Haldor took a deep breath and released it together with his arrow. The arrow flew true and struck the elk they had been stalking for hours, ever since they'd found its tracks in the snow. He saw it sink into the beast's neck. The elk staggered, let out a strained bellow, and thrashed for a few heartbeats before collapsing into the snow.
When he saw it fall, Haldor turned around at once. He lifted his chin proudly at his companions and declared, "And that's how ye hunt yer food."
He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "Haldor the best marksman."
Hilde, who'd been crouched closer to him, stood up from where she'd been hiding and snorted.
"Ye just got lucky this time," she said. "I swear, if ye'd missed that shot again, I would've shoved yer face straight into the snow."
She folded her arms and shot him an annoyed look. "I'm sick of trackin' that elk. Every time we finally find it, ye insist on takin' the shot yerself, an' then ye miss. Tsk. Ye realize Ulf an' the others already got their first big catch days ago, aye? We're the only ones who hadn't. An' here ye are, missin' every shot ye take, only t' get lucky in the end."
She shook her head as she finished, then turned to their other companions. "Let's carry it an' head back t' where Ivar told us t' meet. The sun's fallin'."
With that, she strode toward where the elk had fallen, the others following close behind, leaving Haldor standing there speechless after her tirade.
Haldor stood there a moment longer, jaw tight, ears burning from the cold, and from Hilde's words. He hurried after them, boots crunching hard against the snow.
"It weren't luck," he muttered, loud enough for them to hear. "Those earlier shots were practice. Test shots. Ivar's the one who taught us that, we measure the wind and test the distance, watch how the beast moves before ye take the killin' shot."
Hilde didn't even look back as she crouched and tied one of the elk's legs.
"Aye?" she said flatly. "Strange, then, how yer 'test shots' always miss by a mile."
"They weren't meant t' hit!" Haldor protested. "I was gaugin'…"
She stopped tying and turned slowly, one brow raised.
"Gaugin' what? How far off ye could be?"
Their other companions snorted as they tied the other legs with rope.
Haldor flushed. "That's not what I meant."
Hilde turned back to the elk and continued securing her knot before replying sharply, "If it were a test shot, ye'd have said so before missin' three times. Not after."
She gave a short grunt as she finished tying and stood up. "Save yer excuses. The elk's dead. That's what matters."
Haldor opened his mouth… Then closed it. There was no winning this. He realized.
With a muttered curse under his breath, he stepped forward and grabbed the wooden pole threaded between the bound legs.
"Lift," he ordered.
Together with one of the others, he heaved the pole up, setting the weight of the elk across his shoulder. He adjusted his grip, jaw still tight, but said nothing more.
He had traded banter with Hilde for years now, during the endless training sessions Ivar had put them through, during hunts, during long days of foraging. And the number of times he'd actually won an argument against her could be counted on one hand. This time? Another loss.
Without another word, they began the slow march back through the trees, the elk dragging a dark red trail behind them as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon.
—----
Ivar ran, weaving through bushes, stones, and tree trunks along the way. The snow swallowed the sound of his steps. Over the years, he had mastered the art of moving across snow without a whisper. Combined with the skill he had recently refined in this world, silent steps, he could approach anyone without warning. If they did not see him, they would never know he was there.
He reached a small rise and came to a halt. Ahead lay a rocky slope. He lifted his gaze and spotted the small shadow he had been tailing all this way. Through his enhanced vision, he saw it slip into a cave nestled between jagged stones.
Only when he was certain the shadow had fully entered did he move again.
First, he scanned his surroundings, checking for anyone trailing him. No broken snow. No shifting silhouettes. No scent of people who hadn't washed in moons or years. Nothing.
Satisfied, he checked his gear.
His crude sword rested at his side. Freya's bow, long since claimed as his own in exchange for years of feeding her, her son Eirik and her babe, was secured across his back.
