Wolf Den - Lìfa-Saga Book 2

I.

The blindingly white snow crunched under her boots as Lìfa slowly placed one foot after the other, her bow in her hand. She kept her eyes on the target as she carefully approached the deer walking among the trees.

The dim winter sun shined on its auburn fur and pitch-black eyes. Its long, elegant legs silently carried the animal forward in the snow, its graceful neck constantly turning around, looking for any danger.

Lìfa quietly settled behind a bush, always paying attention to the direction of the cold, icy wind. With her master, Ivar by her side and watching her every move, she picked an arrow from the quiver on her back. She gently placed it on the string and pulled it back. Lìfa aimed for the chest right behind its first legs to hit its lungs.

To steady her shaking and frozen hands and body Lìfa held her breath back and waited for her heart rate to slow down. She closed the cold, snowy world out, so now only the picture of her prey existed in her sight.

Just when her fingers were about to release the feathered end of the deadly arrow to let it slip through the sharp air, a stick snapped nearby. The deer raised its head, terror shining in its coal-black eyes and with a long jump, it disappeared among the trees again.

"I can't believe it!" Lìfa groaned, pulling her coat closed around her body. With Ivar, they've been walking around the woods for hours without getting anything big. Lìfa shot a few rabbits and birds, but now she was running low on patience and the weather didn't do her any good either. Her boots got soaked in the knee-high snow and despite the thick fur coat, the cold air cut through her bones, making her shiver.

She looked at Ivar, her eyes pleading for finally going home. The corners of her purplish lips curved down as the archer shook his head, sending snowflakes flying off his hat and long hazel hair.

"We agreed. Won't return home till you get something big," he shrugged, grabbing his arrows and already turning away to follow the trails of the deer. "You were the one who wanted to learn how to hunt."

"You were the one who wanted to learn how to hunt." Lìfa grimaced as she repeated his words in a teasing manner, following the boy.

"You know, I can still hear you," Lìfa heard him laughing from a few trees ahead. "More respect for the elders, please!"

"Elder? You're only thirty-eight and talk like an old man!" Happily giggling, Lìfa ran after Ivar deeper into the forest.

"Better be careful who you call an old man!" Ivar sent a big snowball flying towards Lìfa's already red cheeks and nose.

She ducked in the last minute and the snowball slammed into a tree above her head. Quickly, she took a fistful of snow and formed it into a ball, sending it back to Ivar. She hit his head, knocking off his big fur hat. At the sight of his mimicked anger and playful shine in his eyes as he just stood there with his hands on his hips, Lìfa quickly hid behind a tree, waiting for his attack.

"Come on, I promise I won't throw another one! We've got a deer to track down and the sun's going down fast," she heard Ivar's voice and the snow crunching under his feet again.

With her breath forming small white puffs in the air, Lìfa followed the archer. They walked among the hundred years old pine trees rising high to the sky, all covered in the shining white fairy dust. As Lìfa looked around she saw everything to be so still and lifeless. In winter, the forest changed from the green wonderland full of life, scents and songs of the birds into a silent, white land of emptiness. Where in the summertime foxes and wolves walked around, now only the cold winds raced around the trees.

After long minutes, maybe hours of fighting their way through the knee-high snow, they finally found the deer again, wandering aimlessly between the naked frames of bushes.