The sinuous stag stood motionless. Sensing a presence in the trees, he sought confirmation. Soft grass, moist mountain air, spindly trees with snow-flecked leaves. Nothing seemed amiss. Yet he knew.
Darren snorted in disgust as the perfect white deer bounded deeper into the forests of the Amor Mountains. What gave him away? His hunting partner had suggested dressing like the forest rather than using a masking spell. Some superstition about animals sensing mage magic or whatever. Didn’t matter the method, he just had to bring something back. Even a snow rabbit would prove him right.
A chill ran down his spine. Notable compared to the constant cold of the mountain range. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the archaic face paint and heavy jacket Iris had donned. Her yellow eyes were a dead giveaway, dark bangs pinned to her head with leaves.
“Any luck?” he hissed, lowering his crossbow.
“These mountains are anything but luck,” she whispered. Fingering the black feathers of one of her arrows, she shook her head. “Bet’s lost, Darren.”
“We’ve got time.”
“The morning fog’s fading. We can’t blend in with broad daylight.”
“If we used magic…”
Her scowl wrinkled her paint. “Tried. Squirrels saw me.”
Aggravation locked his jaw, possibilities running through his mind. They didn’t have any options though. Three days to collect one creature in the forests of Amor or he’d endorse Thomas for the open seat on the Mage Council. A bet that wouldn’t have carried much weight if he’d remained an assistant at the archives. Now that he ran the place, his word meant something. The sneaky weasel must’ve known the promotion was coming that day.
“Rumors must be true.”
Darren scoffed. “Unicorns are a fairytale.”
Iris approached on light feet, eyes bright in the increasing sunshine. “Think about it. No one has ever killed a creature within these mountains. Why? A unicorn must be protecting them.”
“Then how come it didn’t cozy up to you?”
Her side-eye cut deeper than a knife. “I’m not exactly an innocent maiden. Besides, I gotta be looking for it or something.”
“Try singing. Maybe it’ll be attracted to your off-key screeching.” He thought he heard a rustle, though it seemed too good to be true. Their collective volume would scare just about anything away.
“I’m telling you, there’s something protecting these woods. Serves you right for making bets.”
That rustle again. This time closer to the clearing where the stag had leapt from. Branches shuddered across the way.
Darren shushed Iris and readied his crossbow. Staring down the wood shaft to the clearing, something jumped into the space. He fired, not wasting time. The thwack of metal piercing flesh rang out, sending a chorus of birds into the blue sky.
The forest seemed to wait, stagnant. He emerged into the untrodden field, eyes locked on the delicate creature. Perfect white fur, large antlers. He’d hunted ever since his father taught him about their specialty. But a creature like this.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had this giddy feeling. The maniacal grin and holler would scare any other hunts and his fellow archivist, but he didn’t care. He accomplished the impossible. Over his shoulder, he jeered, “I think you and Thomas owe me dinner!” He knelt by the deer, tracing the long neck toward the bloodied wound in its side.
She cursed and muttered under her breath. All inconsequential. Darren touched the stag’s temple, uttering a soft whistle. A spell he’d grown so accustomed to that the standing hairs on his neck and buzz in his ears felt comforting.
Memories that didn’t belong to him flooded his mind. Years of bounding through the uncharted forests of the Amor Mountains. Instincts sensing hunters. Basic desires met with a normal stroll to a river or leafy fern. Unlike most of the animals he retrieved memories from, this stag felt no fear. No worry. It paid little mind to the occasional invasion of man.
A sharp pain raced up his neck. The calm shattered with a single vision, the deer encompassed by panic. Then death.
Seeing through his own eyes, Darren glanced at the trees. Having tapped into the minds of so many animals over the years, his senses tuned into the woods. And a labored breath.
Snow crunched under his boots as he ran into the trees where the stag had leapt from. Branches rustled, casting snow along his path. Shoving ferns out of the way, he noticed the intensifying cold. The peacefulness of the wood had faded into uncertainty.
Then, he found her. The girl the stag had seen, just before flying into fear. Skin nearly white, hair cascading past her hips. Body limp in the snow, face contorted in agony.
A gasp. He swiveled around with his crossbow. Iris couldn’t react, petrified. Lowering the weapon, Darren shimmied out of his coat. “She’s not dead.”
“I know… but…” She kept staring, wide pupils within camo face paint.
Jacket off, he covered the young woman in the thick material and turned her over. Narrow face, delicate features. Such a sinuous form didn’t exist in man’s world.
Her long lashes fluttered, seas of black staring up at him. She curled away, but only ended up deeper into his arms.
“It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.”
Iris, finally able to move, advanced with open palms. “Are you okay? What’s your name?”
The girl shivered into Darren’s grasp, gaze bewildered. Her lips moved soundlessly for a few moments before words sputtered out. “I don’t know.”