There were two roles in nature: hunter and prey. Dire wolves typically belonged to the former category, and they were usually the dominant species on snowy mountains. As a pack, they’d typically alert each other when a snowstorm was about to happen, which might be why this singular wolf was wandering around in the open, while the wind was howling like a dying hag. It had lost its pack and had become prey.
Usually, it was at this moment that Ianril would feel like a hunter. Arrow notched in the bow, holding his breath in the freezing cold, and enchantments intertwined with his shot. Part and parcel of being a ranger for him was the unique privilege to partake in nature’s roles while still being a member of the civillised, to experience what beasts did daily for a pause in time.
He was the one with the advantage here. He saw the wolf, who was a walking target, lost without its pack. His arrow would pierce hide as if cutting through paper. Even if it escaped, its crimson blood would stain its fur, practically a living crosshair on its back. Despite that, Ianril had an uncomfortable feeling that he was more like the wolf than a hunter.
Did it feel the same as him? Did it feel the thumping of its veins in the neck like a trapped rabbit? Feel like every sound could trigger an avalanche, yet it still wasn’t hearing enough? Felt its legs ready to take off at the slightest panic, while also feeling as if it was already caught in a bear trap?
He let go of the arrow, and he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of dread the wolf felt as it cried out one last howl. A pack animal now alone. In the past, did it have its friends there to help it? Maybe they were sometimes overbearing, but when it came down to it, they would have gladly taken this arrow for it. The tragedy of it all, was that even if they heard its howl, even if they still cared for it, they were too late to save it.
Ianril stood over the wolf’s corpse for a moment. Drops of blood left a trail of red. The arrow had shot straight into its heart. With his Hunter’s Mark, it never had a chance against the magic. Not a single chance of surviving this encounter. The moment it caught a hunter’s eye, it was just staring at death. He heard something alien that snapped him out of his thoughts. He always had a poor habit of wondering when hunting.
He had to move the body to the shelter. It was dark now, and if he was just a hunter, he would have thanked the gods for the weather. Right now, though, all he could think of was how long the wolf had been wandering out here before it caught his eye. He hoped it was longer than him, especially on this mountain.
Ianril finally let himself sit after he dragged the body all the way back to the cave, before attempting to hide the entrance with most of the fallen tree branches he could find, draping it with a blanket to keep out the wind. He made it just in time to avoid the start of the snowstorm. The wind was howling, and he couldn’t stop thinking of the wolf’s last howl when it died.
A dragon’s roar slicing through the wind cut that thought short. Ianril didn’t even realise he had dropped his bow till gods knew how long later, when the adrenaline finally started to fade, and he regained enough awareness to realise he was cowering behind the cooking pot. He stared at his hands. They were still trembling. The roar wasn’t close to the cave. If anything, it sounded distant. The worst it could mean was just that the dragon had begun hunting.
That meant if he wanted to still eat the wolf, eating it fast would reduce the chances of the dragon smelling the blood. He had already finished his rations yesterday, and even if the dragon didn’t get him, the cold would if he didn’t eat enough. He got to work on dissecting the meat and nearly started wondering again.
He really had to stop doing that. In the past, he’d always brushed off his party members’ complaints about it, but now it was the cause of him being right here in these mountains. A moment of distraction in a fight in the dungeons, that then led to a weakness, then several weaknesses, before finally ending up with Adi teleporting them away. Maybe it was his past refusal to take his friends seriously that caused Ianril to be the only one flung to this mountain.
Ianril bit a chunk out of the wolf that was now roasted and turned into kebabs. This would give him enough strength for the journey forward. He’d spent the past few weeks trekking down the mountain, and had gained enough distance to make it down to the lower regions. It would take him just a few more days to reach a town.
Adi, during campfire conversations in the past, had told the party of the dragon who lived in the mountains nearby his hometown- a town that Ianril was hoping to reach. Adi’s ramblings were Ianril’s main source of information, but he wasn’t sure if the legends of townsfolk were accurate to reality. They would have only ever had observations from a distance, since anyone who was close would have been eaten.
