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Sleep didn't come easy to the hyena, Conor. Even as he sat there, wrapped in a cozy sleeping sack lined with reindeer fur, his footpaws warming by the guttering campfire, he could not find respite. Surrounded by strangers as he was, his anxious mind couldn't help but jump to the worst possible conclusions.

Would he wake up to find his longbow and supplies pilfered? Would he wake up to find himself all alone? Would he even wake up if he let himself become vulnerable?

Sakara had assured him that his Lentavohi kin were good people. That they would treat Conor as one of their own, not just as a friend of the tribe, but an honorary member. Between his and the fox's relationship and the events of this past winter, Sakara said he deserved the title. Conor would have disagreed, but the fox wouldn't let him. You deserve something, he had said.

With a sigh, the hyena plucked his waterskin from the damp grass, glancing at his bow to make sure it hadn't mysteriously vanished. It was an expert tool, after all, and a rarity in this land.

Many of the tribes used simple shortbows, reliable and easy to learn, but the hyena possessed a longbow. It was as tall as a spring birch sapling and carved from the finest yew one could find in his southern homeland. It took a lifetime to master such a tool, to achieve both the strength and the finesse to wield this weapon. For, unlike the shortbow of the northern peoples, Conor's plains longbow was not a tool of survival, but a fierce weapon of war.

Conor brought the waterskin to his lips, tipping his head back and quietly gulping down the lukewarm tea. He welcomed the simple brew of minty pine needles boiled in crystal river water. The morning gunk that clung to his throat was washed away with ease, replaced with a feeling of freshness that helped a little to quell his anxiety.

As the fire continued to softly crackle, the hyena tried to turn his attention to the groggy world all around him. The sun's rays had just begun to stream through the dominating pine trees, bronze and amber streaks cutting through the thick haze of morning dew. Birds had begun singing from their treetop nests, signalling the dawn of a new day as the world was roused once more from its deep sleep.

He had to admit, being part of the forest was nice. It felt right to sleep without skin walls keeping out the forest and its creatures. It was the way some of the more peaceful spirits had intended.

Their camp was as basic as it got, a small campfire in the heart of a clearing, dotted with five hunters bundled into their sleeping sacks. It wasn't grand or comfortable, but it was practical, and everyone, except Conor, had slept soundly. Not that the hyena minded. He just needed a bowl of warm leftovers, and then they could set off along the trail once again.

A subtle rustling sound made the hyena's fur stand on end. His ears swivelled to find it, his head unmoving as his weary brown eyes scanned the bracken that surrounded the clearing. It had come from the right, and it was there that the anxious hyena expected to catch a would-be thief, skulking about in the ferns. As he slowly turned his head to face the threat, he was met by the sight of...

Nothing.

Then came the rustling again. The sound was identical, like leaves and twigs brushing against the fur of a hidden quarry. He was certain it was coming from straight ahead, until something clicked.

He turned his intense gaze down slightly, toward the sleeping sack opposite his own. Sakara's sleeping sack. His face softened slightly, the bags under his eyes returning, casting a shadow on his face. A long exhale escaped his pursed lips as he stared at the fidgeting bag of leather and fur and the restless fox wrapped within. The fox must be having a bad dream.

The thought made his heart sink. And he hated it. Having these feelings for someone was a weakness, a way for people to get to him. And yet, he didn't care. Sakara was something more, whether he could admit it or not. To see the fox this way, rolling and kicking to escape some threat his half-conscious mind had conjured, made Conor feel something he had once forgotten.

Helplessness. It crushed his heart and sent a flare of anger up his spine. It evoked vague memories of being a cub at the whims of the clan matriarch. Memories that made his hackles raise and fingers curl into vicious talons. The desire to fight was strong, but there was nothing he could fight.

Save your energy, Conor, it would do no good here. He had to bite his tongue this time and spit in the face of his instincts. Instead of leaping upon some unseen victim, Conor quietly slipped out of his sleeping sack and shuffled silently over to the fox.

The morning dew quickly seeped into Conor's short, coarse fur, exposed as it was to the elements. The hyena wore nothing more than a scrappy breechcloth that hung loose around his waist, as was normal for summer dress. As cold as it may have been this morning, the northern tribes insisted on calling it summer.

Conor had never been able to get used to it. Where he grew up, on the plains by the narrow sea, the nights were humid and one could quite easily fall asleep nude under the stars. But here, one would sooner wake up to find icicles in place of their genitals. Though, in time, the sun would rise and the world would warm once again, and the outfit, or lack thereof, would serve its intended purpose.

For now, there were more important things to worry about than the cold. Conor sat himself behind the fox, who still thrashed in his sleeping sack, overwhelmed by the demons his mind had conjured.

What could he do? His friend was in there with the demons, but he was stuck out here. Conor couldn't bite the demons or growl at them until they turned tail and ran. He didn't know any rituals to dispel sleep demons; it wasn't for the boys of hyena clans to have such knowledge.

There was another option, although the hyena was reluctant to try. It threatened to show weakness should one of the others wake up. But he couldn't leave his friend to suffer. Surely he could get away with it, just so long as he was quick.

Conor leaned over Sakara, his broken yet still formidable body casting a shadow over the restless fox. They were both tall, Conor slightly more so, but the fox did not share his sinewy build. In fact, he was so skinny that the hyena had to wonder how a stiff breeze didn't snap the lanky fox in half.

Tentatively, the hyena extended his black-furred paw. His breath caught in his throat as he did, causing him to hesitate for a moment, until at last...

He wrapped his paw gently around Sakara's shoulder, stroking his thumb over the fox's fiery fur. Although he never bathed, Conor was surprised to find his fur surprisingly smooth. He guessed it was down to all the grooming Sakara and his brother shared in, brushing each other's fur for hours and talking complete nonsense.

That almost seemed nice, in a strange way that the hyena couldn't quite explain.

He allowed himself to squeeze Sakara's shoulder a little harder, feeling that lovely, thick fur in his paws. Best to make the most out of it before it shed everywhere. But lost in the soft sensation of the fox's fur, Conor had almost missed it.

Sakara was squeezing his paw back.

"Good morning..." hummed the fox meekly, his raspy voice still not quite ready to wake up. The hyena's gentle touch had done more than stop the thrashing, it had roused the fox. Conor gasped, trying to retract his paw, but his friend's grip tightened around his wrist.

"Stay," he commanded in a half-whisper, "your touch makes me feel warm." The fox let out a soft growl, his grip easing on the hyena's paw as he stroked along its length.

The fox groggily flipped his head over to look at the hyena, a flash of stark, arctic-blue staring at him from a single, squinting eye. The lazy grin on his muzzle faded suddenly, replaced by a frown as his grip tightened on the hyena's paw once again.

"Your tremors..." He sighed, pressing the hyena's paw to his chest. Conor had been this way for as long as the fox had known him, his paws constantly shaking as if he were cold or nervous. Sometimes you would barely notice them, but this was not one of those times.

"I didn't mean to wake you, Sakara." The hyena stated dryly as he yanked his paw away from the fox, but with nothing to steady it, the tremors only grew worse. His paw began to quiver like a hare in a blizzard, his heart pumping harder.

"I'm glad you did." The fox huffed, putting on a groggy smile and stroking his paw along the hyena's leg. "Get close with me."

Conor sighed, the stroking on his leg replaced by a gentle tugging, inviting him to lay by the fox's side. The fox was stubborn, despite all the warnings and trouble they'd been through, he never ceased with that sickeningly sweet and caring way he carried himself.

Sakara was only going to get himself hurt at his side. Conor found it unbearable, even unbecoming of his years of self-discipline, but worst of all he found it...

Irresistible.

With great care the hyena lowered himself onto the fox, wrapping his arms around that warm, bony chest and pulling the fox tight against himself. The chest heaved under his arm as Sakara drew in a long breath, followed by a soft murmur as he snuggled into his friend's embrace.

"Did you sleep well?" Sakara asked idly, unable to look him in the eyes as the hyena had put his head down on the fox's neck. Pinned though he was, the fox felt a warmth washing over his body as the hyena squeezed him tight.

