Bearskin

« 1 - Dusk »

Dusk was the best time to hunt. As the night opened its gaping maw and began to devour the sun, Irina prepared for winter.

She learned survival from the animals. That was her father's first lesson, raising her in the village on the edge of the snow. Squirrels buried their food in soil warm enough to turn over. Birds found hot, dry lands to the north where they could rest their heads. Sharp-toothed cats padded along on silent feet, stalking unwary prey over open snow. And bears—the great brown and black bears with claws longer than her hands, shuffling broad-shouldered through the shadows between ancient evergreens, pine sap sticky on their fur—hunted heavy through the moons leading up to the cold and ate themselves into a deep slumber.

Irina was not a squirrel, nor a bird, nor a cat, nor a bear, but she would use every tool she could to ensure her family was fed for winter.

She crouched on the ridge over the little river valley. The trees far below shifted uneasily in the still air. Behind her, a stinging wind howled over the snow, drawing up flakes and flurries that would only grow heavier as the sun sank lower towards the horizon. She was shielded from the worst of it here by a tall hill that separated the valley from the rest of the world and let the trees grow tall and the bushes thick enough to hide prey.

This valley was too far for most hunters. It took too long to reach, with no guarantee of a good hunt. But there was a warm stream here that bubbled up from the earth at one end of the valley, and that was enough to keep green plants and hot-blooded animals alive. Irina liked it, not least because she was unlikely to run into trouble with any other hunter this far out on the snow.

It was the farthest she had ever come from home, and this was the first time she had come without her father. He had said—

Focus, cub. She pushed herself up to standing and brushed loose snow off her trousers.

Something moved in the valley below her, a shadow flitting between bushes. It was small as a fox, not large enough to be the prey she would stalk here for the next half-moon.

Irina tore her eyes away and turned back to her family's camp, carved into the wall of the hill that shaded this place in the sunset. Her father had built a permanent fire pit here in the mouth of a cave hewn from the rock. It was easy enough to reach in the dusk, but once the sun sank for the last time, it would become impossible for the dogs to come and go on their own. They would have to be gone before then.

Her brother had the dogs lined up in front of him and was inspecting their feet for any signs of damage. It was a nightly routine when they were on the trail, but now that they had reached the camp, the dogs would have a half-moon to rest before they started the long run back home. As he pulled the fur-and-leather shoes from their feet, he had their leads tangled in knots around his hand; any other wouldn't dare, but the dogs never disobeyed Fedya.

Irina offered him a tense smile as she pulled her winter crossbow from the back of the sled. She scratched her dog, wiry brown Malchik, behind the ears and disappeared back onto the ridge before her brother could start their argument again. He didn't like being this far out on the snow—but where else would they bag the kind of game that would feed them all winter? If she stayed to the forest like the other hunters did, she would have to go out four or five times before the sun rose again.

In this valley, this wild place her father had tamed to his will, creatures of legend walked the ice.

Irina unfolded the arms of her crossbow and made herself familiar again with its peculiarities. It was fully three times the size of her summer bow—the smaller was fine for hunting game like deer, but would fail her against the massive elk, near two men high at the shoulder, that wandered these trees. She poured thin oil from a belt pouch into the palm of her glove and massaged it into the long leather grip of the bow. The oil soaked deep, healing cracks as she worked it in and making the leather pliable to her hands once more.