THE RED HUNTER

Chapter 14. A fang of a norvone

First Hunt, task two

Pain brings resourcefulness.

Her mind was at war with itself as she stood in the clearing on the centre of the arena. The hastily bandaged arm did little to dull the pain, the throbbing in her forearm mirroring the drumming stomps.

You are not a fucking quitter. You've broken this arm thrice, it's not an unfamiliar pain.

But then again, she still had two tasks ahead. Oryan didn't even have enough time to recover from the first task, they were already launching her into the second.

Only two more tasks. That's a fucking lot. You've done worse. Not as much in one single day. You'll be fine. I might die. You've faced norvones before. Pull yourself together, Oryan, for Hjalthalla's sake.

The thunder of feet stopped, which meant the norvones had been released.

She had decided to change the approach. There were probably two norvones and they would go together. They liked the shadows of the forest, so she would head there first and wait in an ambush.

The morning fog of a winter morning was giving way to a heavily clouded sky, casting a dull light over the arena. The air still smelled of rain.

She knew the small building that lodged the huntees going through the First Hunt was east. The gates from where they had entered were south. West, where she faced, was mostly rocks so the norvones wouldn't go there. Which left north as the most likely place from where the Council 'freed' the skadvig into the arena. Even if they came from a gate on the westwall, she still had a fifty percent chance of finding them in the trees north.

Her ears moved like a cat's, her eyes squinted for focus, her hand gripping the hilt of the sword as she headed to the small gathering of trees to her right, passing right next to the second yuxilae's body. The air was cool, and her heart went back to a normal pace.

She stopped at the base of a tall tree and inspected it. The trunk was solid. The branches felt sturdy. That would do. Oryan sheathed back her sword and climbed up the tree as fast as she could but her arm was a constant reminder that she was not in full possession of all her physical abilities. With a groan, she hoisted herself up and sat on a large branch, sweating. And waited for the wolf-looking skadvigs to pay her a visit. A much bigger wolf, with fur like blades covering all its body. Yes, definitely a safe hunt.

Her eyes fixated the ground below but everything was peaceful. If concentrated enough, she would be able to imagine she wasn't on her First Hunt. She was climbing the tree on the morning of the winter's solstice to breathe fresh, cold air, to forget every responsibility, to clear her head from any unwanted thoughts. And lately, there have been many. And if the norvones wouldn't come around for the next five minutes, she would dive into the spiral of thoughts of that corner, again. How she wished more than ever that they would show. At least, as long as she was in battle, all her mind was focused on what it should be. That is why stealth has never been her strongest. She usually left that part to Ev.

Enough time had passed for her to notice there weren't any birds in the arena. Naturally. Which reminded her she wasn't in a forest, relaxing, but in a place designed for death.

The unsettling silence was broken by the crunching of dry leaves. Oryan crouched on the branch and followed the slow, repeated sound with her eyes. The sound paused as a muzzle stopped by a tree to sniff the grass around it the way a dog does. Her lips curved in a smile. It was the only one. She whistled like she had done to lure the yuxilae and waited for the norvone to sneak out from behind the large trunk just enough to attack. Once all the head was visible, she threw a dagger with her left arm, using the other to steady. The forearm protested, of course, but she pushed it a little further to climb down the tree as the norvone fell to the side with a thud.