"Hardly a wink," Conor mumbled back, fidgeting a little to get comfortable, before rubbing his muzzle against the fox's cheek.

"We have a long day ahead of us," the fox protested, attempting a serious tone that quickly faltered and broke. The hyena was smart, the cheek rubs preventing Sakara from confronting his mistakes. How could he when, for once, Conor was being so sweet?

"I'm fine..." He huffed, stroking the fox's belly. "Anyway, there's no time. The sun is already rising." They both turned their faces to the trees, golden shafts still streaming through them. By now the sun had crested the horizon, shining in all its eye-watering glory down upon the creatures that slept and skittered under a canopy of ancient pine and birch.

"So it is." Sakara croaked loudly, a sound which caught the hyena off guard and made his heart skip a beat. He cleared his throat and stretched out his arms, joints popping as he worked the stiffness out of his bones. "Would you help me warm some leftovers? The others would appreciate it."

Their tight embrace was broken as Sakara squirmed free of his brief bedmate, who quickly relented from trying to hold him back. They both sat up beside each other, turning to face the fire. The dying flames licked at blackened charcoal, starved and searching for whatever splinters it could devour. And yet it mustered enough strength for a wave of soothing warmth to wash over the cheeks of the two hunters, inviting them to shuffle closer.

And still, Conor found that uneasy feeling rising inside him again. That all too familiar voice in the back of his mind that screamed about how he was exposed and in the company of strangers.

He glanced at each of the other sleeping sacks. There was the lynx, an archer like himself, very quiet, as if he spent his time scheming. Scheming of how he might overpower the hyena. His body was bulky, rippling with a layer of muscle, enough to challenge the hyena's subtle strength.

On the opposite side of the fire was the marten. There was nothing about her that would seem to betray ill intent, but then she didn't have to. Her bravado and sharp mind were admirable, if only it didn't bring back painful memories of home.

And finally, sleeping soundly behind Sakara, was the wolf chieftain, Tikeri. Now there was a strange sight, a chieftain with no hair on his balls and a youthful shine in his eyes. They were all very young, but for a chieftain of no more than twenty-five summers? To Conor, it was a shock that Sakara's tribe had not been led stubbornly to their demise. That was, if Tikeri's persistent, jealous taunting of the fox and hyena's relationship was anything to go off.

"Hey," said the fox, his muzzle close to the hyena's ear. "They may be my kin, but whatever happens we look out for each other." He went on stroking Conor's arm, something he often did when he thought the hyena was worried.

"I wish you all didn't reek of piss and shit, at least," the hyena chuckled, and leaned into the fox with a weak, toothy grin. He could let himself have this moment. Just this one, and no more.

Conor's tail flicked slightly as he brought their muzzles together, wrapping an arm around the fox and pulling him in. They pressed their lips together in a sleepy kiss, Sakara grabbing a hold of the hyena's arm and squeezing, as if he might shoot off into the clouds. Conor had to admit, for moments like this, it was worth breaking the rules.

"Complain about the smell all you want," Sakara giggled, beaming with a broad smile as he gave the hyena a lick on the nose. "You must like it if you've still got that dopey grin on your face."

Conor, with his arm still wrapped around the fox, pulled them into a tight bundle once again. They both giggled like kits stowed away somewhere they shouldn't be as the hyena pressed his nose to the fox's neck and snuffled at his lush fur. Unwashed as he was, Conor's nose was filled with a thick musk of sweat and urine, an unpleasant mix, if it hadn't come from this particular fox of his.

"I can see that bulge in your sleeping sack from here, Sakara," came a third voice. It cut through the tranquil morning like an arrow loosed at some unaware buck, and it hit just as hard.

The two looked up from each other over to the source of the voice, to find Tikeri up in his sleeping sack, rubbing his eye. And yet the remaining eye still shot a burning glare at the two of them, watching with a jealousy he didn't bother to keep hidden.

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In time the whole party was roused from a restful sleep, bleary-eyed and throats parched. With gaping yawns and joints cracking like snapped twigs, they stretched their arms and rose into the golden rays of light that shone through the pine needles.

Conor and Tikeri kept up their glaring contest for a time, while Sakara had gone to join Valkantaa and Kuvähä, the marten and the lynx respectively.

Kuvähä produced a fistful of smoked grouse from his pack, giving two small cuts to each of his fireside companions. He then turned and called for Tikeri, the wolf finally breaking his glare, handing victory to the hyena. And yet, Conor still refused to break his stare, watching as the wolf shuffled over to the fire and claimed his portion.

Together, the Lentavohi hunters began to chatter and gossip amongst themselves, skewering their portions on knives and holding them near the fire to warm. Conor listened as they chatted about all sorts of odd things: something to do with a stolen horse, someone hiding a salmon in their breechcloth, and a tentative question to Kuvähä about children.

There was a silence following that last question, the lynx narrowing his gaze upon the wolf who'd asked, a cheeky smile on his lips. He placed his paw on the marten's belly and rubbed gently, mouthing something.

"With luck" was all that Conor managed to decipher from the lynx, who turned to give his mate a smile. She had quickly shot back a raised eyebrow, putting on an impatient look, but a subtle smile gave away the joy she held back, just behind the facade. She put her paw on her belly alongside his, sharing a moment together before turning her attention to matters of breakfast.

Valkantaa dumped the last pieces of firewood into the pit, the hungry flames roaring to life to devour them. While it would have been useful to keep some spare, they had to travel light. There was no way they'd cut off the herd in time if they were weighed down by full packs and spare firewood. And besides, it was early summer, a sleeping sack could keep the cold out well enough. Even then the nights were only getting warmer.

Sufficiently warmed by the fire, the portions of smoked grouse found no mercy from the ravenous hunters. They ate them straight from the stick in two bites or less, leaving nothing but bones and sinew.

To wash it down the hunters passed around a stuffed leather pouch and a deflated skin bladder. One was stuffed with honey-glazed hazelnuts, the other a strange, sour drink. Conor could smell it from here, an odour of spoilt milk with a bitter undertone of a strong, alcoholic beverage. Hevosima, Sakara had called it, fermented horse milk. Foul.

Conor watched the others as they passed their after-meal treat from person to person, each of them following the same pattern. They would each pinch their nose and tip their head back, taking one big gulp from the rancid milk and then smacking a pawful of hazelnuts into their maw.

They did not swallow the hazelnuts immediately. Instead, they pulled the most ridiculous faces, straining and wincing as they sucked on the honeyed hazelnuts, trying with all their strength to, assumedly, keep their breakfast in their stomach.

Once they had applauded each other's stupidity, Sakara called to the hyena and asked if he would come and eat. Conor politely declined; he didn't have much of an appetite to begin with, let alone after witnessing that ritual of theirs.

There were more important matters to attend to, anyway.

As the others let their stomach settle, Conor began to prepare for the long day ahead of them. He gathered up his things, throwing a ragged vest over his shoulders. It had no string to tie it closed, which left the scars on his chest exposed. For the best, should any of the others forget.

As the hyena began to roll up his sleeping sack and count his arrows, Sakara and the others finally decided to follow suit. They each went to their sleeping sacks and began to make ready.

Most of them wore very little, anticipating the sun's wrath like the hyena. Sakara and Valkantaa wrapped simple deer hide skirts around themselves, while Tikeri and Kuvähä swaddled themselves in well-kept breechcloths that hung down to their knees. Though the wolf and the lynx didn't stop there. They each wore cloaks, one a patchwork of furs that formed a haphazard collage, the other woven together from tall, dry grass that looked more like kindling than a form of shade.

Conor also couldn't help but stare at the various jewelry the Lentavohi hunters wore. It seemed unnecessary, just another source of noise that might scare off the game. At least Sakara kept it to a minimum, a droplet of amber dangling from his neck on a length of rawhide.

The marten wore a collection of colourful stones, a rainbow of scattered sapphire, emerald, and amethyst. Some were around her neck, others pierced in her ears, broken up by the occasional bone or flint, and even a pair of small azure feathers.

