Graceful white birches edged the clearing around her tent, while tall dark pines made the hills around it green. A clump of twisting willow grew at one end of the glen; Tillu suspected a summer spring hidden beneath the snow. The glen itself seemed an open, airy place in contrast to the hills around it. Sunlight struck the hide walls of the tent during the day and helped warm it, while the pine forests on the surrounding hillsides sheltered it from storms and provided firewood and game. It was a good place to shelter out the winter.
Tillu spent her days hunting in the surrounding hills. She was beginning to know them now, and to think of exploring the neighboring valleys. It was still dark as she entered the silent pine forest. The cold of night had put a good crust on the snow. Tillu walked on top of it, heading steadily west, instead of having to plow through it. She picked her way carefully, following old game trails and avoiding the snow-laden swags of the pines. She didn't expect to find game close to the tent. She and Kerlew had been camped there nearly two months now. Their noise and smoke would have spooked away most small game. So she strode along, seeking to put distance between herself and the tent before the brief hours of light dawned.
The hours of light were few, but the day was long for her. She hunted first under a starry sky disturbed by the pale ribbons of the aurora borealis. She did not turn her gaze up to that spectacle, but peered into the shadows of the forest as she strode silently along. The stew had warmed her stomach but not filled it, and hunger soon chewed at her concentration.
The gray light of 'morning' found her moving silently, arrow ready, through an open forest of pine. The great trunks soared up around her. Brush was sparse, making it easier for her to walk, and to watch for the small game that was her target. She hated the constant tension of keeping an arrow ready to fly, but knew that any game she spotted would be aware of her. A movement such as drawing out an arrow and setting it to the bow would send them fleeing.
She watched, not for rabbit or squirrel or ptarmigan, but for movement and shape.
The flash of an eye or the flick of an ear in a clump of brush, the white curve that might be the haunch of a rabbit beneath a tree. She loosed once and missed, both bird and arrow vanishing silently into the snowy forest.
Her first kill came close to noon, and had nothing to do with her shooting skill. She had emerged from the forest into a small clearing. A blackened stump and a few fallen trunks protruded from the snow, showing where lightning had started a fire that had not spread. The open meadow was thick with brush. Tillu stood silently on the edge of the clearing, only her eyes moving. Dawn or gray evening would find this clearing alive with small game, she suspected. But she had discovered it at the wrong time of day. It was empty.
Or was it? A tiny clump of snow fell from one of the hushes, jarred loose by movement when the air was still. Tillu shifted her eyes to study the bush, while keeping her head still as if staring in a different direction. The hare was crouching motionless beneath the bush, thinking his white coat would conceal him. She clenched her teeth.
The branches of the protective bush were just thick enough that they would probably deflect her arrow and let the hare escape. She could spook him into the open and try for a running shot. But she knew her limits. There had to be another way to take him.
As long as he thought he was undiscovered, he would stay frozen there. Tillu began to walk slowly forward, looking everywhere except at the animal. She kept her head high, as if she stared across the clearing, and walked casually. But her eyes were turned down on the crouching animal, and her path carried her within a body's length of his hiding place.
The snow crunched lightly under her tread. The bright sun off the open meadow threw light up into her eyes, dazzling her after the soft shadows of the forest. She wanted to rub her eyes, but dared not move her hands. Closer. She was passing him now, and still he was motionless, his ears drawn flat to his back. She did not spring. She fell on him, letting her body crash down on both bush and animal, pinning the wildly struggling animal to the snowy earth in a tangle of snapped brush.
She gripped at him frantically with both hands, caught a leg, felt him kick free, clutched his body, felt him wriggle from her grip, then closed her hands on his neck.
She had him. With a swing and a snap she broke his neck, the tiny pop sounding loud in her ears. She hefted the warm, limp body. He was larger than the other two had been. He'd make a good meal. She pierced the thin skin between the two long bones of his hind legs and strung a fine line of braided sinew through them, knotting the ends. It made a long loop that went over one of her shoulders, so that he dangled upside down by her hip. The weight of her kill felt good. Now, if she could only get one or two more ...
But luck deserted her. She crossed the meadow and moved on, into somber woods where the branches that met overhead defeated the brightness of the short day. Nothing stirred. When the waning light of afternoon forced her footsteps back toward the tent, the stiffening hare was still her only kill.
She crossed over her morning's trail and worked the hillside above it hopefully. Most animals that browsed or grazed on hillsides kept their attention fixed downhill. Often they paid little attention to the hunter who stalked them from higher ground. But the light was going bad, and she wondered if a chancy shot would be worth the risk of losing one of her precious arrows. She gained the crest of a small hill and looked down into the next valley. She hadn't hunted this area yet. She wondered if she should take the time to explore it now, or head home with her kill and save this for tomorrow.
She froze for an instant, peering into the shadowy forest below her. She heard several tiny clicks, then the soft sound of snow being moved. A clack, as of wood against wood.
She could not see, and then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and distance, she did see.
Trunks and branches of trees interrupted her view, but the hump of an animal moved briefly in the snow and was still. It stirred again, and, as it did, Tillu slipped behind the cover of another tree. The creature was large, with a brown coat. But stare as she might at the shadowed shape, she could not resolve it into the outline of any beast she knew.
Then the female reindeer lifted her antlered head from the hollow she had pawed into the snowdrift. She peered about alertly for danger as the calf at her side butted up against her for warmth. Tillu grinned silently to herself: two animals, not one, and the adult with its head invisible. That was what had baffled her. She gripped her bow tightly and wondered.
She had four arrows left. But she did not deceive herself about their quality. Their tips were no more than fire-hardened wood. She had made her bow herself, and knew all its faults too well. The force that was sufficient to stun a bird or pierce a rabbit's thin hide would probably do no more than bruise the animal below. But the lure of that much meat wrapped in a useful hide sent her slipping from one tree's shelter to the next, getting ever closer as she worked her slow way down the hillside.
The mother pawed snow away to bare for her calf the tender lichen beneath. While the calf fed, she lifted her antlered head and stared about, watching for wolves and wolverines and the occasional lynx. When she was sure all was well, she dipped her own head into the hole. It was during those moments, while the mother's watchful eyes were below snow level, that Tillu advanced.
Tillu halted while she was still out of range. Her heart was high with hopes, her head whirling with plans. If she didn't spook the animal now, perhaps she would still be in this area tomorrow. Even if she weren't, sighting this reindeer meant there would be others in the nearby valleys and hills. Their winter hides would be thick now, good for boots and coats and bedhides. Their long sinews made fine thread, their bones and antlers good tools. To say nothing of rich slabs of red meat frosted with layers of fat, or the steaming liver and succulent marrow bones from the new kill. Tillu let her hunger rise as she thought swiftly. What would it take? A spear? And Kerlew to spook the animals to where she waited? It was possible. The mother lowered her head again, and Tillu peered out from the cover of the tree.