He checked the blade first. Then the bowstring. Then his arrows. Only after confirming everything was in order did he turn back toward the slope and begin his climb.
This was the beast that had been eating the game he now considered his own, or rather, his band's. He had first noticed it hunting he had marked as their own hunting ground a fortnight ago. Since then, tracks had gone missing. Carcasses had been half-devoured and left behind. Signs of its presence were everywhere. If he didn't kill it soon, it would eat everything. And he and his companions would be left with nothing.
He had described its features to the elders of the clan. From his account, its size, the way it moved, the marks it left, they had named shadowcat. Fast. Slippery. And dangerous.
That was how they described it. But to Ivar, it was just another prey that needed to be dealt with.
When he reached the mouth of the cave, he stopped. He did not step inside. Instead, he remained just beyond the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness within. The cave breathed cold air outward, carrying with it the faint scent of the beast and musk. He studied the shadows carefully, tracing every jagged edge of stone, every dark hollow where something might crouch unseen.
He shifted slightly to one side, this time with sound and all, but never placing himself directly before the opening. He was just baiting it.
If it meant to spring, it would spring forward. But he would not give it a straight path.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then it came.
A blur of fur and muscle burst from the darkness, faster than most men could follow. The shadowcat launched straight at him, claws outstretched, jaws wide. But Ivar had already anticipated it. He threw himself to the side and rolled, snow spraying around him as the beast tore through the space where he had stood a blink before.
The shadowcat landed cleanly atop a stone behind him, balanced and controlled, and sprang again without hesitation.
This time, he did not evade. His blade was already in his hand. He watched the arc of its leap, calculating the angle, the descent, and the distance. He waited until the last possible instant. When the shadowcat was almost upon him, he dropped into a crouch and thrust the blade upward.
Claws sliced through empty air. While steel met the flesh.
The sword drove deep into its chest, half the blade vanishing into muscle and bone. The impact tore the weapon from his grip as the beast continued forward through its own momentum. He released it without regret.
Even as the shadowcat was still airborne, he was already reaching for his bow. By the time it crashed into the snow and staggered, trying to rise with steel lodged in its chest, Ivar had already knocked an arrow. Draw. And released.
The arrow struck cleanly through its eye. The beast stiffened mid-motion. Then it fell still, collapsing into the snow without another sound.
Ivar inhaled slowly, then exhaled, his eyes never leaving the shadowcat as he made sure it was truly dead. Once he was certain of that, he lifted his gaze and surveyed the surroundings again. The trees stood silent. The wind brushed lightly over the snow. Branches remained undisturbed. The snow around him showed no fresh tracks beyond his own and the beast's. Satisfied that no one had approached while he was occupied, he finally allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease.
He stepped toward a nearby stone and sat down upon it, letting his body rest from the earlier run and the fight that just happened.
Four years.
If his own count was right, if the moons he had tracked and the sun's path he had marked on clear days had not betrayed him, and if this world had the same pattern of how many months there are in a year in his past lives, then it had been four years since they last moved their settlement.
Winter had come and gone once more, lingering for three long years again. It had retreated only three moons ago, and since then he had deployed his own band of warriors to hunt game on their own. They had been only children when he agreed and first gathered them. Now, they had grown quickly, quickly enough to survive. He supposed the way they lived left no room to be children, not as he had known it in his first life. There had been no asking for whatever one wanted. No idle afternoons spent playing simply because there was time. Here, children grew because they had to and wanted to. They hardened through tenacity and the determination to survive, not because comfort carried them forward and everything was given to them.
He had trained them in everything he knew about fighting, and he had also sought knowledge from Freya and Ylva, learning what they understood about hunting, gathering, and butchering.
At first, they had complained about the training and the way he did things. But the grumbling stopped the day he told them they were free to leave whenever they wished if they disliked his ways. They had already been cast out from their homes, pushed aside by their own Mas. There was nowhere else to go. So they stayed. And they trained.