The lynx was more modest, his head fur tied back so it wouldn't get in his way, and he wore a necklace of small bird bones and tiny beads of amber. His most extravagant accessory had to be the skull of a sparrowhawk hanging from his belt.

And then there was Tikeri, whose choice of trinkets Conor found most curious. It wasn't flashy, and yet it wasn't modest either. Just a necklace from which hung a dozen arrowheads, carved from cloudy amber that wasn't particularly unique. They certainly couldn't have been used, amber was far too soft for any kind of tool, but why would the wolf wear fake arrowheads?

Perhaps it was a waste of time to worry about it; the others had finally gotten ready. About time. The sun was already rising high into the sky, and they needed to move quickly if they were to catch the herd before it passed into the valley of the Visilaakiveä people. A tribe, which Sakara had put so eloquently, that would rather cut out their own tongue than negotiate with a Lentavohi.

Conor rose to join the others, sliding his longbow over his shoulder, as they moved to huddle around their spears. The four oak shafts had been lashed together at the neck, coming to resemble the wooden frame of a skin shelter.

Each hunter grabbed their piece while Tikeri unlashed their shafts, and, much like their morning meal, all the spears were claimed as fast as they could be pulled free.

They were nothing special, simple wooden stakes with their carved points burned black, hardened by flame. They seemed amateurish; the Lentavohi were horse riders and their usual flint-tipped spears were taller than the standing stones of some tribes, unwieldy when handled on foot.

With that, each of the hunters looked to each other, exchanging nods and reassuring comments. Conor had to bite his tongue, for now they were not just strangers, but companions whose lives were now in each other's paws.

They set off into the forest, leaving behind only a few blocks of firewood and a layer of discarded bones and shells. The fire would burn out in its own time, leaving nothing but ash. Their sleeping packs, their tools, their water, anything that mattered was carried on their belts and backs. Anything that wasn't was left behind.

The trail was well-trodden, the earth churned into a muddy mess from recent rains, the brush twisted and pushed aside by the countless deer, boar, and even bears that followed these ancient trails in the spring and summer. In places the bark was worn down or clawed apart by clumsy antlers or bears looking for a scratching post.

It didn't scare Conor, nor any of the other hunters. At least, they didn't show it if they were. The game trail was safe - it always was. A place where all creatures walked without fear, somehow knowing the rules unspoken between people and animals, hunters and prey.

The air was filled with the sounds and scents of the forest: the chorus of twittering tits and croaking crows, the pine and birch rustling and creaking in the wind, and the distant rumble of the river as it thundered into the valley beyond.

The morning dew had already faded, the sun's light growing brighter every moment. Conor could already smell the sweat on his companions, panting and rubbing their foreheads as they tried to keep out of the stray shafts of sunlight that pierced the forest canopy.

Soon after came the buzzing. The incessant buzzing. Bees and flies awoken from whatever hole they called home, searching for odorous flowers or unwashed hunters. It must have annoyed the others too, as Sakara had begun to hand out clutches of lavender. Wear it, chew it, rub it under your pits - The fox had said it should keep the pests away for at least a while.

The trail became steep as the hunting party worked its way into the mouth of the valley. The ground dropped very suddenly, carved away by the river over generations, from as far back as when this lush forest was a wasteland of ice and snow.

As they went, it seemed as though they were flanked by mountains, and they might as well have been. The land here barrelled towards the sea, sweeping towards the ocean in dozens of rolling valleys just like this one. Where there had once been plains and forests was now an imposing wall that divided the valleys, and in time even they would vanish. The thought was humbling, but even if it happened within a generation, Conor never had planned to live that long.

The rushing water had grown more thunderous as they approached the valley floor. Sure enough, through the dense bracken, they caught a glimpse of seething foam churning on the surface of the water. The trail ahead curved sharply to the left, finally bringing the hunters to the frothing water's edge.

They all stopped to admire the untamed ferocity of the valley's river spirits as they perched upon the relative safety of a rocky outcrop. The waters did not flow evenly, in places flowing as fast as a galloping horse. Occasionally, their flow was tripped up by jagged rocks hidden just below the surface and causing the water to crash over itself in huge, foaming waves. The sound was incredible; to call it thunderous did not do it justice. The roar was more akin to a stampede of aurochs so numerous, they could darken the skies with the dust left in their wake.

Tikeri took a moment to pick up a smooth riverstone, which would have been good for knapping, if the wolf hadn't hucked it as hard as he could into the river. It came down without a splash, the river spirits swallowing the stone whole, dragging it under in a matter of moments.

He had done little more than confirm what everyone already knew. Falling in would mean a painful death at the hands of the river spirits. You would be sucked under by the currents, then dashed against the rocks. You were lucky to die from trauma, lest you then thrash and struggle as your lungs scream for air, the rocks beating you mercilessly.

And the only way forward was a slippery, old alder tree. Its bark was black and peeling away, its roots having succumbed to the rains and winds countless winters ago.

Sakara stepped up to the log first, lifting one leg onto it before stopping. He sighed and reached into a pouch on his belt, returning with something clutched in his paw. It was colourful and sparkled in the sunlight, and Conor was able to make out bands of rosy red on the object as the fox raised it over his head.

"Spirits of this valley!" Sakara howled, his muzzle pointed towards the forest across the river. "We are humbled by your display of power. As guests in your valley, we do not wish to take any more than we need. With your permission we shall cross over, sate our bellies, and be gone before the sun sets." The fox paused, glancing up at the object clutched in his fist. He loosened his grip and let it hang down for all to see. "We are honest folk, and we offer you gifts in exchange for our safe passage."

A necklace of polished sea stones? Conor raised an eyebrow, wondering where the fox had gotten them, or why. He watched as Sakara stretched back his arm, the necklace clattering against itself, and then half-heartedly tossed the necklace into the river.

The fox turned to nod at his companions and, at long last, climbed up onto the log. He went down on all fours, spear clutched tight in one paw, creeping slowly over the old log.

Though Conor had thought the fox was feather-like, the log still creaked and groaned beneath him, age having done its worst to this fallen giant. The brittle bark crumbled beneath his paws in blackened clumps, revealing the cracked and rotted wood beneath.

Despite the old log threatening to plunge them into the vicious waters below, the others wasted no time following the fox. Once someone reached the halfway point, another would climb up and join them. One after the other, to the protest of the log, leaving Conor to cross over last.

Valkantaa was there to greet him on the other side, offering her shoulder for the hyena to lift himself up on. She looked back on the log and huffed that it wasn't so bad in the end, patting her chest as she panted.

The two of them turned to find the others standing completely still, staring intently at something in the forest ahead. Conor felt his pulse pick up, his tail flicking slightly as his instincts kicked in. Had they already found the deer? He had to find out, and so he approached his companions, tapping Sakara on the shoulder. The fox flicked his head back with a start, eyes wide, caught off by the hyena's approach. Though, seeing it was his friend, he stepped aside to let the hyena see for himself.

Many nights ago, Sakara joked in passing about the Visilaakiveä tribe acting more like shrikes than their patron spirit, the kite. Conor hadn't quite understood his comparison, assuming the fox was calling the tribe small and easy to step on.

That was, until now.

The sight before them was cruel, even by the hyena's battle-hardened standards. A sharp stake stood to the side of the trail, the mutilated body of an otter welcoming travellers into the valley. The entrails were spilled where the stake had torn their belly open, their fur sloughing off in the elements. Already their finger bones were showing through torn skin.

"By Äituri's mercy..." Sakara gasped, covering his nose with an arm. The stench was unbearable - a vile miasma of rot and decay that permeated the air and clung to their fur.

"Who could do that to someone?" Valkantaa crouched down, planting her spear firmly on the ground and leaning against it, her knees suddenly feeling weak. "Just cut them open like a deer," she added, almost mumbling as she stared at the grotesque scene, the stench making her eyes water.

"Isn't it obvious?" A low, bestial growl rumbled in Kuvähä's throat and chest as he turned away from the body, staring at Tikeri with a clenched first.

