Chapter Text
The cloudless sky was the creature’s domain, and it soared with the freedom afforded its kind. Perfectly formed wings and feathers aligned for optimum lift saw the hawk lift in easy circles, carried higher on unseen thermals. Below, the regular shapes of human habitation became blurred – as much by its lack of interest in the straw rooved houses as the distance from it. Only the darker lines that joined in a cross at the centre of the small village showed clearly yet was of no more interest to the bird. The slightest shift of wing tips saw the hawk cruise beyond the boundary of the village and over trees that marked the unruly edge of dense woodland. Passing over a field with a single house at its centre and a smaller structure slightly further up the field, the hawk’s shadow glided over the lush grass and feeding horse, up the angled field bordered by the woodland. A woodland that stretched for miles in either direction, far enough to reach the boundaries of larger villages to the South while the northern edge thinned as it stretched towards the mountains. The woodland housed many small clearings where winter storms or simply age had claimed many a mighty oak or cedar to see it reclaimed by the earth that had sustained it for countless generations. The hawk cruised over one such clearing where a slim outline, stretched out on the mossy ground, sent the bird to the west in search of a less inhabited clearing where rabbits might soon emerge as dusk prepared to settle over the land.
She smiled as she watched the outline of the hawk soar enigmatically across her field of vision. Moments later the haunting cry of the bird echoed down to her, and she waited to hear its mate call in reply. Only silence echoed back, and she felt a sudden melancholy for the bird with no mate to return its call.
‘Alone like me then,’ she said as she watched the bird disappear out of sight. She shook her head, dispersing sympathy for the creature. They were not alike – she did not share its innate need for companionship. She wondered if she ever had – she certainly couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t longed for solitude.
The subtle change in light had her sitting up and reaching for her pack and the string of three rabbits, placed by her side when she had decided to lie beneath the blue sky of the closing day. She was deep in the woods and if she didn’t start heading back soon then she ran the danger of losing the light completely to spend a night deep amongst the trees. Although that was of little concern, she had the convenience of small camp at the edge of the woods on the road leading to the village with a seated fire that could be easily started once more having been laid for the three nights she had been here. She slung the three coneys over her shoulder, adjusting her red braid so it hung over her other shoulder. She imagined that the rabbits would be a fair exchange for a warm meal and maybe a drink at the tavern – but only if she got them to him that night. She considered her options as she walked, her innate sense of direction carrying her along the feint track that would take her back to the main path through the woods. If she restarted the fire at her camp and settled there for the night, she would need to gut and skin the rabbits before she could eat. But at least she would have the meat to herself and could sell the skins the following day. She sighed, considering the hearty stew that every tavern would have made that morning and kept heated all day. It was a good few days since she had had such a sustaining meal, but it was perhaps the thought of a tankard of mead to wash it down that sealed her decision.
Thoughts of the tavern had her walking a little faster, but a lifetime spent travelling kept her senses keen, especially when the light really started to fade. This part of the land was furthest east and so it grew darker far quicker than to the west from where she had most recently travelled. She wasn’t from the West – she had no idea where she hailed from since she had never known a permanent home. A fact that gave no concern or thought. After all, she knew no different. She was born to the trees and to the movement of ground beneath her feet. The land was her home, her bed and her larder and she loved her home and all it had given her.
Had she been less attuned to her surroundings, she might have missed the dark speckles on the leaves to her right. But, when you lived somewhere where you were not the top of the predatory pecking order, you remained alert to threats and the shadow of dried blood was always something to be wary of. A predator with its meal was a fearsome enemy and a wounded creature could be just as dangerous. She had once been speared through the calf by the tusk of a young boar who had charged from the undergrowth, screeching in pain and fear. She had quickly bound the wound and then tracked the unfortunate beast until she found where it had inevitably succumbed to blood loss and was laying, panting on the once dry leaves. She had swiftly ended its misery caused by unknown foe and carried its carcass to an area where she knew the remains would be well received by a family of foxes and their spring young.
Ears alert to any sound – predator or victim – she dropped to one knee to check her first assessment and, finding herself accurate, she carefully traced the blood trail a little further. She had barely gone beyond the path when her jaw and fists tightened. The trap was poorly made and clearly unattended, meaning that whatever unfortunate creature had been caught within it had not died quickly and retained enough strength and will to live to struggle free. Although judging by the dried blood that remained, life would not have been with it for long. Shaking her head, she set about dismantling the trap, hands shaking with fury. As she worked, too much anger boiled in her veins and as she set her dagger to prise the wooden support from the ground, she did so with too little care and snapped a large section from the tip of the blade. Cursing, she set back on her haunches and stared at the ruined weapon – her best means of defence beneath the trees. Taking a breath and pushing tendrils of sweat speckled hair from her eyes, she tossed her braid over her back and returned her attention to the task.
