Hunter of Midnight

Ch.2 Sword and Bow

Even in the afternoon, the cold is brutal.

It bites at my face and ears with teeth of iron, and it has yet to let go. At this point, I doubt it ever will. My skin's gone numb to the initial prickles from the cold. Hours in this position has made me stiff. Popping each of my joints, I readjust myself upon the tree branch. Laying back on the trunk of the tree, I once again turn my eyes back to the frigid white of the snowy forest floor.

The cramps in my abdomen have built up slowly over time. It's almost a relief when I finally hear my stomach's groan of annoyance. The ache is enough to make me grit my teeth. Swallowing hard, I try to focus on the snow. It's unlikely that there are any animals left, but I have to shoot my shot. Literally. My fingers stay locked tight on the grip of my bow. There has to be something left in this forest for me to shoot, there has to be.

This is bad. I always feel too hot or too cold, and like I'd be on the verge of faint if I flinch too hard. My head spins whenever I sit up too fast, making all my senses go numb. From both this starvation and the cold, my lips have cracked to the point of bleeding. I don't know how much longer I have. All I know is that if I can't get food some time this week, I will die.

I'll die this week...

Slamming my fist into the trunk of the tree, I feel the icy rush of snow all down my face and back. It slips past all my layers of clothing, going straight for my skin, the cold biting at my tailbone. I fight the dizziness before I slip and fall off of the tree. I shake out my clothes the best I can, refocusing on the ground once again as I try to regain lost warmth.

I have to remind myself that this is better. These small moments of discomfort, the little aches and pains I feel. A little prick on my wrist, some scraped knuckles, a bruised arm. The physical pain is better than what goes on in my head. I'd rather worry about something I can see than... whatever goes on in there.

Slipping on an arrow and adjusting it so that it is pressed up against the nocking point, I raise my shortbow. Carefully, I pull back on the string. Closing my eyes, I suck in the freezing air. With my eyes closed, I try to focus on the wind rustling between the slender branches of the trees.

As I focus on the branches, their crashing gets louder. The noise grows, until it no longer sounds like branches. The sound rings out like swords crashing, and for a moment I swear I hear screaming. They are screams of agony and screams of triumph. It all roars in my head like a crowd in an arena, or soldiers on a battlefield. For a moment, I swear I hear my name.

"Ari Dalthus..."

Opening my eyes, I don't see the forest in front of me. I see a massive snake, its scales black like tourmaline and its eyes red like blood. The snake rises up to meet me in the trees, hissing my name. "Ari Dalthus..."

I shut my eyes and fire the arrow. The sharp whistle of it flying through the air is all I hear. Beneath me, the branch wobbles with the recoil of the shot. The next thing I hear is a crack before I feel the world fall out from beneath me.

Shit.

My scream echoes in the forest as I fall. Branch after branch. By the time my back slams into the packed snow, the remaining branches and twigs all crashing down on top of me, I'm looking up at the destruction I caused.

I broke nearly every damn branch in that tree on my way down. All of that, and I see no trace of that massive snake. It's just the naked oak trees, the wind passing through them to make them hiss with laughter.

"Hey mister, are you okay?"

I shut my eyes again.

This has to be a dream. I did not just make a fool out of myself in front of someone else. With my eyes still shut tight, I start to hear and feel the branches being pulled off of me.