"Visilaakiveä," stated the wolf in response, glancing at the lynx for a brief moment. They could hear his breath shaking with each exhale, nerves getting the better of him for a moment as his ears went flat.

"Must be a warning for trespassers." Sakara was shivering slightly, the fur on his back standing on end. He felt as though they were being watched by something out there in the forest. His eyes darted from boulder to treetop, but he spied nothing besides the usual heckling crows.

"Perhaps a punishment for some misdeed," Conor suggested, thinking back to the things he'd seen back on the plains of the south. Justice was a very different thing to the warlike tribes of his home. A terrifying thing.

"I doubt it. I've seen other chiefs afford rapists and murderers more mercy than this," Tikeri explained, scratching his chin and snorting, then shaking his head in disapproval. "This is just-"

"Slaughter for the sake of slaughter," the lynx mumbled to himself, drawing the queasy gaze of his companions. Even Conor showed a rare glimpse of emotion, glancing over his shoulder to inspect each possible hiding spot with a paw resting on a sheathed knife.

"We shouldn't go any further." Sakara shook his head - if Conor was worried then they should all be worried. Besides moths and the fox's little brother, very few things truly scared that hyena.

"He's right, we'll end up like him, or worse." The marten withdrew slightly - she had the right idea, and perhaps her stubbornness would get them home without trouble. If only they were so lucky.

"Don't be ridiculous, we've come all this way already," shot back Tikeri, one eye closed as he rubbed his forehead with his palm. "That deer is rightfully ours."

"Tikeri, are you blind?" Sakara stared back, ears flat and eyes piercing the wolf, as if looking into his soul. Clearly the wolf still wasn't sure, he knew the danger that waited, and it weighed heavily on his mind. He might have seen sense if it wasn't for the hyena.

"He's right, Sakara," insisted Conor as he glanced between the two of them. The hyena had folded his arms, his tail flicking awkwardly. "If you let the Visi turn you away, they'll believe their bloodshed works. And they'll keep doing it," the hyena reasoned. The fox, however, would have none of it.

"That's insane-" he blurted, but as if he had expected it the lynx cut off his whining complaints.

"No less insane than a tribe willingly devastating itself over a hunting dispute," hissed Kuvähä as he joined the hyena. Together they stood in opposition to the fox and the marten, leaving their chief to decide once and for all. "They're bluffing," the lynx went on, turning to Tikeri, "I've seen it before."

Tikeri shook his head, his palm slipping over one eye as he rested his head in his paw. Stepping aside from the others, he paced back up the trail towards the river, stopping to stare across the dark, foaming waters.

"We've come too far," he grumbled as he turned back to face the others. After a moment more, he began to pace back towards them and boldly stated, "I can't turn us back now."

"Fuck..." The fox turned and covered his face, the hyena following him and putting a paw on his back to reassure him. It didn't help much, this was a huge mistake. At best they would start a feud, at worst... Sakara glanced at the mutilated otter.

Satisfied, a prideful smile curled onto Kuvähä's lips. He nodded at Tikeri before turning and making a start down the trail again, smugly ignoring the dead otter that warded them away. That was, until something gripped him, stopping the lynx dead in his tracks.

"My sweet mate," grumbled the marten, with a firm hold of Kuvähä's shoulder. She glared at him with fiery eyes, all the while patting the subtle lump on her stomach. "If the Visi do any harm to the little one, I'll wean her on your bone marrow."

Releasing her mate, the marten left to join Tikeri as the wolf seemed distant, still uncertain of his decision. Kuvähä watched her go with one eyebrow raised and his maw hanging agape, his head cocked to one side and his shoulders slacked. Standing opposite the lynx, Sakara let out a hearty chuckle and reached out to pat Kuvähä on the chest.

"You look like you've seen your death," commented the fox as he beamed with amusement. But the lynx only cleared his throat, smacking his dry lips and looked at Sakara with wide eyes.

"I think I have."

There were a few mumbles of discontent, but the chief's word was final. They would press on, continuing down the trail and each offering a phrase to the deceased stranger.

"May Metsävaha guide you," they all said in hushed tones with heads bowed low. All except Conor, trailing behind the group and only offering the corpse a fleeting glance. In the warlike tribes he grew up with, respect wasn't afforded to dead strangers. What if they had been punished for crimes he would never know?

Anyway, the petty affairs of the northern tribes weren't his concern. He didn't plan to die in some squabble over a dead hostage, but for Sakara's sake, he would stay and keep his wits about him.

#

Warmth turned to heat, and the heat had become unbearable. The day had steadily marched on as they had wandered down the trail, quickly approaching a narrow portion of the valley flanked by steep, rocky cliffs. Waterskins were passed around, each taking their fill, and then some to pour down their backs.

Back home by the Narrow Sea, this weather was common. Conor would have been able to tough it, if it wasn't for the awful stench. His companions insisted body odour was the essence of the soul, never once bathing. In the heat, the filth on their bodies created a fetid stink that rivalled the corpse they had found. It didn't help that they had insisted on rubbing dung into their clothes. Something about masking their scent. Ridiculous! The best hyena hunters would bathe and go without a scent. He had even suggested this, but was promptly brushed off.

The skin was passed to the hyena last, being that he brought up the rear. He brought it to his muzzle, his dry lips suckling on the waterskin like a greedy infant. His parched throat welcomed the cool flow of fresh river water, right until the last drop, emptying what was left of its contents.

Something hit his chest, a gentle bump that caught the hyena by surprise. He lost his footing, putting his paws out to steady himself on whatever it was.

He grasped at Kuvähä's splotchy grey fur, realising he had stumbled over the lynx, who had stopped and crouched down in front of him. His ears were erect, the little tufts on the ends swaying in the breeze. His hazel eyes were focused entirely on Sakara, who sat in front of them.

In fact, looking around, Conor realised they were all crouched low, their friendly gossip having gone silent. Without wondering why, the hyena joined them, taking his longbow into his paws and knocking an obsidian-tipped arrow to its tense sinew string. They were surrounded by tall grass, but that would be no real cover from the keen eyes of other hunters.

The hyena gulped, then exhaled as he focused his mind. He felt his heartbeat pick up, the tremors in his paws returning again. If it was Visi hunters there would be trouble, trouble that might get Sakara hurt. But Conor wouldn't allow that.

"Three, downwind," whispered Tikeri, turning his head back to address them all. He raised three fingers, then made a sweeping gesture to indicate the direction of the wind, and finished by sticking two fingers on his head to imitate a deer's antlers.

Red deer, thank the spirits. Conor buried his muzzle in his arm and let out a sigh of relief. Easy pickings, they would be done soon enough and be able to leave these lands.

"Fallen boulder," whispered Valkantaa, pointing behind Tikeri at a pair of tall, grey monoliths tinted green with patches of moss. Exchanging nods, everyone seemed to agree that would be a better staging point.

Keeping low, the group began to move in a line. They made sure to keep their heads below the tall grass which, standing, would have only brushed against their leggings. But these were not amateurs; though they preferred their horses, they knew how to hunt on their own two feet.

They reached a rocky patch in their path and, after a moment's hesitation to think, Tikeri went down on his belly and began crawling. The others followed suit, Conor falling in behind Kuvähä and getting a full view of the underside of his breechcloth. A view which, admittedly, wasn't unwelcome. Though he wished it had been the underside of Sakara's skirt instead.

The craggy ground was rough on the hyena, scraping against his thin, sandy fur. Stray pieces of sharp flint would catch and dig into the exposed flesh of his scars, leaving small cuts and scratches, but he pushed on. They all did. They all had to push on.

They glanced over where their prey was, catching a glimpse of two bucks and a doe grazing without much of a care in the world. The antlers on one of the bucks were particularly impressive, doubling the creature's height. A fine trophy to bring to the fireside and tell tall tales about what a demon of a beast it was, when in truth it wasn't even aware of its imminent demise.

Reaching the boulders, the group breathed a collective sigh of relief. The fox and the marten stood up and pressed their backs to the smooth, cold rock. They glanced around the edges occasionally, keeping an eye on the prey, and quickly ducking into cover whenever it seemed they might be spotted.

