Cylus 3, Arc 718
Ellen pulled the heavy fur sitting on her shoulders more tightly around her neck. The bitter cold was relentlessly trying to seep into her bones, so she had to keep moving. Persistently trudging through the snow was the only thing that was truly keeping her warm at this point. Cylus was unforgiving and the cold darkness was merciless. Her fingers were numb and her toes were damp. She cursed for the hundredth time, stopping to stamp her feet before shoving off again through the drifts.
There had been nothing yet. No tracks. No movement. Just wind and snow and cold. There was a copse of trees ahead. A black mass on an even blacker horizon. She shuffled toward the shadowy limbs and ducked into the brush, desperate for a brief respite. Cliffs rose up to her left and hills stretched off in the other direction. If not for the wall of rock she was skirting, she’d have no idea where she was going. She couldn’t rely on retracing her tracks in this weather, with the wind likely to wipe them away.
The mixed-blood hunkered in the shelter of the everygreen shrubs and barren trees, bow laid across her knees, hands rubbing together furiously. She breathed into them, huffing and puffing, breath a cloud of white as she tried to warm her unfeeling fingers. Ellen stayed like this until some tingling returned, flexed them, and started off once more along the base of the cliffs.
Ahead of her was an uninterrupted blanket of white. Stones stuck out of the snow here and there, but otherwise she saw little difference. Without the suns it was hard to tell how long she’d been out. Ellen paused to look up at the unwavering moon. There were some thin clouds skudding across the sky, but it was an otherwise clear night. Another gust of wind hit her in the back, ruffling her feathers and throwing her hair into disarray.
“Bäbbän!” she hissed, hunkering into the protection of the mantle on her shoulders.
She wanted to retreat back to camp—run back to the fire and warm her shivering limbs—but their food was running low. They’d been rationing for a few trials now, and were out of anything remotely fresh. It was all salted or dried, and her stomach was hankering for something bloody. But the current course wasn’t paying off. She’d been hiking for breaks now with nothing to show for it. It was time for a change in tactics.
Ellen trudged her way up a nearby hill, slipping once or twice on the snow and ice but mostly keeping her feet under her. She looked around her at the crest but it was much the same. Rolling hills of snow and cliffs. The mixed-blood adjusted her bag more securely on her back, making sure the buckles and loops were secure, and that everything on her belt was in its place. Her bow was still held in one hand, always at the ready.
She stretched and unfurled her wings, letting the feathers slide into place where they may. The limbs were slightly stiff from the cold but were still largely the warmest part of her body. The mixed-blood moved them slowly, experimentally, working out the cinks of the cold. She readied the rest of her body as well, stamping out of the numbness of her toes and shaking out of her arms and legs. Then, taking a few quick strides across the swell of the hill, Ellen jumped as the land began so slope away again, beating the air heavily with her wings to gather lift.
She rose quickly above the hills, through gusts of wind that rocked her back and forth and tried to send her spinning until finally the air was mostly still. The half-blood sighed, both tired and relieved from the sudden change. It was slightly warmer here without the wind, but barely. She’d take what she could when she could get it.
From above there was far more to see—though really it was much of the same. The snow and darkness stretched for miles, mostly uninterrupted though in the distance a black river cut through the white. Ellen took a moment to observe it all. Her wings grew still and she glided in silence, eyes flicking over the wintry landscape. After dropping slowly for a while she began to churn the air again, moving her wings slowly so that nothing passed her by too quickly. Her sight was keen, but it wasn’t without its limits.
The half-blood stuck close to the cliffs, keeping them on her left so that she could stay oriented. As long as they were on her left she was moving away from camp. Ellen couldn’t quite guess how far she’d already come, but too much more and she’d have to turn back.
She focused her attentions below as she approached shrubland. It was more promising territory than the open snow fields she’d been stuck with, and she let herself descend closer to the ground to look for disturbances on the surface. There was more of nothing for a while, but the redhead persisted. She snacked briefly on a dry piece of venison stashed in one of the pouches on her belt, not bothering to stop but instead kept flying. It offered some renewed warmth and comfort, but also reminded her how low on food they were. She needed to keep searching.
There was a break in the shrubs up ahead—an area of partially exposed earth where the snow hadn’t accumulated evenly. Dormant grass lay brown and weathered amidst bare stones and dirt. The ground here wasn’t so pristine. It was marred with small tracks and what looked like signs of scratching. Efforts to find food under the cold cover. Ellen pulled up as quickly and silently as she could, out of the way and hopefully more out of sight. She passed over once but circled back slowly, gliding in a wide arc around the spot.
