Hunting Death

The forest became a maize of snow and ice. I wiped my eyes with my numb fingers, brushing away the flakes clinging to my eyelashes. Everything was too quiet, too still. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I heard the faint crunching of snow behind me. I turned around, grabbing my dagger out of instinct. Nothing was there. It was getting dark, so I decided to make my way home. I heard the sound again, now closer. I saw a shadow rush by my side, making me jump. I heard a deep growl and started running. I n as fast as I could, scratching my face and arms with loose branches. They were back.

Werewolves. Beats which roamed our forests. It had been years since they last appeared. I’ve been hunting all my life and never have I heard that sound. It couldn’t be a wolf, it just couldn’t. I’ve been waiting for this moment since my mother was murdered. She was killed by one of them when I was just a child. And now that they’re back I’ll find it and I’ll kill it. I’ll hunt death itself.

I didn’t realise that I had already reached the village. Wooden houses surrounded me. All the houses had similar paintings on their doors. Wolf paintings stared at you everywhere you went, some dead, some being killed and some killing. It was already dark, and flames lit the square. I needed to find Axton, my closest friend.

“Hey Lena,” a deep voice whispered in my ear.

I jumped “Fuck, Axton! You scared the shit out of me.”

“Why are you so nervous?”

“They’re back, Axton.”

His face turned into a frown. His green eyes screamed shock, and I swore I saw fear in them. He passed his fingers over his smooth auburn hair and sighed. “Are you sure?”

I told him everything that happened in the forest.

“What if it were just a wolf? A normal wolf.” He didn’t believe me.

“Okay. Then go to the forest and see for yourself.”

“No, I believe you. I should tell the hunters.”

“I’ll tell them.”

“No. They won’t believe you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I left him and went home.

When I opened the door a wave of sour smell hit my nostrils. It always happened but I never got used to it. I tried to be as silent as possible while I tiptoed toward my bedroom.

“Eleanor, come here,” a drunken voice boomed.

Shit.

It was like he had super hearing.

I dragged my feet towards the living room, where I found my father lying on the couch, beer in hand.

“Why are you home so late? You were supposed to make dinner.”

“What if I didn’t want to?” I spat.

“How dare you speak to me like that, you little vixen?”

I wasn’t in the mood for this. I left the room, grabbed my black cloak and slammed the door behind me. I would sleep on the street if I had to. Since my mother died he became an alcoholic, leaving me to do all the work. I went to the town’s stables, where I spent countless nights, and lay on a stack of hay…