The lynx slipped into the grass, staying low at his mate's side, allowing Conor to take a place huddled between Tikeri at the head and Sakara at his side.

A paw gripped Conor's shoulder, stroking it gently. Sakara was trying to reassure him or, perhaps, reassure himself. With a grunt the hyena brushed off the fox's gentle touch. Now was the time for focus, to think with their brains and not their cocks.

And yet, for Conor, this was becoming increasingly hard. The tea and the waterskin had come back to do their worst, and the hyena's bladder was taking the brunt of it.

"I should've taken a piss in that river," Conor grumbled to himself, biting his lip. The wolf flashed an irritated look back at him.

"You're an adult, just go," he ordered back in a stern, but soft tone.

"Just go? Our prey will smell me!" The hyena hissed back, maw hanging agape as he grappled with what he had just been ordered to do. But he didn't have to think for long as, with a long sigh, Tikeri stared back at him again.

"We are in the middle of hunting. Don't let your body distract you," the wolf stated simply, as if he was speaking to a child. All the more insulting when the hyena was his elder by a number of summers.

"You just want me to soil myself?" Conor shook his head, giving the wolf a dumbfounded look, an eyebrow raised and his head cocked slightly to one side. Though he understood the words, he did not want to believe he was hearing them.

"Yes, I do." Tikeri confirmed, flashing his fangs at his companion, clearly annoyed by having to repeat himself. He reached out and snatched the hyena's ear, pulling it close to his lips. "I want you to piss your loincloth, in front of us, and I want you to grin and bear it. Like an adult." He growled before Conor managed to smack the grey paw away.

"Fucking animals, the lot of you," he grumbled under his breath, slinking away from Tikeri. What a disgusting practice, but what did he expect from a people that believed their musk was the essence of their very souls? Next they would tell him they pissed on their shelters to claim them, like the wild animals they hunt and eat.

Sakara couldn't help but look at his friend's scowl, his lips parted slightly to reveal his clenched teeth. His sullen eyes now glared at them as if they were rats, and it pained the fox deeply. He had to lift his friend's spirits, or the hunt may fall apart when they were so close to closing their trap.

Rummaging around his belt, Sakara reached his paw into one of his leather pouches. He felt a dry, chalky substance plaster the tips of his fingers and retracted them to reveal a pale shade of purple. It was a healing salve, dried to prevent going foul, and good for soothing the usual blisters and rashes one got while travelling.

He dipped his paw into the pouch again, returning with a pawful of purple powder. A smirk came to his muzzle as he tentatively offered it to Conor, the hyena shooting back a confused and unimpressed look.

"For the rash," Sakara teased, leaning over his friend's shoulder so the others wouldn't hear. But the hyena's look remained stony and unchanged, and the fox quickly withdrew his attempts to lift his spirits. He'd grown up with a tribe vigorously fond of their hygiene, of course he wouldn't make him laugh. Sakara cursed himself for thinking it might have.

"Funny," Conor stated in a monotone voice, turning his attention back to the task before them. A dangerous task, one that was second nature to the fox and all his companions.

"Would you three keep it down now?" Kuvähä hissed under his breath. Sakara glanced over at him, sighing as he leaned against the cold, lifeless surface of the boulder. His grip tightened around the smooth shaft of his crude spear, head tilted back and looking up into the canopy with half-closed eyes. It was time to get serious.

"We can corral the deer over there," the wolf finally piped up, looking back to Conor and the others to make sure they were listening. He made a grabbing gesture with both arms before pointing out a rocky outcrop that sheltered a shallow cave.

The others all took a moment to think, observing the corral and the path they would have to take to reach it. They looked to each other and nodded - the corral was a tried and true strategy, said to be used in ages long past to hunt the great mammoth of legend. It would work. They would make it work.

"Hyena, you know how to corral prey, don't you?" asked Kuvähä, shaking Conor's shoulder. The hyena almost leapt to his feet at the lynx's touch, wheeling around to glare at his companion with hackles raised.

"I am not trying to insult you!" the lynx insisted, snatching his arm away as if he had been snapped at by a maddened camp dog. "Do you know how to corral prey?" he asked again, a more serious tone to his voice and, Conor could swear, a low growl in his throat.

The hyena bit his lip, letting the hackles on the back of his neck settle. After a moment, his shoulders slacked and that unnaturally calm expression returned to his face. He nodded slowly and began to explain the plan in a monotone voice.

"You and I climb the rocks and wait for the other three to drive them to us. If things go wrong, we take pot shots to scare them into the right path. When they are corralled, we make the killing blows, keep the others from decorating those antlers with their entrails." This was the plan as he understood it - even between tribes the strategy was known well.

A satisfied smile curled onto Kuvähä's muzzle, knowing his companion wasn't slow. Conor was surprised the lifeless tone hadn't put the lynx off as it had with so many others. Most people found it uncomfortable, like they were speaking to a hyena devoid of his very soul. He liked it that way.

And in truth, they weren't entirely wrong.

"Go on then, both of you." Tikeri flicked his head in the direction of the corral. He still whispered, but the pace of his words had picked up. There was a sense of urgency to them, and rightfully so. They had waited too long already.

Rustling filled the air as the lynx slipped clumsily out of his cloak, throwing it over a nearby branch before ducking down below the tall grass. The hyena followed suit, crouching low behind him and waiting for the signal to proceed. He took a deep breath, scarred chest heaving, then glanced over his shoulder at the fox.

His stony expression cracked for just a moment, his muzzle slipping into a worried frown. Sakara seemed withdrawn, eyes half closed and staring off into the forest. His lips moved as if to speak but the sound was mumbled under his breath, and in his paw he clutched another polished sea stone.

Then it clicked. The fox was praying, making an offer to the spirits of the forest. The hyena had never been fond of such things, not for a long time, but just this once he allowed himself to mimic the fox's lips and offer his own prayers to the forest.

"Sakara, Valkantaa," the wolf began again, causing Sakara to wake from his thoughts. His head shot up, jumping to attention like a young scout found asleep at his post. "You find places to hide along our path. I'll get behind them and drive them forward, you two just keep them on the right path," Tikeri explained, thrusting his open paws forward in the shape of an arrowhead, then clasping them together suddenly.

Both the fox and the marten nodded in a mutual understanding, then hesitated. Everyone shared a nervous look: Tikeri to Sakara, Sakara to Conor, and Kuvähä to Valkantaa.

At last, the two groups went their separate ways. Sakara and the spears slipped back into the shade of the trees and snuck around the left side of the boulder, while Conor and the lynx lowered onto their bellies and crawled to the right, keeping below the tall grass as they shuffled awkwardly towards the corral.

The spears moved much more swiftly than the bows, darting between the gnarled trunks of alder trees. They had more cover by skirting the clearing, but they could not hide in the shadows forever.

First, it was Valkantaa's turn to step into the light. Another boulder, about as big as an auroch, sat alone in the clearing not far from the corral. A perfect ambushing spot for the marten, and even better cover if things started going very wrong very quickly.

Sakara bit his tongue; he wanted to leap on that spot. But to do so would have put the pregnant marten into a much more dangerous position. Knowing Valkantaa, she would have enjoyed the challenge, but was it worth putting the unborn at risk for the thrill of the hunt? He would never dream of doing such a thing at his little brother's expense, so he wouldn't let it happen with the marten's young one either.

She seemed to understand what it meant when the wolf and the fox kept their mouths shut. Valkantaa was a strong spirit, even stubborn at times, but she knew the risks. The marten huffed and grumbled about it not being fair, rolling her eyes before slipping down onto her belly and into the cover of the tall grass. Before long she vanished from sight, unseen besides the rustling grass being brushed aside as she moved.

Sakara and Tikeri watched her go, waiting for her to reach the boulder and signal them. The marten wouldn't be happy with them for a few days - nobody would be if they had lost out on the thrill of a good hunt. It was an occasion to be looked forward to a few times every moon.

The marten popped up out of the grass, her tiny ears swivelling, searching for a sound of anything that might be hiding behind the boulder. Satisfied, she turned her keen, almost bestial stare to her fellow hunters, thrusting her fist into the air.