There were mishaps. Fights. A few hard-headed ones who tested him openly. Those lessons had ended with bruises and bloodied lips. He had always made sure that they knew who's the boss every now and then.
Last winter had not been easy for them, or for anyone else in the clan. It had come without warning. Just as they had given up waiting for the warriors and already decided to join another clan to survive, a heavy snowstorm descended and pinned them in place. They were forced to wait it out. For a full month, they survived on grass, roots, and whatever wild fruits they could find buried beneath the snow. By the time the storm finally passed, it was already too late to move. So they remained in place.
A few had died during the winter, not only from hunger, but because some had ventured out to hunt even in the harshest conditions. Yrna's band, in particular, had lost three or four of their own. While he had lost one himself.
Fortunately, every now and then, they still managed to bring down game. Without those rare successes, he wasn't sure he could have continued staying within the clan. He might have been forced to leave and survive on his own.
Ivar stood up abruptly when he heard a faint sound behind him. He moved at once, shifting to his left and slipping behind a large stone that could conceal his entire body. From there, he stilled himself and listened.
The sound came again. It was coming from the cave, the same cave where the shadowcat had hidden earlier. His shoulders eased slightly. He glanced first at the dead beast lying not far from him, then rose and began walking slowly toward the cave entrance.
When he reached it, he did not step inside immediately. Instead, he repeated what he had done before, positioning himself as bait while observing the darkness within.
After waiting several long breaths and sensing no large movement from inside, he entered, slowly. He pushed his enhanced vision to its limit. Even at full focus, he could see only a meter ahead, but it was enough. He had taken no more than ten steps when he saw the source of the sound. Two shadowcat cubs.
He did not approach immediately. Instead, he scanned the cave once more, listening carefully. When he was certain nothing else lurked within, he crouched and picked one up. He lifted it to eye level and examined it. Healthy and strong. Perhaps three moons old. He exhaled slowly. His hand moved to his blade. Ending them would be merciful. Without their mother, they would not last long.
But then another thought surfaced. He paused. Weighed it carefully. After a long moment, he lowered the cub and set it gently back down. He sighed. He did not know if it would work, but he would try.
Rising to his feet, he stepped back out of the cave. It was time to harvest the hide and meat of the beast he had just killed.
—----
Ivar moved carefully yet quickly, a heavy bundle of hide and meat strapped across his back. He had taken only the hind legs of the shadowcat. The rest had been too much to carry, and he refused to abandon the hide. He had long wanted new clothing for himself. And shadowcat fur was worth the trouble.
The forest began to thin as he moved forward, the bushes growing sparse, and before long he saw smoke rising from the place where he had told his band to meet earlier. He quickened his pace, and soon enough he caught sight of them, his own band of warriors, still young yet no longer green when it comes to hunting and gathering. It did not take long for them to notice him as well, and when their eyes fell upon the large bundle strapped across his back, surprise spread clearly across their faces.
He chuckled at their reaction.
"What's with yer faces?" Ivar said as soon as he got close enough, carefully unstrapping the bundle from his back, and let it fall.
"What's that?" Haldor stepped forward at once, crouching to inspect the hide and see what Ivar had brought back.
Hilde nodded toward Ivar and chuckled. "An' here I thought Haldor might finally get t' boast today fer takin' down the elk." She jerked her chin toward the elk Haldor had killed earlier.
Ivar raised a brow when he followed her gaze, clearly surprised. "Truly? He shot that himself?"
"He got lucky," Hilde replied, stepping closer to examine the hide. "Missed several arrows first an' had t' chase it fer leagues before he finally brought it down."
Ivar chuckled and shook his head, then looked toward Ulf, who had come up beside him.
"No luck today?" Ivar asked.
Ulf gave a small shake of his head. "None. Seems it was yer turn an' Haldor's." He nodded toward the bundle. "What is it?"
Ivar opened his mouth to answer, but Haldor beat him to it, his voice rising loud with disbelief.