By the time she had removed the vile trap, her hands were filthy with dirt and blood. Setting her broken dagger into its sheath, she headed towards one of the many streams that snaked through the area. Thankfully, the tree cover was a little thinner here and a bright moon and clear sky provided more than enough light to see by. Choosing a spot where the water ran deepest, she tied the trap into a bundle and tossed it into the water. Safer to let the water soften and rot the parts than risk another animal stumbling across the remains when they were called by the scent of blood.
She knelt to wash her hands and splashed water on her face to reduce the dried residue of her efforts in destroying the trap. As she blinked away the water, a movement the other side of the stream caught her attention. Even through her blurred vision, the outline was distinctive, and she slowly lifted fingers to clear her vision. The initial bolt of fear at seeing the dark wolf was tempered slightly by the sight of a white tipped ear, although such familiarity did not make her relax. This might have been the third time she had seen the creature while in these woods but, just because it had kept its distance up until now, she was not foolish enough to think the thing tame. And now, the thought of the three rabbits laying on the ground just behind her was enough to return the anxiety that the sight of that white tipped ear had removed.
‘You again,’ she said, voice firm and far calmer than she felt. As a human, she had no real physical presence with which to intimidate the creature but had been taught, as a child, that a human voice – carried with confidence – could cause enough unease to keep a lone wolf at bay. She had never had cause to test the lesson but could only hope that the width of the stream would add to the theory and dissuade the wolf from its interest in her. When she had seen the beast twice before – fur shining like the black of darkest night – it had been as she had collected firewood close to her camp. She had briefly met its gaze from within the shadows and stood her ground, waiting for it to move on. It had done so, quickly losing interest and disappearing into the trees to be lost from view within an instant. But on those two occasions she had been with her back to her fire and without the enticement of the three rabbits. Her eyes scanned the water between them, wondering if even the hungriest of wolves would risk a soaking for such a poor meal. Deciding that it probably wouldn’t and with night now fully upon her, she knew that she could delay her journey no more. Carefully, she climbed to her feet, eyes on the wolf in case it decided to prove her wrong. When it remained standing, alert but unconcerned, she gave a nod of respect and took a step back, stopping to retrieve her trio of prizes from the ground. A few more steps backwards would take her into the full shadows of the trees, but she paused, gaze carried across the stream. Without real thought, nimble fingers untied one of the knots and a throw from a strong arm carried the rabbit easily to the opposite bank. The wolf’s gaze did not leave her, and she kept it on her until she felt the embrace of the trees’ shadows.
The glow of lanterns beckoned her towards the village as she exited the trees and strolled towards the main road leading into it. She entered the tavern a few minutes later to find it half full and already raucous, the sounds harsh on ears used to solitude. But, as with the wolf, she kept her discomfort hidden beneath a calm, confident demeanour and approached the wooden counter.
The portly man who greeted her with a nod and twitch of his moustache, had kind eyes and friendly countenance. Kind eyes that dropped to the thump of rabbits landing on the wood where his hands rested. His eyes lifted back to hers, an eyebrow arching, ‘Food or drink? Or a bed on the floor by the fire?’
She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that the floor before the hearth would be sticky with spilt mead and she had no need for it anyway. ‘Food,’ she said as she turned back.
He nodded, seemingly in approval and clicked his fingers. A pretty young thing with enough features shared with the man to reveal her as his daughter, disappeared long enough to return with a large bowl of steaming stew. As it was placed on the counter, along with a battered wooden spoon, the man swapped a wooden cup for the pair of rabbits.
‘Make it a trio next time and there will be mead instead of water in that cup,’ he told her.
‘Yeah,’ she chuckled to herself, shaking her head at his frown and laughing again as she carried her meal and drink to the furthest, quietest corner.
The stew was good, and she relished each mouthful, washing it down with the water. She hadn’t been finished for long when slim hands took the bowl and cup and replaced them with another cup of water.
‘Do you have a name then?’
She looked up at the owner’s daughter – her hair was like fine corn and her features were rather pleasant. ‘I do,’ the redhead replied, nodding her thanks and sipping her replacement water.
The girl quirked an eyebrow, ‘Care to share?’
‘You first,’
‘Chrissy,’
‘Nicole,’
Chrissy stacked the empty cup into the bowl, ‘You know, if I spoke to my father, I bet I could get you a bed for the night,’
Nicole’s smile was devilish as she replied, ‘Is that so?’
The younger woman flushed pink, ‘In return for some manual work come the morning,’ she explained quickly.
Nicole had guessed what she meant but still enjoyed her embarrassment with good humour. ‘I appreciate the offer but …’ she raised a shoulder, ‘… I don’t sleep well indoors,’
‘A gypsy, eh?’