Valkantaa was ready.

The other two returned the gesture, then slipped back into the shade and proceeded to sneak closer to their prey. They were growing ever closer now, the fox able to make out their stubby tails flicking as their black noses snuffled at the ground, grazing without a care. They still had a thick layer of winter scruff on their necks, and at this distance, the buck's antlers looked even more impressive. It was believed a forest sprouted from every set of antlers they shed, and this one must have shed many. Not only did they stand twice as tall as the buck, but they sprawled like the branches of an ancient tree, a gnarled branch for each forest that had sprouted in its wake.

The wolf didn't need to say a word. Sakara knew this was as good a spot as any. A black, rotting alder tree lay across the clearing, long since felled by the creeping claws of age, its mighty roots rendered little stronger than the brittle bones of an elderly hunter. It would make adequate cover, though if it would hold up to those gargantuan antlers...

Sakara would make sure they didn't find out. He had good hunters at his side, all sharing countless seasons of experience - the fox wouldn't let the most mundane of big game, the deer, be what finally did him in.

Though he should know better. The spirits did not care if it was as mundane as choking on a hazelnut, or as glorious as being swallowed whole and alive by an enormous whale. If it was his time after all, it didn't matter how it would happen, not to the spirits, anyway. So long as they got what they wanted.

"Make sure I don't have to watch Sana sew up your belly after this," whispered Tikeri, his muzzle hovering so close to the fox's ear that his whiskers tickled him. The fox's ears flicked the whiskers away as he suppressed a snort with his arm, spinning around to meet the wolf's golden eyes. Despite the worry in his stare, those eerie eyes never failed to penetrate the fox like one of Conor's arrows.

"We'll be okay, we always are." He curled a smile onto his lips, hoping to ease the wolf's worry. Sakara gripped his friend's shoulder tight - They would look out for each other. Always and forever.

"Good luck." Tikeri sighed, leaning in close that their noses were almost pressed together. One of his large, grey paws reached out for the fox and pressed against his chest. It was an offer. An offer of strength, from one hunter to another.

Like the marten before him, Sakara slipped out of the shadows and down into the tall grass. It was warm on his belly, like a bed in the morning, the sun's rays blessing the blades of emerald. He could have collapsed right there and fallen sound asleep, if it wasn't for his racing heart and the rushing of blood in his ears.

Keeping his spear clutched in one paw, he clumsily dragged his weight along the ground. The grass provided a cushion between him and the gravelly earth beneath, and yet small stones still found their way into his skirt, rubbing uncomfortably against his legs and thighs. At least he wasn't wearing leggings - they were still full of sand from a trip to the sea last summer. Maybe a crab too.

The fox used the tip of his spear to brush aside the tall grass and clear a path, making sure it didn't shake and rustle too loudly. One slip and the hunt would be over, the deer would be gone like leaves scattered to the wind.

To his relief, Sakara reached the upturned alder without a slip. He scrambled behind its blackened bulk, grabbing the trunk to lift himself to his knees. The rotten bark, soft and damp to the touch, crumbled to pulp beneath his paw, scattering a few skittering woodlice.

He withdrew his paw quickly, his tail standing erect as he felt something creep up his spine. The fox couldn't stand woodlice, nor could he understand how his little brother could sit and watch them skitter and slither around his paws. Sakara sucked in his breath; he had to focus on the task at hand, never mind the insects. At least there weren't any spiders.

Glancing back to Tikeri, the fox saw that his companion had remained still, watching and waiting. Sakara peered over the alder to see if the deer were looking his way and, satisfied they were not, raised a clenched fist and nodded. The wolf returned the gesture promptly, then sank into the shadows and began the slow, tedious process of flanking their prey.

#

Conor felt like a hawk upon the ridge, his commanding view over the clearing uncontested by the forest canopy, besides some growth at the entrance to the corral. That would not be a problem since by then the others should be behind the buck, spurring it on while out of harm's way. That was the plan, at least.

There was a loud snap, and the hyena's ears swiveled sideways instinctively as he cautiously shuffled around to face the source of the sound. His deceptively weary gaze rose to see the lynx, Kuvähä, standing over him, casting the hyena in his shadow.

"Nothing back there to jump out at us," he stated soullessly in his strange accent, then sighed and joined the hyena crouched on the edge of the mossy ledge. "We can prepare in relative safety," he added, slipping the quiver from around his back and into his lap, where he began to inspect each arrow. Conor watched in silence, an eternal frown etched into his muzzle.

"So where are you from?" Conor asked with an air of suspicion to his voice. The lynx was caught off by the question, stopping his inspection to give the hyena a quizzical look. But Conor only raised an eyebrow in response.

"I'm a Lentavohi, am I not?" Kuvähä suddenly beamed with a wide smile, head still cocked to the side. He slid the quiver back over his shoulder, picking out one arrow and knocking it to his bow. "Unlike you," he chirped, but Conor could feel the hate seething just beneath.

Kuvähä's bow became stranger and stranger the longer the hyena stared. It was made of willow wood, a very fine bow-making material, painted a ruddy red with powdered ochre. The grip was ringed by bands of ashen black, too, and extending down the bow's length were tiny symbols painted with impossible detail. In all his summers in the North, Conor had never seen such an exquisite bow, so clearly cared for by its owner.

"I had never claimed to be a part of the Lentavohi," Conor retorted calmly. He was used to hiding his emotions, to make sure he didn't look weak, and this was no different. He offered Kuvähä no emotion to his words, no sign of weakness, just the eternal frown etched into his grizzled face. But the lynx would not have it.

"And yet they all treat you like one of us! You just walk in one day and steal that fox's heart, and that's it!" the lynx raved in a half-shout, half-whisper. He stabbed an arrow into the cracks between the rocks, wrinkling his nose as he pointed an accusatory finger at the hyena. "I crawled through shit to earn my place in the Lentavohi, at my own wife's side, but you..."

"I am not a Lentavohi," Conor repeated with an icy glare, his brown eyes narrowing at the lynx. He lightly slapped the lynx's paw away, snorting at the gesture. Who did Kuvähä think he was?

"You sit at our fires, you eat our food, you sleep with our men," Kuvähä hissed, flecks of spit spattering from his flapping maw. His voice was growing louder, his disgust for the hyena only growing, but Conor refused to humour him.

"And come one misty morning, I will disappear once more," the hyena reassured the rabid lynx, brushing the spittle from coarse fur and vest. He stared down his nose at the lynx, who suddenly seemed so small. His vitriol spoke volumes - a stark contrast against the more reserved lynx of that morning. Something about the hyena brushed him the wrong way, but what?

"That day can't come soon enough, friend." The lynx shook his head, pushing himself to his footpaws and stomping a few steps further away, like a stubborn child who had been told he could not have something.

Relief filled Conor as he drew a deep breath, closing his eyes and roughly rubbing his forehead with his palm. Such a show of childish shouting had made his head pound with pain, and he had no tea with which to ease it. At least he had not alerted the deer to their location - it was the least Kuvähä could do after such a display.

With a quiet clatter, Conor removed his own quiver, placing it under his chin, and began to check his arrows. His fingers flicked through the bushel of wooden shafts; a collage of various feathers, plucked out of everything from dopey pigeons to graceful owls, grazed his fingertips. Now and again he picked one out, sliding it free and bringing their fang-like arrowheads up to his eyes. The hyena carefully minded his handiwork, making sure the flint arrowheads were sharp enough to bite like snakes. Only the best for his trusty, old longbow of the plains.

Then a sound echoed through the trees and over the treetops. It was a flat, droning sound that rumbled the air slightly, carried far on the winds. It was the sound of a hunting horn signaling the start of a hunt.

"Sounds like we're up," Conor grunted, pushing himself to his footpaws. He threw his quiver back over his shoulder, keeping one arrow knocked to his longbow, strumming the taut bowstring as he glanced at Kuvähä. "Let's save our squabbles for after we've stopped the others killing themselves," the hyena said, flashing a toothy grin.