From what he could tell, there was a certain border to the dragon’s territory. Adi mentioned there was a sign put up on the mountain trail to warn travellers from getting too close. As long as Ianril could get past the border, he was safe. The problem was that he wasn’t sure if dragons patrolled the borders of their territories, like some mammals. If it did, being near the border would be more dangerous than the open expanse he had been trekking through.
Ianril could try to cross the border after the dragon had finished hunting, and was preferably taking the longest nap of its life. However, Adi mentioned that it was rumoured the dragon was almost always hunting. If it was a non-magical beast, Ianril would’ve brushed it off as exaggeration, but with magic in the play, he couldn’t be certain. If he waited to set off when he thought the dragon was resting, it might have already set out on its new hunt.
No matter how much magical stamina it would have, though, if it patrolled the border in a circle, it would end its hunt where it started. The roar sounded not too far. If it started its hunt near the border, then right after it ended, it would leave the border to restart its circle.
Both scenarios were based on presumptions that he had no way of knowing. In both scenarios, the moment he caught the dragon’s eye, he was a dead man walking. He looked outside, at the darkness. If he had to be hunted, he’d rather it be in weather he liked.
The snowfall had worsened over the hours of trekking, but Ianril didn’t mind that. It wasn’t heavy enough to be a snowstorm while giving him cover from the dragon. The problem was that it made it harder to move, but he was already moving slower than his usual pace. He stood still when the wind was quiet, and moved when it howled- even if it cost him more time. He couldn’t risk giving himself away. Ianril would never take the privilege of being visible and carefree for granted ever again. He glanced up at the cloudy skies above, and wondered how visible the dragon would be from below.
The next time he gave himself a moment to look at the skies, it was already dawn. The morning light was gentle, just enough light to cast shadows that were easy to hide in. Ianril liked hunting in the mornings, it would be his second favourite time of day besides night. He looked back at the wooden sign in front of him. From the distance, he had wondered if it was a creature trapped under snow, before realising the snow pile was suspiciously sign shaped. After brushing off the snow, it revealed a perfectly intact sign, with two words carved on it: Turn Back.
If he had made it far enough to the sign, that meant he was out of the dragon’s territory. He was finally safe. Now, all he had to do was make it to the town, and he could try to contact his party members. The journey would take a couple days at most. Despite all that, Ianril didn’t continue onwards.
Instead, he turned his gaze to the other suspicious snow pile behind the sign. It was far larger than a sign- about the size of a small building. The sign likely was enchanted to endure the weather conditions, and buildings could be too. He wondered what was hiding under the snowfall. Ianril didn’t have the danger of a dragon preventing him from wondering, and before he knew it, he was already hacking away at the snow.
His mind was racing with ideas of what could be hiding underneath. Realistically, it might be a long abandoned shelter. Maybe it would have been fit with a small stove, which he might be able to use. A trunk filled with old provisions, many of which probably long rotten, but there could be a few still left inside. The snow was hard to chip away at, but he was sure with a little more, it would all fall down at once, revealing what it hid. What could there be? An old sword? Some dusty enchanted book? Or-
The lifeless eye of a dragon staring at him. The whole head of a dragon, concealed under snowfall, laying limp and cold. There was a wound on its neck, with blood that had long turned to ice. The wound’s edges frayed in a manner that was similar to enchantment effects, the wound itself shaped like it was inflicted from a blade. The body seemed fresh, but judging from the snowfall, the dragon had been hunted long ago. Maybe half a day before.
The snowfall would have covered any footprints. No sane person would kill a dragon and leave its corpse in the open. He had no idea where, or even what, this person was hunting. No clue on where the borders of their territory was.
Ianril stared at the sign again, at ‘Turn Back’ carved in bold strokes. He contemplated his situations. Of all the times he liked, morning was the second best. He continued onwards.
By: Hoe Yan
Edited By: Amberlyn
