Chapter 1
I hiked through the forest, my hand resting on the pommel of my knife. I pulled out my bow and nocked an arrow to it. I pulled the bowstring back until it was tight and aimed it at my target; a deer about as tall as a large pig with a broken leg. I had followed it through the dense forest and had finally caught up with it there. I was in a clear meadow in a small thicket so the deer couldn’t see me.
I let go of the arrow and it flew through the air. The arrow dug into the animals flesh, slicing a deep gash into it’s skin. The deer crumpled and fell to the ground. I walked over to the lifeless corpse and slit the deer’s throat for extra measures. I cut open the deer’s stomach and watched as blood trickled down the sides of it’s brand-new wound. I cut the head off of the deer and set it aside. I sliced through the deer until the meat it so effortlessly stored was small enough to fit into the satchel slung off of my shoulder.
I walked away from the rest of the deer’s body parts and walked back into the edge of the forest. As I descended up a small hill at the opening of the forest, I saw crows from the corner of my eye, land on the deer’s bones and peck at the little bits of leftover flesh that was still attached to the bone.
I kept walking until I came upon the village gates from where I lived inside.
“Open the gates.” I yelled up to an archer on the wall that surrounded the border of my village.
“Right away.” The archer said.
The gate opened with a slow creak. I walked in and the gates shut slowly behind me. I walked through the village until I was on the outskirts of it. I walked past orchards of apples and strawberries until I came across a rocky path way filled with holes and ditches. I followed the path until I arrived at an old house about seven acres away from the village wall.
I walked into the house and set my bow and quiver on a hook on the door.
“Grandma, I’m home!” I shouted through the silent house.
My grandmother walked into my view and waved at me. I pulled out the meat in my satchel and placed it onto the kitchen table. Then, I walked over to my grandmother and sat next to her. My grandmother couldn’t speak so she wrote down everything, the veins on her hands showed as she picked up a quill to write every time.
She pointed to a painting she was looking at, smiling as tears streamed down her face. She looked at me and handed me the small painting. I looked at it.
There was a girl about sixteen years old with piercing blue eyes and flowing brown hair down to her shoulders, holding a baby that had piercing blue eyes (like her) and jet-black hair sprouting from it’s head. The woman grinned and was looking down at the infant in her arms.
“Is that my mother?” I asked bewildered.
My grandmother nodded, her eyes glassy and smiling as I figured out who it was. I looked down at the picture, realizing that the infant in her arms was me. I hugged my grandmother and stood up.
I walked out the door and over towards the barn to groom my horse. I picked up a wire brush and brushed my horses coarse hair and watched as knots were untied from the horses flowing brown hair. I saddled my horse after that and climbed onto her. I gathered the reins in my hands and flicked them. My horse set off on a leisurely trot. I rode my horse until it was sunset and then walked back inside the house.
When I awoke the next morning, I belted my knife to my waist, grabbed my bow and quiver and strapped them to my back. I walked out the door yelling to my grandmother that I was leaving to go into town and buy feed for our chickens.