"Spirits help us," The lynx grumbled, following the hyena's example and readying himself. They had both come to stand on the edge of the rocky ledge, ears perked and tails standing erect. Their eyes flicked from tree to tree as they scanned the forest, waiting for any sign of movement.

From where he was standing, Conor could see Sakara peeking over a rotten old log, tense and keeping his senses keen. He could also see Valkantaa lying on her side, poking her head out to the side of the boulder, resting a paw on it and using her spear for balance. Tikeri, however, was still nowhere to be found. Perhaps the deer had grown fed up of being prey and gored the poor wolf for threatening him, or maybe he tripped, and that was just a story to hide the truth. That wolf liked his tall tales, after all.

To everyone's relief and Conor's disappointment, the thunder of hooves thumping the earth began to fill the air, followed by wild howls as Tikeri spurred the deer onward. Conor could not pinpoint the commotion, the sound echoing off the trees, getting lost before it reached his ears.

Pulling the bowstring until it almost touched his shoulder, the hyena aimed it down at the far side of the clearing. His hawkish eyes were trained on the area of his target, sucking in his breath and giving his jittering paws a moment to settle. Where was Tikeri?

With a crash, three red deer cascaded out of the bracken. It was the same group they had found earlier, the doe leading the charge with the two bucks behind her. As the trees vanished and the clearing opened up around them, their prey began to spread out and scatter, keeping space between them, but the experienced band of hunters had anticipated this.

The wolf appeared close behind the deer, leaping out of the bracken with his wooden spear clutched in both paws at his side. He barked and howled like a dog as he ran, muzzle flared into a vicious snarl, but his eyes betrayed a cool calm and focus. His fur billowed as he ran, his raised hackles invisible among the tangled mess.

Though his powerful legs carried the sinewy wolf far, his chest was heaving, and his tongue lolled from his maw as he panted. He was losing pace with the last buck, unable to do anything but watching it slip further and further out of his grasp.

That's where Sakara stepped in.

With a silent prayer the fox clenched his eyes shut and sucked in his breath, steeling himself against the task ahead. His ears twitched as the storm of hooves drew louder and closer, the earth trembling slightly beneath him, rattling his bones and his spear. Just a little more. A little more...

Planting his spear in the earth for balance, Sakara sprang to his footpaws and vaulted onto the rotting log. He stumbled, the bark and dead wood crumbling beneath him. Even the birch-like fox's feathery weight was too much for the fallen tree and, almost as quickly as he had risen, he was tumbling back down again. His right leg fell out from beneath him and, with a harrowing yelp, the fox slipped and hit the earth with a soft thud.

He hit his knee first, catching his bulk and forcing the fox sideways so that he landed on his shoulder, causing him to drop his spear. But Sakara was swift, and with ease he managed to push himself back onto his footpaws, just as the doe thundered past him, hooves threatening to crush his paw. And then, facing the fox with a black-eyed stare that clashed with the Sakara's arctic-blue eyes, was the first buck.

And it was bearing down upon him!

It was not rage in those black eyes, but a blind fear of death. Nothing would stand between it and what it believed to be freedom from the clutches of a hunter. Neither the fox nor the buck knew the terrible consequences of their actions.

Sakara stooped to snatch his spear from the ground. He seized it by the neck, completely out of balance as he fumbled and struggled to lift it, almost letting it slip from his paw once more. His paws began to shudder and shiver, and his breathing hastened, causing his head to spin. The coursing of hooves was deafening now, causing the fox's mind to rattle in his skull. His heart grew sore as it beat harder and faster.

He was panicking.

Finally, he managed to find his grip on the spear, hauling it out of the grass. The once light and swift wooden shaft now weighed down his shoulders, as if he were trying to lift the carcass of an auroch. He cursed under his breath, bringing the spear to bear against the charging buck.

The sight he came to face before him caused Sakara to freeze on the spot. The buck was upon him, its head bowed low and its antlers mere moments away from shredding the fox's shaggy hide to ribbons.

It was like he was neck-deep in water that had frozen all around him. He could only shiver and shake, his arms frozen solid as they held the spear towards the buck, his legs refusing to carry him away to safety. And yet he felt his tail instinctively tuck itself between his legs, and his ears go flat against his head.

Why-?

An arrow zipped past Sakara's head, so close that the wind in its wake ruffled the fur on his ears. And the whole rotten situation was turned on its head in a heartbeat. The arrow, its flint tip glinting in the sunlight, found its skillfully met mark. It whizzed through the tangle of antlers, embedding itself in the buck's shoulder. That fang-like flint tip pierced hide and split flesh before shattering against the bone with a meaty crunch.

Rearing its head, the buck let out a desperate cry. Then, it began to throw its body to and fro, trying to dislodge the arrow from its body, only causing itself more pain. But a heavy buck such as this could not stop so easily, and as Sakara tried to leap to safety, a hoof was thrust into his chest with a loud crack.

It knocked the wind from Sakara's lungs, leaving him gasping for breath as he was swept off his footpaws by the force of the hoof. The earth became the sky, and the sky the earth, all sailing by him as the moments began to stretch.

Then, something else smashed into his back, his spine making a loud crack. It was soft with fur and very big, not the cold, hard crack of another hoof. It pushed the tumbling fox over the old log, clearing the ragged branches that reached for his chest by a hair's width. He rolled once more, the green grass turning to blue sky again until he finally struck the dirt with the back of his head.

Dazed, Sakara lay upon the earth, gasping for air as pain pulsed through his whole body. He numbly threw an arm over his chest; it was like lifting the hewn log of an oak tree. His strength was sapped and his soul was weak, clinging to his body by the tips of their claws. Even as the stomp of hooves thundered by him again, the fox did not move.

A blurry shadow shot over him, its antlers standing out like the branches of a tree. With that, Sakara knew his foe had escaped, and both of them were wounded. Too bad the lucky creature could walk away with a flesh wound.

From upon the ridge, Conor watched with horror. He ground his teeth against each other, fangs bared as he shivered like a sick man, his longbow drawn so tightly that the wood and sinew creaked under the strain. Sakara had taken a nasty beating and now he wasn't moving. Spirits forbid that the creature had broken his ribs or crushed one of his lungs. His wrath would be akin to that of the crashing thunder, or the raging floods, or-

"Sand dog!" hissed Kuvähä through clenched teeth, his bowstring pulled taut as he glanced over at the hyena. "Pay attention, they're almost here," he shouted, flicking his head in the direction of the clearing.

Conor shot a wrinkled snarl at the lynx, then glanced down to the clearing. The red deer were closing fast, another one beginning to stray from the course. But he saw the pregnant Valkantaa deftly leap up onto the boulder she had hidden behind, waving her spear at the second buck, screaming curses to scare the buck back on course.

"But Sakara-" Conor spat back at the lynx, thrusting his bow in the direction of the motionless fox, speckles of red now dripping down his cheek. But the lynx cut him off.

"I know, but focus. He'll be okay," Kuvähä growled, much more softly this time, as if he were trying to reassure the hyena. Conor might have laughed the gesture off under any other circumstances, but it struck him. Though Kuvähä seemed bitter, he probably cared for Sakara as his boyhood tribemate.

Snorting, the hyena spat over the ledge and shook his head. He had to focus. They wouldn't even be able to help Sakara if a pair of scared and agitated red deer were chasing them around. And to the hyena's relief, the plan was beginning to work.

The second buck bellowed, kicking up clumps of earth as it dug its hooves into the ground and wheeled about, trying to escape the new threat. The marten let them pass, then hopped off the boulder and gave chase on their flank. Now came the final stretch, the last push to corral the two deer.

"Steady..." Conor thought out loud, hoping Kuvähä would take note. If he really did care for Sakara, he would be distracted too. Just this once, they had to help each other, and make sure they didn't get the rest of their hunting party killed.

They both watched as the prey and their hunters disappeared into the last stretch of forest canopy before the corral, losing them all in the thick mess of green leaves. In unison they trained their bows on the narrow gorge that led into the ensnaring corral. Without swift action the deer would panic and charge the wolf and marten, maybe even cripple one of them. One loss was too much already.