She stalked through the air slowly, beating her wings as little as possible, only enough to maintain her current height. She was near enough to see the details on the ground, but what clouds there were in the sky helped to mask any shadow she might cast by moonlight. The half-breed watched patiently, stretching her primary feathers out and banking at a sharp angle.
There.
A small movement at the edge of the brush. A splash of brown on white Barely there, but unmistakable once spotted. Her eyes narrowed as she peered down at the hare daring for a moment in the open. It crawled out of the safety of the brush, stood on its hind legs to look around, then continued on. Quietly, Ellen’wyn drew a smaller arrow from the quiver strapped to her hip and laid it over the string. A broadhead would tear through the creature and leave it mangled. The smaller projectile was more suitable.
She nocked then paused, trying to move her wings as little as possible, barely breathing. The rabbit scratched at the earth furiously. Ellen drew back the arrow, stalling in the air, sighted, then started to drop.
Ƙarami! she cursed silently, letting the bow go slack and pulling the arrow off the string. She wouldn’t make that kind of shot. Not from that distance on such a small target, and especially not at dark. Ellen slid the arrow back in her quiver and climbed to her original height. The hare had paused briefly but was now foraging again. It shuffled along, nosing through the snow. The mixed-blood’s stomach grumbled quietly, goading her.
She couldn’t let it get away, but she if she missed the shot it would be lost. Ellen scanned the clearing, searching, thinking. The hare turned its back toward her. Determined and a little desperate, she bared her teeth and plunged. Wings drawn in, the half-breed dropped like a stone. Throwing her bow over her shoulder as she dove toward the ground, she drew her knife from her belt. The ground rushed up and her wings opened to slow the swift descent. Muscles strained and she shit hard, dropping on the animal like a hawk.
She lashed out wildly, grabbing it by a hind leg as it tried to lunge out of the way. It squealed and squeaked, thrashing, and she plunged the knife into its small neck. It went still and there was silence again. Ellen breathed heavily, heart pounding from adrenaline. She lifted the dead creature up to examine it. Not particularly large, but very edible. A smile split her face.
“Ọfïïsï ke’u osise ke’ua shïgọdä.”
Her eyes cast down at the blood dripping on the white snow, staining it almost black in the moonlight. Her mouth watered, but she needed to be patient. Where there was one there was more. A good a start. She tied the hare’s back legs up so that it hung from her belt. Ellen stood, kicked some snow over the blood, and launched back into the sky.
Ellen pulled the heavy fur sitting on her shoulders more tightly around her neck. The bitter cold was relentlessly trying to seep into her bones, so she had to keep moving. Persistently trudging through the snow was the only thing that was truly keeping her warm at this point. Cylus was unforgiving and the cold darkness was merciless. Her fingers were numb and her toes were damp. She cursed for the hundredth time, stopping to stamp her feet before shoving off again through the drifts.
There had been nothing yet. No tracks. No movement. Just wind and snow and cold. There was a copse of trees ahead. A black mass on an even blacker horizon. She shuffled toward the shadowy limbs and ducked into the brush, desperate for a brief respite. Cliffs rose up to her left and hills stretched off in the other direction. If not for the wall of rock she was skirting, she’d have no idea where she was going. She couldn’t rely on retracing her tracks in this weather, with the wind likely to wipe them away.
The mixed-blood hunkered in the shelter of the everygreen shrubs and barren trees, bow laid across her knees, hands rubbing together furiously. She breathed into them, huffing and puffing, breath a cloud of white as she tried to warm her unfeeling fingers. Ellen stayed like this until some tingling returned, flexed them, and started off once more along the base of the cliffs.
Ahead of her was an uninterrupted blanket of white. Stones stuck out of the snow here and there, but otherwise she saw little difference. Without the suns it was hard to tell how long she’d been out. Ellen paused to look up at the unwavering moon. There were some thin clouds skudding across the sky, but it was an otherwise clear night. Another gust of wind hit her in the back, ruffling her feathers and throwing her hair into disarray.
“Bäbbän!” she hissed, hunkering into the protection of the mantle on her shoulders.
She wanted to retreat back to camp—run back to the fire and warm her shivering limbs—but their food was running low. They’d been rationing for a few trials now, and were out of anything remotely fresh. It was all salted or dried, and her stomach was hankering for something bloody. But the current course wasn’t paying off. She’d been hiking for breaks now with nothing to show for it. It was time for a change in tactics.
Ellen trudged her way up a nearby hill, slipping once or twice on the snow and ice but mostly keeping her feet under her. She looked around her at the crest but it was much the same. Rolling hills of snow and cliffs. The mixed-blood adjusted her bag more securely on her back, making sure the buckles and loops were secure, and that everything on her belt was in its place. Her bow was still held in one hand, always at the ready.