‘I have no clan to call my own,’ she explained, ‘But like them, I have spent my life beneath the sky and the ground ever moving beneath my feet,’
Chrissy’s eyes twinkled in delight at Nicole’s lyrical description of her life, but her enjoyment gave way to concern, ‘Isn’t it dangerous to sleep alone in the woods?’
The sound of a shout was followed by a smashing tankard. The pair looked over to the other side of the tavern where a brawl had broken out.
‘I prefer the company out there,’ Nicole responded easily, eyes on one of the young men who was better dressed than the others and goading the pair, who were squaring off, into punching each other senseless. She brought her attention back to Chrissy, ‘But if I find out who was responsible for the vile trap I destroyed earlier, they won’t enjoy my company,’
Chrissy grimaced, ‘Yes – we have needed to discard many creatures trapped poorly in those woods. Those rabbits you brought in earlier were well caught, my father should have given your more by return,’
Nicole looked up, ‘I will take more on the value if you are offering,’
Chrissy’s eyes narrowed, ‘What do you want?’
‘Introduction to the local lawman – that trap I dismantled should not go unacknowledged,’
Chrissy sighed and shook her head, ‘Our village is too small to have a lawman of our own, my father settles small disputes amongst us,’ she glanced towards the counter where the portly man was watching the brawl as it fizzled out, ‘But I’m afraid he will be unable to assist you,’
Nicole was suddenly annoyed that she had thrown the remains of the trap into the stream rather than keeping it to show as evidence. ‘Will he not trust my word?’ she queried.
‘He would but he would be able to do nothing by return,’ she said apologetically, eyes flashing to the better dressed man who was laughing at the blackening eye of one his friends, ‘Some fights are just not worth it,’
Nicole studied the man further, recognising an arrogant twist to his features, ‘He is moneyed?’
‘Youngest son of the local magistrate. His family were from this village, but good fortune saw them move more than a day’s ride to a town at the East. He stays here most days and nights to enjoy lording it over us rather than suffer his father’s growing disappointment,’
Nicole looked up at the young woman’s tone, picking up on more to be said but words that were not readily shared. She had no care for local gossip and asked simply, ‘You think it was him that set that poor trap?’
Chrissy nodded, ‘He is unskilled in many things that he believes he is expert,’
‘Then perhaps I should have words with him,’
Slim fingers curling over her shoulder pressed Nicole back to her seat, ‘Did you not hear me?’
‘Money and good clothes do not scare me,’
Chrissy leant forward to whisper conspiratorially, ‘There are rumours that he has more than money and power at his back,’
Nicole curled an eyebrow, ‘Oh?’
Chrissy straightened, stating firmly, ‘No one crosses the Hardy family, that is my advice to you,’
Nicole huffed angrily and tossed back the last of the water before giving her grumbled thanks and leaving the tavern.
~*~
The sound of a hammer striking metal was loud in the cool dawn air. Although once she stepped beneath the roof the of the shelter, the air became heavy with the heat from the open coal furnace at the centre. The ringing of iron on steel made her flinch but she held her ground until the blacksmith turned to force the dulling orange blade back into the coals.
Dark eyes studied Nicole through the swirl of sparks. Her voice was deep and raspy from years of breathing the heated air, ‘You want something?’
Nicole pulled her broken knife from the sheath at her waist and held it out.
The blacksmith didn’t take it but just studied the broken blade with a quickly appraising eye. ‘Best thing for that would be to toss it in there,’ she commented, nodding at the furnace. The movement sent a dark ponytail trailing over her shoulder, but it was flicked away just as quickly when strands of hair stuck to the sweat beading across her collarbone.
Nicole sighed but asked hopefully, ‘Can you do anything with it?’
The blacksmith’s question came with a penetrating gaze, as if she were judging the truth of Nicole’s response even before she had spoken, ‘How’d it get broken?’
‘I was dismantling a trap in the woods,’ she replied, not attempting to hide her anger.
‘One of Hardy’s no doubt,’ the blacksmith sneered and reached for the knife. After a moment’s study, she waved towards the wall behind her, ‘You’d be better choosing a new one,’
Nicole looked longingly at the rack of blades but shook her head, ‘I don’t have the means with which to precure one,’
Pursing her lips, the dark-haired woman set the blade onto her anvil and took a breath, ‘You a tracker? A hunter?’
‘More of a trapper but I can hunt, yes,’ Nicole replied.
‘Huh,’ the blacksmith grunted thoughtfully, ‘Reckon a few points would see one of my knives to your hand,’
Nicole rubbed her fingers across her chin. She had seen a few deer in the woods but no pointed stags. ‘What about boar tusk?’ she suggested.
‘I got plenty of that and I don’t much care for it anyway,’ came the terse reply, ‘It’ll be antler or nothing,’
Nicole knew that a few coins would see her way to a new knife but to get those coins would take several days hard work in the village. Whereas one successful hunt would do the same.