"Shadowcat?" Haldor exclaimed. "I thought ye were jestin' when ye asked Freya an' Ylva about it. This is the shadowcat?" He looked up at Ivar as he finished.
The others quickly gathered around, Torren among them.
"Where d'ye get this?" Torren demanded, staring at the hide. "An' why didn't ye bring us along?" He looked at Ivar as though he'd been personally betrayed.
Ivar ignored Haldor entirely and gave Torren a small shrug. "I was roammin' near the ridge earlier," he said. "Saw it tearin' into a rabbit."
His eyes shifted briefly toward the forest. "Had t' kill it before it ate everythin' in the area. So…"
Ulf nodded beside him.
"Ye did right," he said. "Reckon that's why my group didn't find anythin' earlier. Either it ate the game, or it scared 'em all away."
"Right." Ivar nodded.
Torren's expression eased, the look of betrayal fading into understanding. He had been paired with Ulf and the others, and they hadn't found a single game all day.
He glanced back at the shadowcat hide and thought. Aye. That must've been the culprit.
Asgeir, after examining the hide and meat, couldn't help but ask, "Where's the rest o' the meat? Why'd ye only bring back the legs?"
Ivar looked at him and replied, "Couldn't carry it all in one go. We'll head back there on the morrow an'...."
He stopped mid-sentence as a small bundle at his side squirmed. He had almost forgotten about them. He unlatched the bundle from his side and carefully lowered it to the ground before opening it. The cubs immediately poked their heads out and looked around.
Ulf was the first to react. He crouched down and carefully picked up one of the cubs to examine it.
"An' ye brought its cubs back?" he asked.
"Aye. Thought about killin' 'em," Ivar said, nodding as he gently rubbed his fingers over the other cub. "But I want t' try first, see if they can be tamed."
The group's attention shifted at once, from the hide and meat to the cubs.
Hilde reached over and snatched the one Ivar had been petting, cradling it carefully as she stroked its fur.
"Can I have this one?" she asked.
"No," Ivar answered immediately.
Haldor chimed in as he leaned closer for a better look.
"Have ye gone mad?" he asked. "Freya an' Ylva said others tried t' tame shadowcats before, and got eaten fer their trouble."
He shook his head. "Only skinchangers can do that. Like Sigrun from the Redknife clan. Heard he can slip into his eagle's skin."
Hearing that, Ulf narrowed his eyes at Ivar. "Are ye a skinchanger, Ivar?"
Ivar still ignored Haldor and answered Ulf instead.
"No," he said. "Don't even know how I'd test meself fer that."
He glanced down at the cubs. "Anyway, if they can't be tamed, I'll kill 'em meself before they get a chance t' kill me."
"Oi! Oi!" Haldor waved his hand in front of Ivar. "Why're ye ignorin' me? Did I do somethin' wrong?"
Ivar finally turned his gaze on him.
"Aye," he said plainly. "Ye ordered Hilde an' the others not t' shoot that elk themselves, only fer ye t' miss again an' again."
His eyes sharpened. "An' how many leagues did ye chase it after that? What if ye'd run into Jorund's men instead? What if they'd killed all of ye?"
Haldor's eyes widened, then he looked down and muttered, "M' sorry. Won't do it again."
"Better not," Ivar replied evenly. "Or I'll have ye run 'round camp fer a whole day next time and won't let ye hunt for a whole moon."
He held Haldor's gaze until the boy nodded firmly. Only then did he turn away and address the rest.
"We'll camp here fer the night. On the morrow, we go together t' fetch the rest o' the shadowcat meat, then head straight back t' the settlement."
Then he raised his voice. "Maera, cook the meat."
Maera, who had been watching from a distance for fear the elk meat might burn, called back, "Already got it cookin'!"
"Add some o' the shadowcat too," Ivar said. "I want t' taste it."
"Oh, aye." Maera nodded and hurried over to fetch some of the shadowcat meat.