“This is the best time of my life!”
Wyll Underfoot had stripped down and jumped into a creek, exhilarated by the pleasure of its cold running current.
His friend Orli laughed, “You do seem to like our Northern way of life. Maybe you are part Dwarf after all!”
The bigger boy leapt into the brisk water, and the youths spent the better part of the late afternoon splashing, washing, and jumping in and out of the chilly stream. For the past several days, Wyll and Orli had trekked ever northwards, surviving on Orli’s expert outdoor skills and Wyll’s none-too-shabby cooking abilities, something he’d quietly picked up from Dorro, though he’d never admit it. He’d been watching his uncle expertly cooking meats, stews, and vegetables, and was surprised how many of those techniques translated to the outdoor campfire.
“I’m getting famished, Orli. I don’t think there’s much rabbit left from lunch?”
“I should take my bow and get busy, since we’ve surely scared all the fish from this creek—and probably the next one, too!” T
Their travels had been blessed with excellent weather and no signs of robbers or goblins. By and large, they hunted all day, tracking game to keep their strength up as they moved northward. Orli was also able to find edible roots and berries to give them sustenance along the way. Wyll was learning a lot from his Dwarf comrade and was more than glad that they’d left the confines of Thimble Down. He regretted leaving on such bad terms with Uncle Dorro. Maybe he’d return some day and put things right, plus he missed Cheeryup—Wyll hoped she’d escaped from Fibbhook in the cave. Knowing her, she did so with ease.
The pair dressed and headed back onto the trail, looking both for supper and a place to camp for the night. They strapped blankets on their backs, as well as basic cooking gear. Both had knives and Orli carried a mighty ash bow and quiver of arrows he’d taken from his father’s burrow back in Thimble Down. Wyll also carried a small fishing rod and lots of extra line and hooks that he’d swiped from the library.
“There!” Orli whispered loudly. Just over the rise, a small doe was grazing in the earth-colored gorse and bracken, attentive to the slightest changes in sound and scent that would signal danger. Luckily for the boys, they were downwind of the gentle creature as they crept closer. As Wyll noticed, Dwarves were almost as quiet as Halflings, despite their size. Orli waved him to hold back as he crept closer to the crest of the hill. He deftly took an arrow and fitted it to his bow, still in the lee of the hillock. He slowly rose on his knees until he could get a clear shot at the animal. Again, fortune was with them, as the doe was faced in the other direction. Wyll watched Orli’s determined face. As the boy had told him, they were taught to bring down game in one shot, for two reasons. One to make the animal suffer as little as possible, and two, to make sure they ate. In his world, there was almost no excuse for a missed shot.
Twang!
Orli’s bow popped, and the arrow disappeared. The Dwarf rose and turned to Wyll, a faint smile on his lips.
“Let us eat, friend.”
* * *
An hour later, Wyll was busily cooking venison stew for their supper. Orli had cleaned and dressed the doe and handed the haunches and flank meat to his friend to cook near a stream. With a few herbs he recognized and root vegetables they’d found over the past day, Wyll was creating a gently bubbling feast, while he laid the rest of the doe’s flesh on surrounding hot rocks to cook and dry; this, he’d store for them to eat over the next day or two. Theirs was a journey of both walking and constantly looking for their next meal—both were crucial to reaching their goal.
“This is fine food, Wyll. Where did you learn to cook so well?”
“I don’t know; I suppose just from watching Uncle Dorro,” said the sandy-haired boy with pride. “He loves to eat—actually, he loves anything to do with food—so it’s fun to watch him in his kitchen. Dorro doesn’t think about what he’s doing or use any recipes; he just knows what flavors go together.”
“Any band of Dwarf hunters would be proud to have you in their ranks,” continued Orli. “We can cook, but not like this. You picked herbs from the ground, and they gave birth to such wondrous flavors. That’s like magic to us.”
“It’s not hard; you just have to know what you’re picking. That’s thyme and sage in this stew, along with those tuber roots you found—they’re like little turnips when you cook ’em.”
“We should sleep soon.” Orli was looking at the setting sky intently. “Tomorrow, the landscape will become considerably rockier and harder to traverse. There may be rain, too; we’ve been lucky so far. Is there enough venison to last us for two days? There won’t be any fires or fresh meat if it showers upon us.”
“It will be close, but we should make it.”
“Fine. Let’s clean up and rest,” said Orli. “I want to move on from these grounds. We’re far too exposed for my liking—that is another trick my father taught me.”
* * *
“Wyll, arise!”
“Wha—?”
“Wake yourself, tom-noddy! We’re being stalked!”
Wyll sat up and saw Orli crouched in a fighting position by the last embers of the fire. “Who is it?”
“I was a fool! We slew the deer and left his remains in the field. Its scent brought others.”
“Others?” asked Wyll quietly.
A single howl pierced the night, sending a shiver down Wyll’s spine. “Black wolves,” said Orli without a trace of emotion. “We’re surrounded.”
As if on cue, the boys became aware of the glint of yellow eyes surrounding their camp, as well as the sounds of soft growling.
“Gather up all your bags and pull your knife, Wyll. I’ll build the fire up as much as possible.”
“Why don’t we run for it, Orli? Maybe we can outpace them.”
The Dwarf boy laughed. “If you were the fastest pony, you might have a chance, but a Dwarf and a Halfling against a pack of black wolves would be run down quickly. Our end would not be good. Our best bet is to use fire to ward them off and hope they retreat at dawn, which isn’t far off. Either way, our odds aren’t good.”
Orli quickly set about gathering all the nearby sticks and branches, as did a terrified Wyll. The Dwarf even lit bits of grass, anything to intimidate the wolves. But they did not seem much deterred, inching ever closer.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Wyll was accepting the fact that they were severely outnumbered and underarmed. A shadow loomed out of the darkness, and a big, coal-colored wolf moved closer—he was clearly testing them. It growled a few times, drawing the boys’ attention. It was only at the last second that Orli realized the trick.
“Wyll, look out!” As the big wolf crept closer, two smaller members of the pack snuck up behind them and charged.
Wyll spun around to find one of the creatures springing towards him. The force of its body knocked him down, and its sharp paws dug into his shoulders. With bright yellow teeth, the wolf bit into his shoulder and shook its head violently, tearing muscle. It yelped as Orli drove his big knife into its side and the monster ran off, but the other wolf grabbed Wyll’s ankle and began dragging him away as if a small rabbit.
“No, you shall not take my friend!” screamed Orli, as he slashed at the wolf, wounding its neck. It too drew off, but the big black wolf saw its chance and leapt onto the Dwarf boy’s back, knocking him forward onto his knees. It too bit deep, but mostly got a mouthful of his backpack. Now the rest of the wolf pack pressed in, savaging both boys. Orli spun to face the big wolf and was feebly trying to stab it when a mighty axe sailed through the air and cleaved the beast’s ribcage. It howled, ran a few yards, and fell down dead.
To their bewilderment, a rain of black arrows filled the air, impaling wolves left and right, as they screeched and yelped. Orli looked to find Wyll, only to see his unconscious, bloodied body on the ground a few feet away. He crawled over to his friend and did his best to use his own body as a shield, in case a stray arrow flew too close. Around the pair, wolves screamed in death, as more shafts, axes, and hatchets rained death upon the pack.
The last thing Orli saw, as the gray vestiges of dawn were beginning to dance over the horizon, was a pair of thick leather boots approaching him in the faint light.
He blacked out and remembered no more.