The blacksmith seemed to read her thoughts, ‘Aye – coin will do the same,’ Lifting the blade, she ran her thumb over the broken point, ‘Was a bad trap then?’
‘One of the worst I’ve ever seen,’
On the back of a quiet curse came an offer, ‘I can grind this down and make it useable in the short of it,’
‘I don’t have any coin to pay for your time,’
The statement was waved away, ‘Reckon you broke the blade doing the right thing – that’s coin enough,’
‘I take it you are not a friend of that boy, Hardy,’
Her only answer was to set the blade back on the anvil, ‘Come back here in a short while – it’ll be done by then,’
Giving her thanks, she turned to head out, the blacksmith’s voice echoing after her.
‘Stop by the tavern – reckon someone there has probably seen a stag in our woods if there’s one worth seeing,’
Like most villages, the residents rose with the sun and Chrissy was sweeping the front step of the tavern as Nicole approached. Not noticing the redhead’s approach, a pile of dust landed on worn boots.
‘Oh lord – I’m sorry,’ Chrissy chuckled with little actual apology.
‘It’s fine,’ Nicole laughed with her, kicking the worst of the dust off lest she walk it back inside.
‘How about I apologise with a bowl of porridge?’
Her father’s voice echoed from behind her, ‘Coin or meat, girl, words don’t pay for bed or food under this roof, you know that,’
Chrissy shook her head in mock dismay and beckoned Nicole to follow, ‘Don’t worry, he still owes you some for those rabbits. Have a seat and I’ll bring you a bowl,’
If Chrissy’s father complained any further, he did it quietly enough that Nicole didn’t hear. Even though she was currently the only customer, she took her seat at the same corner table as the night before.
An impressive bowl of porridge was set in front of her and Nicole looked up, smiling her thanks. Chrissy winked but her smile turned to a grimace and a sigh when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs.
‘You okay?’ Nicole asked.
‘Yeah,’ she tried to laugh, ‘Champ got drunk last night, and father had to give him a bed for the night – he’ll have a sore head this morning and a worse attitude than normal,’
Although Chrissy had only used the family name of the bullish young man from the night before, Nicole was not surprised to see who staggered into the main area, hand pressed to his head. His fine clothes were crumpled and creased, his hair tousled to match his limited ability to stand. He dropped onto a stool, nearly fell off, righted himself and banged on the wooden counter, demanding mead. He was given a cup of water and drank it through grumbled complaint.
‘You called him Hardy,’ Nicole commented as she dipped her spoon.
Chrissy leant closer, whispering, ‘He tells everyone to call him Champ because he’s the best fighter and hunter around here,’
Nicole almost spat out the porridge but managed to swallow and stare aghast at her smiling companion, ‘Truly?’
‘Well, he isn’t, obviously, but ...’
She left Nicole to finish the sentence, ‘No one messes with the Hardy’s?’
Chrissy’s reply was answer enough, ‘We call him Champ to keep him quiet, but his buddies probably believe it,’
‘Yeah,’ Nicole agreed, ‘and they look as dim as puddle water,’
Chrissy laughed her agreement as she returned to her chores.
By the time Nicole had finished, Champ had taken a bowl and sat at a table by the fire where he ate slowly, as if struggling to find his mouth with the spoon.
The tavern owner – Nedley she had heard him called – took the bowl without comment when Nicole brought it to the counter. He took it into the back and then returned, crossing his arms over his broad chest when he found that Nicole had stayed, his eyebrow arched in question.
‘Has anyone mentioned seeing a pointed stag in the woods?’ she asked.
‘You planning to hunt?’ he asked by way of reply.
‘I am – if someone’s told you that there’s one out there,’
Champ appeared by her side, slamming the half-eaten bowl of porridge on the counter, ‘You can keep your damn swill …’ he snarled at Nedley and then declared to Nicole, ‘If there’s a stag worth having in those woods – I’d have had it already,’
Nicole ignored him, keeping her focus on the older man, ‘Have you heard anything?’
Nedley responded only with his eyes that looked towards Champ, encouraging Nicole to turn towards the younger man.
‘Did you hear what I said …’ his eyes roved down and back up her lithe frame, ‘… woman?’
‘I heard you,’
‘Well then, you’d best pay heed,’
‘And why is that?’
He seemed taken aback and scrambled for an answer, ‘Well – cos I’m the best hunter and trapper around here,’
Nicole noticed the way Nedley shifted – clearly he thought the same of Champ’s skills as she did. ‘If the trap I found yesterday was one of yours, I would debate that self-proclaimed mantle,’
Champ huffed angrily and squared his shoulders but quickly seemed to remember he was alone and waved her away – although it was him who headed for the door, slamming it shut behind him.