Nostrils flaring, chest heaving, and arms aching under the immense draw weight of his longbow, all he could do was wait and listen. That terrible rumble of stampeding hooves, the last sound of many a poor hunter, driving fear into even the most experienced warriors of all the tribes.

"A little longer now," Conor mumbled again, now to reassure himself as much as Kuvähä. His arms were beginning to tremble, the sinew string digging into his fingertips, stinging them with a scathing pain. He pushed through it. He had to.

With the crash and snap of low-hanging twigs, the last two red deer crashed through the bracken and right into the trap. They dashed through the gorge, barely wide enough for the two creatures to stand side-to-side, with Tikeri and Valkantaa hot on their heels. The two hunters were still barking and howling, rattling their spears and baring their fangs, goading their prey onward as they dug their heels into the earth and skidded to a halt in the gorge.

"Got 'em!" shouted Kuvähä, a sinister, bloodthirsty smile etched into his short muzzle. He trained his strange red bow on the doe, placing the arrow's tip right between her eyes, hoping to get a clean kill without the antlers. "You get the buck; I've ranged the doe," the lynx ordered, not caring to ask if Conor had already marked his prey.

The hyena growled, training his longbow on the buck, but he couldn't find a shot. The antlers blocked any chance of a fatal wound, and now they were beginning to panic. The wolf and marten knelt down in the gorge, closing the trap with their spears raised in front of them.

With a harrowed cry the buck reared up on its back legs, kicking out and beating the rock with its hooves, trying to twist its body around to face the hunters. The angle was too steep, and still Conor couldn't find a shot, even as the buck stared straight up at him. The hyena cursed.

"Shit!"

Right on cue, a soft twang rang out from the direction of the lynx. A sleek arrow cut through the air, whistling down into the corral and finding its mark. The doe didn't make a sound as the stone arrowhead pierced her flesh and split open her skull with a crack. She seemed to grow calm, her legs shaking as she stumbled one way, then tried to dash forward, only to crumple into a lifeless heap.

As she did, the buck heaved itself off the rocks, turning and barrelling towards the waiting marten and wolf, both of whom recoiled, wavering in the face of those deadly antlers. But showing its back to the hyena was that buck's last mistake.

Conor loosed an arrow, the shock of the bowstring snapping forward shaking his whole body. Even the air seemed to shudder from the shockwave. The arrow darted through the air, faster than a speeding falcon, and punctured the buck's neck as fast as it had been let loose. And finally, with the mighty thump of the buck crashing to a halt, it was all over.

#

The next few hours had been a blur to the fox, fading in and out of a veil of darkness. He couldn't feel the sunlight upon his chest, instead he felt so cold, like he was laying in snow. All except a trickle of warmth that dripped down the side of his face.

Sometimes when he woke, he was surrounded by blurry facades, only able to tell them apart by their ears. The big, round orbs of Conor's ears, the little nubs of Valkantaa, but Tikeri and Kuvähä were harder to tell apart, since the tufts on the lynx's ear bled into the beaming sunlight.

Other times he woke, there was only one person watching over him. Those big, round ears, that odd musk, and the coarse fur that brushed against his cheek. He knew those features anywhere, without a doubt in his mind.

"Conor..." he tried to mumble, unsure if any sound had escaped his lips, or if his delusional mind was hearing his own, scattered spirit. "How long have I-"

"Shh," said the hyena as he put a finger on his friend's lips, "rest, my friend." After a moment, Sakara felt a warmth fill his body. He tried to lift his head, Conor helping him with a tentative paw, and saw that he had been covered in a grass cloak.

"Not long, the others are quartering our kills," Conor continued, finally acknowledging the fox's question, but it didn't do much to help. To Sakara, mere seconds felt like hours, and it seemed as though he had been lying there for days. But surely not; the sun had not moved either, still shining down upon him with all its might.

"A- and you?" Sakara croaked, a weak smile on his lips as he turned his head towards the hyena. With what little strength he had, the fox dragged his heavy arm across the soft grass, lifting it just enough to put his hand on the warm fur of his friend's knee.

"Tending to you," Conor replied, returning the gesture by offering a rare, fleeting smile and squeezing the fox's paw gently. But quickly, he returned to his work, laying Sakara's head back on the floor. "You're lucky one of your lungs wasn't crushed," he began, brushing his paw over the fox's chest, causing Sakara to jolt, arching his back and letting out a shrill yelp. "I think that buck left a nasty crack on your ribs, but nothing that won't heal with rest," Conor went on, almost as if he didn't notice the pain he had caused the fox at that moment. In truth, watching his friend in such agony made his hackles raise, and left a deep hole in his heart.

"We'll see..." the fox growled, writhing upon the ground in apparent pain, and a renewed vigor. Pain, Conor guessed, was as good a motivator as any when it came to provoking an instinctive reaction. He would have to remember that.

They sat together, in that spot, for what felt like hours. The sun, already low in the sky, had begun to sink below the treetops at last. But neither were afraid, not while they had each other. Not even the knowledge that the Visi would slit their throats for trespassing, if they were discovered.

Thankfully it would never come to that, and eventually their fellow hunters returned in high spirits. They gossiped and laughed, carrying sacks that dripped with crimson blood, full of haunches, hearts, heads, and hinds, anything and everything they could cut from the carcasses of their prey, and then everything that remained too.

Suddenly they went quiet, the gossip dying out as they came into view of the fox and the hyena. The relief in their eyes couldn't be hidden, not even by the bitter Kuvähä or jealous Tikeri. Their stroll became a jog as they dashed over to be with their tribemate.

Conor held a waterskin to the fox's lips, letting him suck eagerly upon the narrow neck, loudly slurping the warm, fermented contents that dripped down his cheeks in golden droplets.

"Give him space," the hyena ordered, his voice unusually soft, but still commanding respect. He held out an arm in front of the others, keeping them at a distance. Sakara wouldn't be able to handle their affection in his state; he needed to rest in a good, warm bed.

"Who's carrying him?" queried Valkantaa, crouching down at their side and throwing off her sack with a wet, meaty crunch. The hyena glanced over at her, taking the nearly empty waterskin from the fox and putting it back on his belt.

"You three have things to carry." He nodded towards the discarded sack of fresh venison, then put his paw on Sakara's shoulder. "I'll get him home safe, even if he leaves me limping for the rest of the year."

"I'm n- not that heavy, C- Conor," stammered the frail and hoarse voice of the fox. Tikeri let out a reserved chuckle, joining Valkantaa at their side.

"If it becomes too much, know that I am willing to help," said the wolf, extending an open palm from beneath his heavy cloak. Conor hesitated, glaring at the offer. He couldn't show he was soft - It was a weakness, exposed to strangers he still barely knew. Even so, Sakara's well-being depended on it, and eventually Conor relented, seizing the open palm and clutching it tight in a sign of agreement.

"We should get moving then," he stated boldly, staring into the wolf's bright amber eyes. "Try and get back over the river before nightfall," he added, hoping to spur the group by reminding them how deep into hostile lands they were.

"That's not going to be easy with a cripple," grumbled the bitter tones of Kuvähä, the last of the group left standing. His back was straight and his arms were folded, sharp eyes peering down at the hyena with a look that barely tried to hide his disgust.

"No, it isn't," the hyena growled back, releasing Tikeri's paw and jumping to his footpaws in a flash. He puffed out his chest, craning his neck slightly to show the lynx just how much bigger he was by comparison. "So, stop standing around," he bit back, folding his arms in mimicry of the lynx.

With a huff, Kuvähä shook his head and relented, turning away and starting slowly back down the trail. Valkantaa whispered an apology to Conor, before rising and chasing after her mate. Tikeri stayed, helping to lift Sakara onto the hyena's back.

Yelps and groans echoed through the trees as the fox's chest was laid against the hyena, searing with pain that caused his whole body to shudder. He begged the spirits to let him slip back into darkness, just for a little while, but no such relief came. It was going to be a long trek back home.

But at least they had each other.