The Refuge

PROLOGUE

To hunt successfully, you must know your ground, your pack and your quarry.
                     —K. J Parker

Venturing into the woods outside Steelfort’s cold, metal walls never grew old on Gael Davenport, not one bit. The experience was always new and invigorating, because, unlike Steelfort, nature changed. Nature breathed, grew, and lived. Outside the city walls, the seasons truly flourished. The bird calls in the spring weren’t drowned out by traffic and industry, and the trees grew mightily, displaying the full beauty of autumn in red and golden leaves that eventually fell to revitalize the earth. 

A fresh breeze washed over Gael’s face as he cruised along in a rusty maroon pickup truck, all the windows rolled down to allow the clean air from outside to enter the cab. His hands danced on the steering wheel as he turned off the predictable asphalt road and onto a dirt lane riddled with bumps, cracks, and indentations. He continued down this path for a while, until even the dirt road gave way to light brush. Thankfully, Gael’s truck was as stalwart as its driver, so they proceeded deeper into the woods. 

Eventually, Gael reached a point where his truck could no longer proceed. Trees began to grow in closer clusters, the bushes and ferns reached higher, and the terrain itself lent itself far less to safe driving. He parked the weather-beaten vehicle outside a cluster of saplings with golden leaves and stepped out. 

With the low hum of the truck’s engine gone, Gael could fully take in the paradoxical atmosphere of the woods. Out here, the air felt decisively more still than within the walls of Steelfort, but yet it also buzzed with sound and activity of its own. Birds sang and trilled from the treetops, and if Gael listened closely, he could faintly make out the sound of a bubbling brook with croaking frogs near it. In all, the woods carried a distinctly active silence. 

Gael headed to the back of his truck and began rummaging for supplies to assist him in his hunting venture. First, he wriggled into his backpack, well-stocked with snacks, a first aid kit, and a waterproof blanket in case the worst case scenarios made themselves reality. Then he slung a pair of binoculars around his neck, and lastly, hoisted a rifle from the back of the truck with an air of seriousness. 

Trudging through the damp brush with the rifle in his hands, Gael’s thoughts strayed to memories of hunting in these same woods with his father. Everything he’d learned about shooting a gun, tracking through the woods, transporting a kill…it’d all been from his father. A pang of sadness washed through Gael as he wished they could be reliving one of those memories at this very moment. 

The hunt itself took little conscious thought on Gael’s part; he simply acted on the instincts his father had taught him. Creeping through the woods with shadows and bushes concealing his position, along with the camouflage clothes he wore, Gael became essentially an inconspicuous piece of the landscape. Occasionally, he would come to a complete stop to regain his bearings and glance about with the binoculars. After all, hunting wouldn’t properly begin until he found some game to specifically track down and shoot. 

During one such check, he spotted a prime target--a healthy doe making her way along the bank of a shallow creek and stopping here and there to forage. The brush between Gael and the deer would serve him well, sparse enough to advance without getting tangled and caught, while also thick enough to offer complete cover. Not only that, but based on the current wind conditions, the doe would be unable to catch Gael’s scent. 

For hundreds of paces, Gael found his advance inconspicuous and unencumbered. But then peeking ahead, his heart sunk in dismay. A stretch of blackberry brambles awaited him farther on, branches riddled with thorns and prickly leaves. Though his hunting garb wouldn’t easily be torn by the thorns, they still had a tendency to catch on the fabric and then rustle upon release, completely negating any stealth he’d previously possessed.