‘My daughter mentioned that you had taken apart one of Hardy’s traps,’ Nedley announced with a nod of approval followed by an offer, ‘Bring me anymore that you find, and they’ll carry the weight of a rabbit in food or mead,’
Nicole shook her head, ‘I won’t take payment for dealing with his ineptitude,’
Nedley considered that for a moment before asking, ‘Why are you looking for a stag anyways?’
‘I need a new blade and the blacksmith wants either coin or antler for one,’
‘Ah,’ he nodded with a knowing smile, ‘she drives a hard bargain that Mattie Purley,’
‘I found her fair,’ Nicole responded, thinking of the way the blacksmith had offered her skill for free in shared attitude of Hardy’s poor traps.
‘Well then,’ he announced thoughtfully, ‘I know there’s a herd of deer out to the mountain edge of the woods. There are no people that side ‘cos of the harsh ground, so the deer done alright for themselves. If there’s points to be had – it will be out there,’ he rubbed his moustache, ‘Mind – if you don’t manage a stag, a couple of hides would get you some coin from the tanner. You know you aint gonna trap any though – do you have a bow?’
Nicole had already considered that and decided to be on the lookout for a yew tree on her way back to camp. ‘I have plans to make one,’ she responded with quiet confidence and no hint of arrogance.
‘Huh,’ Nedley grunted and turned to disappear into the room behind the counter. He emerged with a fine look bow and loaded quiver. ‘Chrissy’s mother made this. She had hoped to show Chrissy how to use it but …’ he shook himself, ‘Never mind that. Here – you can borrow it,’
Nicole stared at the bow and quiver that was set on the bar between them. She didn’t move to take it, instead she just looked up at him with a look of surprise. He was putting a lot of faith in a stranger.
‘My Chrissy has her mother’s gift for reading people,’ he told her with a smile, ‘At least that was something shared before she passed,’
Nicole thanked him with quiet, solemn words and lifted the bow. It was expertly made and if it had not been used for a while, it had still been well kept. ‘Perhaps, before I move on, I could give your daughter some instruction on how to use it?’
His smiled widened, ‘That would be a gift I would not shy from, thank you,’
She nodded and shouldered the quiver, ‘All gratitude should be for you,’
He lifted his large hand, embarrassed and said quickly, ‘One other thing – hides will get you coin as long as it’s not a wolf skin,’
Nicole had no intent to hunt a wolf – and never had. But she was intrigued by the tavern owner’s need to say it. ‘How so?’
‘Wolves are few in those woods and Hardy decreed that no one is to hunt them but him – even had his father put his seal to a declaration on it,’
Nicole thought of the black wolf with the white-tipped ear and asked, ‘And does he hunt them?’
‘Never known him too,’ Nedley replied, leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially, ‘You ask me, Hardy is too scared to track and hunt a wolf, but he doesn’t want anyone else to do it and show him up,’
The words made sense and did nothing to improve Champ Hardy’s standing in Nicole’s eyes – although, if his cowardice kept him from hunting the noblest creatures Nicole knew, she would take it as the blessing it was.
Thanking the tavern owner once more, Nicole stepped out into warming of the day. Wondering if she had given the blacksmith enough time, she was still standing on the front step when Chrissy appeared behind her and motioned her to go outside. Doing as asked, she followed her to the corner of the tavern and waited for her to speak.
‘I heard my father direct you to the mountain edge of the woods …’
Nicole nodded, ‘I require a pointed stag to offer the blacksmith,’
Chrissy looked at the bow and smiled wistfully, ‘My mother’s arrows will fly true,’ She shook herself, seeming to recall her intention in bringing Nicole to the quiet spot, ‘If you find yourself to the North-East, stay within the treeline – do not pass the line of cairns,’
Nicole frowned, picturing a line of piled stones, ‘Oh?’
‘My father thinks me foolish but … everyone knows to leave the Stone Woman be – she welcomes no one as visitor to her land,’
‘Thank you for the advice,’ Nicole smiled, amused by the other woman’s apparent superstition and then turned to head to the blacksmith.
As she neared, she heard voices from within the forge and slowed her step. She hovered near the entrance to make her presence known while also making it clear that she was happy to wait while not eavesdropping – at least, that’s what she hoped she was silently saying. A life spent in the wilds and moving from place to place sometimes led to misunderstandings of social niceties.
With nothing better to do, her gaze naturally drifted into the dancing shadows of the forge and there it lingered – or rather, it lingered on the small frame of the rather attractive young woman who was talking quietly to the blacksmith. As Nicole watched, the woman handed over some pelts, took a few coins with a nod of thanks and then headed out the side that faced away from the village.
The blacksmith – that Nicole could now name Mattie Purley – waved her in once the other woman had left. Intrigued, Nicole nodded at the pelts laying over the anvil, ‘Wouldn’t she have got better coin from the tanner?’
Mattie seemed monetarily offended but then seemed to remember that Nicole was an outsider and sighed, ‘I give her the best I can – which is more than the tanner will,’
‘Oh?’