She stretched and unfurled her wings, letting the feathers slide into place where they may. The limbs were slightly stiff from the cold but were still largely the warmest part of her body. The mixed-blood moved them slowly, experimentally, working out the cinks of the cold. She readied the rest of her body as well, stamping out of the numbness of her toes and shaking out of her arms and legs. Then, taking a few quick strides across the swell of the hill, Ellen jumped as the land began so slope away again, beating the air heavily with her wings to gather lift.
She rose quickly above the hills, through gusts of wind that rocked her back and forth and tried to send her spinning until finally the air was mostly still. The half-blood sighed, both tired and relieved from the sudden change. It was slightly warmer here without the wind, but barely. She’d take what she could when she could get it.
From above there was far more to see—though really it was much of the same. The snow and darkness stretched for miles, mostly uninterrupted though in the distance a black river cut through the white. Ellen took a moment to observe it all. Her wings grew still and she glided in silence, eyes flicking over the wintry landscape. After dropping slowly for a while she began to churn the air again, moving her wings slowly so that nothing passed her by too quickly. Her sight was keen, but it wasn’t without its limits.
The half-blood stuck close to the cliffs, keeping them on her left so that she could stay oriented. As long as they were on her left she was moving away from camp. Ellen couldn’t quite guess how far she’d already come, but too much more and she’d have to turn back.
She focused her attentions below as she approached shrubland. It was more promising territory than the open snow fields she’d been stuck with, and she let herself descend closer to the ground to look for disturbances on the surface. There was more of nothing for a while, but the redhead persisted. She snacked briefly on a dry piece of venison stashed in one of the pouches on her belt, not bothering to stop but instead kept flying. It offered some renewed warmth and comfort, but also reminded her how low on food they were. She needed to keep searching.
There was a break in the shrubs up ahead—an area of partially exposed earth where the snow hadn’t accumulated evenly. Dormant grass lay brown and weathered amidst bare stones and dirt. The ground here wasn’t so pristine. It was marred with small tracks and what looked like signs of scratching. Efforts to find food under the cold cover. Ellen pulled up as quickly and silently as she could, out of the way and hopefully more out of sight. She passed over once but circled back slowly, gliding in a wide arc around the spot.
She stalked through the air slowly, beating her wings as little as possible, only enough to maintain her current height. She was near enough to see the details on the ground, but what clouds there were in the sky helped to mask any shadow she might cast by moonlight. The half-breed watched patiently, stretching her primary feathers out and banking at a sharp angle.
There.
A small movement at the edge of the brush. A splash of brown on white Barely there, but unmistakable once spotted. Her eyes narrowed as she peered down at the hare daring for a moment in the open. It crawled out of the safety of the brush, stood on its hind legs to look around, then continued on. Quietly, Ellen’wyn drew a smaller arrow from the quiver strapped to her hip and laid it over the string. A broadhead would tear through the creature and leave it mangled. The smaller projectile was more suitable.
She nocked then paused, trying to move her wings as little as possible, barely breathing. The rabbit scratched at the earth furiously. Ellen drew back the arrow, stalling in the air, sighted, then started to drop.
Ƙarami! she cursed silently, letting the bow go slack and pulling the arrow off the string. She wouldn’t make that kind of shot. Not from that distance on such a small target, and especially not at dark. Ellen slid the arrow back in her quiver and climbed to her original height. The hare had paused briefly but was now foraging again. It shuffled along, nosing through the snow. The mixed-blood’s stomach grumbled quietly, goading her.
She couldn’t let it get away, but she if she missed the shot it would be lost. Ellen scanned the clearing, searching, thinking. The hare turned its back toward her. Determined and a little desperate, she bared her teeth and plunged. Wings drawn in, the half-breed dropped like a stone. Throwing her bow over her shoulder as she dove toward the ground, she drew her knife from her belt. The ground rushed up and her wings opened to slow the swift descent. Muscles strained and she shit hard, dropping on the animal like a hawk.
She lashed out wildly, grabbing it by a hind leg as it tried to lunge out of the way. It squealed and squeaked, thrashing, and she plunged the knife into its small neck. It went still and there was silence again. Ellen breathed heavily, heart pounding from adrenaline. She lifted the dead creature up to examine it. Not particularly large, but very edible. A smile split her face.
“Ọfïïsï ke’u osise ke’ua shïgọdä.”
Her eyes cast down at the blood dripping on the white snow, staining it almost black in the moonlight. Her mouth watered, but she needed to be patient. Where there was one there was more. A good a start. She tied the hare’s back legs up so that it hung from her belt. Ellen stood, kicked some snow over the blood, and launched back into the sky.
