast along the ground. She kicked it downhill, following a path etched in her memory since childhood, seizing its hind legs to pull it across level ground. She traversed the trails, reminiscing about the flu that had plagued the shelter days ago, gathering every fir leaf she could find. The winter landscape offered limited choices, but it sufficed for her concoctions to alleviate the affliction.

Upon reaching the shelter, renovated by father a decade ago, her backpack overflowed. The dwelling stood as a quiet haven, modest in size, enclosed by a straightforward three-meter-high wooden wall—a stark contrast to the fortifications safeguarding the Headquarters of the Grand Alliances.

There, in the serene embrace of the forest, resided eleven souls, including herself. Nine carried the fervour of Italy within their veins, while three were children. When the only remaining echo was the sound of branches crunching beneath her steps, her hand sought the reassuring warmth of her most cherished dagger.

The forest's whispers appeared to amplify amid the birds' fluttering over the firs, and a resounding thud shattered the air. Afterward, silence ensued—a silence that compressed time and decelerated the universe around her. Scanning the surroundings, the icy wind left a subtle metallic scent on her skin, an essence lingering on her palate.

"Shit—" Abandoning the bear's paws, her strides directed her toward the meadow cradling the shelter. As she neared, several motorcycles came into view, parked alongside large jute sacks.

The thought of father, wounded or lifeless, propelled her into action. Unwavering, she maneuvered through the firs encircling the meadow until reaching its rear. With agility, she scaled the wall and descended onto a ground strewn with debris.