She glanced after the path the young woman had taken, ‘No one in the village will buy anything from her – although they are happy to take her coin,’
Nicole felt her anger rise – as it usually did when she sensed injustice.
‘Not my story to share,’ Mattie announced as she moved the pelts and replaced their space on the anvil with Nicole’s repaired knife, ‘This will last you a little longer,’
The woman forgotten, Nicole lifted the blade. It was far shorter now, but the edge and point were wicked sharp once more and she smiled her gratitude. ‘I cannot thank you enough,’
‘My concern was that you would be unarmed within those woods …’ her eyes shifted to the bow and quiver, ‘… such concerns were unfounded it seems,’
Nicole ran her fingers over the feathers of the arrows, ‘A generous loan from the tavern owner to aid in a hunt for a stag – that’s all – but gratefully accepted just the same,’
‘Huh,’ the blacksmith grunted in dismissal and turned her attention to the forge and the blade that had been heating within the coals.
With no more to be said and the blacksmith clearly having no intention of sparking further conversation, Nicole turned and left. For reasons unknown, she found herself following the little used path out of the village that the smaller woman had taken. In the distance she could see the expanse of woodland and took a moment to track left, to align her bearings with the location of her camp. A glance at the sun to gauge the time and she headed towards the woods – taking the feintest of paths that seemed only one pair of feet traversed semi-regularly.
She enjoyed her unhurried stroll across the open land, occasionally catching sight of the woman in the distance. But it was only a glance and nothing to tie her thoughts up for too long. There were brief moments when she wondered why the woman – pretty little thing for sure – had been shunned by the village. But these moments were fleeting. By choice, Nicole knew little about life lived as part of a larger community and so had little to no idea about how conflicts could arise and the resulting consequences of them. As such, she could do little more than appreciate the outline of the woman and just continue on her unhurried way.
The feint track she was following started to peel round to the right and Nicole paused, lifting a hand to shadow her eyes so she could look into the distance. She squinted a little, just able to make out the shapes of a couple of buildings and some livestock fencing. The track, which continued to bend towards it, would lead her from the woodland and so she stepped off and made her own path towards the trees, brushing through longer grass with easy steps and mind settling to her intent.
*
Despite finding some hopeful looking tracks, she found only young bucks and does. Even so, she did not return to the tavern that night empty handed. She carried across her shoulders an older doe as well as three traps she had ripped from the ground. She had gutted the doe by the stream on the way back to her camp and left the rich offal on the far bank where she had thrown the rabbit the day before. She had no idea whether the white-tipped wolf or some other lucky scavenger would find the free meal, but she was happy to leave it anyway. The woods had provided for her, and she would always return the favour with whatever she had available.
Champ was sitting with his buddies by the fire and watched her with sneering looks as she handed the carcass over to Nedley. It was taken with the offer of a room for the night, but Nicole refused him with a warm thanks and, ‘I prefer my camp at the edge of the woods,’
‘And we’re all grateful for that,’ Champ shouted, ‘No one needs to smell you for any longer than we have to,’
Nicole was unconcerned by his words. Such jibes had been thrown at her for years and they had long since failed to penetrate. The judgement of arrogant village dwellers – who assumed that life beneath the woodland canopy meant she never washed – was not worth the breath used to form the words and she certainly wouldn’t waste her own by responding. But that didn’t mean that she had no words to share. The look of surprise on Champ’s face as she approached the table was swiftly accompanied by a gasp of sudden fright when she slammed the three broken snares onto the table.
He righted himself, perhaps remembering that his buddies were with him, and glared at her, ‘What is your concern?’
‘Merely returning what is yours, I believe,’
He studied the traps a little closer and snarled, ‘They aint mine,’
The few patrons in the tavern fell silent and looked over.
Champ sensed their eyes on him and announced with authority, ‘And whoever’s they are – you had no right to remove – ’
‘I have every damned right!’ she shouted and pointed at the cruel devices, ‘These would bring nothing but suffering to any creature caught in them,’
He waved his hand angrily, ‘Who cares?’
‘I care!’ she responded and took a breath, ‘I can show you how to make these traps better so anything caught has a swift end without misery,’
He huffed a laugh, ‘I told you – those traps are not mine. And even if they were, how is a woman going to give me instruction on how to set a trap!’ he laughed again, seeking the approval of his friends as he continued, ‘Now make yourself useful, wench, and fetch us some mead,’
Nicole’s fingers closed into fists, ‘Perhaps you need instruction on more than just how to set a trap – a lesson in respect, perhaps?’
He jumped up, thighs banging the table and spilling tankards across its pitted surface. Face furious, he pointed at her, ‘Were you not a woman I would ask you outside and show you a lesson in respect,’
She laughed, ‘Were you half the man you claim to be, I might even have accepted,’ Leaving her words to turn his features red, she turned her back and returned to the counter.
