Chapter 1- Dádýrin og fawnið
It's peaceful, living in the forest. The trees are nearly a hue of neon green with frost grazing even the tiniest of the pine needles.
A gust of wind flows gently past my still body, but I inhale the pure, disinfected oxygen.
Everything is different now since the Earth has rid itself of nearly half of the human race. There was a war between nations, and it was only a matter of time before the alarm clock finally went off.
Lives were lost, and our ways of life have changed drastically. For the better, not for the worst. There is no more unnatural pollution, no more mechanically engineered transportation and no more electricity. The only means of transportation now are horses, and our ability to walk.
I will never complain about riding a horse everyday.
Tranquil is the forest where I reside, in hopes of taking a deer home before nightfall. I hunt nearly everyday, but thus far I have had unfortunate luck and falling terribly close to starvation every minute. If I don't find food soon, I will perish.
Quietly I stand, examining the nearby areas with my ears in hopes of hearing absolutely anything. Even a rabbit would suffice.
A bow that I have crafted using the wood of an oak tree is now in my grasp, an arrow latched at the ready; Agility is key for a hunter. You don't want your mistakes to cost you a meal, especially the meals that could prevent you from starving to death.
As I slowly descend into a crouch position, I start venturing further into the forest. It may beneficial to approach the prey, instead of waiting for the prey to approach me.
Abruptly, twigs start snapping one right after another. This is a good sign, I may have found my meal for tonight.
I latch my arrow upon the string of my Oakwood bow and tug gently, observing the area from which I had heard the twigs crack only moments ago.
Suddenly a large, but slightly thin deer grazes the meadow adjacent to where I crouch. I raise my bow slightly upward to aim, patiently waiting for the deer to bow its head to eat the dewy grass.
Shooting an animal between the eyes is the most humane form of death. Letting an animal suffer from it's injuries before death is barbaric, suffering is not an option for me. At least not for animals.
The deer nonchalantly lowers it's head to the ground, giving me an opportunity to launch the arrow right into it's head. I inhale nervously, hold my breath as I lock focus and aim, then exhale as I release the arrow from my bow.
Bullseye.
I halter my weapon and let the bow drape across my back, I'm going to need both of my arms to drag this poor guy back to my camping grounds.
As I jaunt over towards my deer, I feel the snowflakes falling graciously upon my face. It must be the gods showing their salutations for a fine kill.
Arriving at the body of the lifeless animal, I detect what appear to be another set of hoof prints creeping around in the distance. Maybe it's my lucky day and I get to bring home two deer, I would enjoy that feed with a few fine cups of mead.
Gazing the meadow in front of me, nothing is in sight so I shift my gaze. In front of me, only a mere five feet away, stood a fawn.
What have I done? I've murdered the mother of this precious fawn. Maybe the fawn hasn't noticed that it's mother is dead yet, so I'll try to cover the body with what foliage I can gather.
Rule number one of the hunt; do not kill an animal with a baby.
I try to shoo the tiny fawn who was still unbalanced on all four legs, but before he could attempt to walk away, my eyes were cursed with the sight that lay before me.
An arrow cleanly pierced the fawn through its skull.
Maybe this is for the better. It wouldn't have survived the winter without its mother, but where did this arrow arrive from? Who shot the fawn?
I've been the only human hunting this section of the forest for over a year now. The only lifeforms I've ever seen, become my meal after I hunt them.
Scanning the area is the first instinct my body subconsciously reacts too. If there is a civilization nearby, I could possibly find myself a permanently upgraded habitat.
I shout in hopes of somebody responding.
Nothing.
I shout again.
The fur I wear for warmth has grown heavy from the melted snow, so I turn around to face the deer I've killed and try todo what I need to do before returning to my campsite.
Two men now stand where I had been crouching whilst hunting the deer. Am I being followed?
"Hello?" I sing out, "Can you help me with my deer? This one is heavier than expected, and I'm starving!"
They both, in sync, start walking with a mellow pace.
One man out of the two is a brute. Even though he has luscious, long blonde hair decorated with loose braids, he's just as intimidating as the other.
The other man stands near seven foot tall, give or take a few inches of course. Both men are bulky, and that in itself is enough to scare me to a degree.
"Who are you?" I shiver. The temperature I feel slowly declining as the sun hides itself behind the gigantic fir trees.
"We were hunting." The blonde man grunts.
" Until we stumbled across you from a distance. We watched, but we knew you didn't have the courage to kill the fawn." The tall man grumbles as he fiddles with an arrow in his hands.
Wait a minute. They've completely ignored the question I've asked them!
"I'm sorry, but who are you again? I don't recall you answering that part" I stare at them, hoping to intimidate them at least in the slightest.
The giant man huffs as he places the arrow that was in his hand, back into the leather quiver that peculiarly dangles around his broad hips.
"I'm Soren," he announces with an expressionless face, "and this is Magnus."
What unusual names, but I am in no place to judge them.
"And yours?" Soren raises an eyebrow.
"Fonix."
The men look at each other with distinctive looks written across their faces before swiftly grabbing each of my arms.
Panic is my initial response, but I try to fight the urge to do so. Panicking would only make things difficult, so I relax under their grip. I can't help but think of where they may be taking me, and what they're going to do with me.
"I wasn't doing anything wrong, just let me go back to my campsite" I struggle to maintain the pace, as their walking speed could be considered my running speed.
"You're an outsider. There is only one possible reason that you are" Magnus holds a firm grip on my fragile arm, " you've been banished."
I think to myself for a brief moment . Is the only way for outsiders to become outsiders, is to get banished?
"Which means we could give you a second shot at a different life, or we use you as hunting bait" Soren chuckles, but I physically feel my heart skip a couple of beats.
This will either work to my advantage, or I will end up dead.
It's time to face the beat of the drums.