Nedley was half smirking as he set a bowl of stew and tankard of mead in front of her. Behind, she heard Champ shout angrily as he threw the broken traps into the fire and then called for more tankards of drink.
Chrissy paused by Nicole’s shoulder as she returned from serving their drinks, ‘Perhaps you should take father’s offer of a room – Champ is angry that you embarrassed him,’
‘He embarrassed himself,’ Nicole smiled at her, ‘Trust me – I have faced scarier things in the shadows of those trees than a spoiled little man,’
*
Nicole was staring into the flames of her campfire, deciding to settle into her bedroll soon, when movement caught her attention. It wasn’t arrogance that had seen her refuse Chrissy’s suggestion, but rather a genuine belief that Hardy would drink himself into a stupor and forget all about the exchange between them. And although she was surprised to see him approaching from the shadows, she didn’t acknowledge his presence, not even when he was standing the other side of the campfire.
‘Oi,’ he offered in greeting, ‘Some woodsman you are when you didn’t even know I was here,’
Nicole sighed inwardly at yet another show of ignorance – part of surviving in the woods was an ability to recognise when you had been spotted. For Champ to genuinely believe she hadn’t noticed him said more about his own abilities than it did hers. And since her abilities were far superior, she also knew that at least three of his buddies were hiding in the shadows.
‘What do you want?’ she asked calmly, poking the fire with a stick and sending embers in his direction.
He huffed and stepped back, waving his hand as if to disperse a sudden flash of flames. She stared at him, bored by how pathetic he truly was.
‘I came to recover the cost of those traps you destroyed,’
‘Oh?’ she sighed, ‘I thought they weren’t yours,’
‘It doesn’t matter whose they were – you’re going to pay for pulling them up …’ he half stepped around the fire, ‘… and I don’t mean with coin, you fucking cur,’
Nicole was on her feet in an instant, lips curling with fury at the way his tone and expression carried the insult with staggering contempt. As she stood, she smelt the drink on him and knew that he was being given false courage. Her innate sense of morality kicked in and she heard herself growl, ‘Back off, little man, you’re not going to win here,’ It was the only chance she would give him, but she had to give it.
‘Little man?’ he spluttered.
She watched his features purple and briefly considered her response if she had truly intended for him to rethink his intent. As a result of her poor choice of words, she might have tried to defuse him one more time – had he not thrown a wild punch in her direction. She dodged it easily, lifting onto her toes just as she had been taught and sending a parrying blow towards his chin. Her knuckles found his jaw, snapping his head sideways, his body following in an ungainly stumble. She had purposefully softened the blow and now she stood, hands raised own intent clear – her next punch would not be so forgiving. He came at her, bending from the waist to send his shoulder into her midriff, his arms quickly encircling her to lift her from the floor. She was slammed onto her back, the sounds of delighted shouts from outside the flickering firelight echoing around her. Champ was heavier than her and she was quick to see the danger of becoming trapped beneath him. When he lifted to try and crawl up her body, she twisted to send her knee into his ribs and then scrabbled out from under him. As she did, she was aware that the men, she now realised there were four, had relinquished the shadows in favour of spreading themselves in a loose circle around her small camp. Their appearance brought Champ to his feet to send a glancing blow to her shoulder, unbalancing himself more than it did Nicole. She responded with a punch to his stomach that had him dropping to one knee. He lifted to his feet again and sent a handful of dried leaves at her face. As she tried to shake the dirt from her eyes, he sent a solidly connecting punch to the side of her mouth. The whoops of delight from his buddies were almost as loud as the thumping pulse through her teeth and jaw. She swiped at her eyes, grateful for the irritant caused tears that helped to clear her view and then duck under the haymaker that Champ had thrown. Resurging beneath his arm, her fist connected with his chin, snapping his head up and knocking him straight onto his back. Instantly, the four men fell silent, shadowed eyes moving from the prostrate Champ back to her. She turned, trying to keep each of them in view as they closed in. As soon as one came within range, she struck out to send him staggering and then spun to the others, lifting an arm to block a punch but leaving herself open to a sharp jab to the ribs. She spun aside, ducking beneath another blow but was quickly surrounded in a closing circle of fists. The ground was quick to greet her, and the fists became feet, pounding at her with uncoordinated but vicious attacks. She curled into a ball, using her arms to protect her head as best she could. Suddenly, her wrists were grabbed and she was hauled to her feet to be greeted by the unpleasant sight of Champ as he swung a heavy stick towards her stomach. Bent double by the blow, the crack of the branch across the back of her head sent her sprawling in an explosion of white light and then into thumping darkness.
~*~
Voices raised in shouts had sent the wolf deeper into the woods to stay amongst the denser trees for a time. The moon was huge in the clear sky above and the beast took solace in the shadows and silence.
The darkest time of night had long passed when the wolf returned to its nightly path, drawn by the need to patrol her territory for unfamiliar scents and to leave her own by return.
The smell of fire was known to her, but the location of this one was made more familiar by its continued presence in her territory. Tonight though, she scented more on the breeze, and it brought her path on a wider route to jump the stream and its narrowest point. She could scent the well-trodden path further on but paid it no heed – she had no intention of getting much closer to that. The fire she had smelled the past few nights was just ahead, overlayed by the heavier tang of blood. Keen eyes surveyed the area, seeing by moonlight more than the barely glowing embers that cast strange shadows over the crumpled form.
The wolf paused to lift snout and scent the air, expecting the aroma of death but finding only the iron-like tang as if it were a taste upon her tongue.
She approached. Large pads silent on the dry leaves. She wasn’t hunting but neither was she willing the need to fight. Another pause – ears twisting to pick up sounds around her. Hearing only the hurried scuttle of small nighttime creatures who had either seen or scented her, she continued forwards.
She recognised the scent of the body on the ground – it had been carried on the same breeze that had carried the acrid scent of smoke and cooking meat. A gentle snort stirred fine tendrils of red hair and brushed dried blood from the side of her head. She licked the disturbed flakes of blood, finding wetter beneath and ruffling her shoulders as she shook her head and huffed again. Drawn by a need to explore further, her snout snuffled down the unmoving body. She found no more blood but sensed injuries beneath the cloth.
Soft sniffs and puffs carried her snout back up the torso of the prone woman, a wet, cool nose leaving a thin silvery trail up her neck and across her cheek. The woman stirred, sending the wolf back with a slow, deliberate half-step. A hand, pale in the moonlight lifted and the wolf froze as those fingers reached for it. The urge to curl her lip and bare fangs was overruled by the weakness she sensed from the woman – she was no threat. Huffing a deeper breath that made the woman whimper weakly, the wolf turned and strolled away.
~*~
A strong survival instinct might have roused her, but it did little to keep the pain-induced delirium at bay. Although fear had kept the pain from her awareness at first. She had opened her eyes to find her blurred vision filled with a shifting shadow and the feel of hot breath on her cheek. Primal terror had coursed through her veins and nothing else for those first few moments. She had seen her hand lift – although she was unsure under whose command it had moved – and was aware of the shadow made of fur studying her. The huff of breath had seemed like the precursor to attack, and she had whimpered in acceptance of a swift death beneath piercing teeth.
But then the shadow of fur turned, a tiny flick of white that seemed so beautifully out of place after her expectance of death … and then she was alone. Just not for long. The spectre of pain was quick to join her and wrap ice and stone around her chest. She moaned and tried to move, lights bouncing behind her eyes, stinging her vision as if she had stared at the midday sun. She kicked out as the memory of the fists and feet that had struck her returned with such wicked intent that she imagined those blows were still falling. In effort to save herself, she rolled from the pain – only to find more as her flailing legs found harsh stabs of burning heat. Crying out, she scrabbled to her feet – escape her only desire. Through tear-misted vision she caught glimpse of a darker shade of night that was swiftly disappearing from view. Her delirium, in full control now, saw her stumble after that shadow and the smallest triangle of white.
The darkness was her enemy, hiding even the tiniest obstacles to trip her. Yet when she fell, the darkness welcomed her, promising her peace. She succumbed to it often but after falling, the pain of her battered body would not allow her peace for long.
The world, her life as it was – all darkness and stabbing, jabbing pain – came at her in flashes of shadows and sparks of blinding light with no beginning and no end. She had no awareness of where she was or how she had come to be. All she knew was the desire to succumb to the shadows yet a stronger desire to escape the death that waited there.
Had she more awareness, she might have sensed the thinning of the trees as she drew nearer the edge of the wood. Her stumbling, staggering journey so slow that the first hint of dawn had started to colour the horizon.
She staggered from the trees, those first few hints of light banishing enough of the shadows to give her the weakest sense of escape. But with that briefest sense of relief, her strength finally failed her, and she collapsed, face turned towards the growing light.
The darkness fought hard to keep her, allowing her only brief flashes of confused awareness. Eyes – a beautiful shade she could not name but which seemed both concerned and angry. A voice – lilting wonderfully even when deepened by apparent frustration. The whinny of a horse and that same lilting voice to calm it. The smell of wood and old cloth. Then the awful lift and drag of her body and the weak cry she heard wrenched from her own lips yet sounding so far away. A cry that rebounded over and over through her head, taunting her through her delirium as the ground beneath her bounced and swayed. Then that same voice carrying words she truly tried to understand as eyes, held in flushed features, tried to keep hers in their gaze. More movement to bring a whimpering cry and then stillness as all that had come before stole what remained of her senses.