Hunter

Journeying with the old man proved less arduous than before, at least once I managed to mend his leg and create a makeshift splint for him. Our pace had slowed down substantially, but it wasn't feasible for the man to move faster than a struggling limp. It would not be worthwhile to overexert my only 'work horse' beyond his limits. 

At some point, we'd managed to luck across an abandoned wagon. Chewed through utterly, but with its flat and wheels still intact. Making a very uncomfortable stretcher for the old man, but it was better than trying to trudge at a snail's pace while carrying him. Fortunately enough, we didn't have any misadventures since the leopard, which I had been informed, was called a Dryad Cat. 

A tad bit larger and more aggressive than the cats I knew, although I tried not to think too much on it. I wonder what happened to Oliver, who was going to feed him now? I hope one of the neighbours takes him in...

"Your holiness."

The old man's voice broke my chain of thought. I turned to see him, slumped over on the cart as I was wheeling him along the path. We'd heard the occasional snarling and movement across the forest, but nothing seemed to approach us yet.

"What is it? Come to think of it, I haven't got your name yet."

"Forgive me sire, I'm Castor, from the village of Boerma, hunter by profession."

"A hunter?" I mused, he seemed a tad bit more knowledgeable for one, with how he presented himself. "What is your quarry? I can't seem to recall you possessing any hunting tools at all."

Except for his ragged brown robes, torn up shirt and garb, he seemed almost defenseless when dealing with the dryad cat. An error any seasoned hunter should not make, and a story that I was having a little difficulty buying. Perhaps it was my lingering doubtful gaze, or the silence that prompted it, but the man did fidget with the lines of his torn up robes, as his voice grew quainter.

"Was a hunter, my children, they're sick. In their absence, the village still needs its quarry. Food was running scarce, and the winter is going to come soon. We don't hunt deep in the forest when the Frozen Ones wake from their rest."

"Frozen ones?" I asked, brow raised in involuntary curiosity. The man seemed to possess some degree, a deep-seated dread in his tone when talking about the creatures. It seemed to warrant a degree of fear that felt almost superstitious in a regard, drawn from stories told rather than experiences lived.

"The Frozen Ones, creatures of the dread cold that reside within the depths of the forbidden forest. The elders warn us many times to not venture past the forsaken sanctum, past the protective watch of the Gods. One winter, a few of our bravest young youth, and two sword-maidens. They ventured into the woods to lead an expedition towards the forsaken cathedral, clean it up and seek favour from Tyran, Arlord, Idow and Vil. We'd hoped the blessings of the Four Gods would keep us safe, but we never saw our youngsters again."

His words rung several bells within my mind, the church he referred to could very much be the one I'd come from, and judging by its state it had appeared rather well maintained for something that ought to be forsaken. I scratched my head in realisation, perhaps the lack of manpower in the village might've been linked to the doomed expedition. 

I closed my eyes momentarily, feeling the surge of anima within myself, I may have just enough to try and help these people. Not that it mattered much, but it appeared that this region had more to it than met the eye. Given the dread addressed toward the Frozen Ones, it might be wise to gain the confidence of the villagers, secure their fealty and use them to slay or conquer the dreaded beasts. Who knew what these creatures of legend could offer?

Wait, conquest? Why would I consider that? All I want is to kick back for once. 

That won't be possible if these creatures are running amuck dummy, idle now, and you might sacrifice too much later.

No, I see the point, but why? Why should I not just flee as far away as possible-

Silence. Focus. 

I chided myself, although this clash of opinions felt a little jarring within my own mind, I rationalised a half-decent set of objectives to achieve. The old man watched me with worry weighing down his expression. It was only then that I caught myself in an uncanny frown, one that had formed completely devoid of any agency I had exercised.

Deep in my heart, or mind, I acknowledged that I needed Anima. Thus, as I pushed the cart with accelerated pace, I took the effort to adopt a more neutral expression as I let my voice smooth out, adopting a more commanding tone as if on instinct.

"When we get to the village, I wish to speak with your Elders. Whilst my journey proves too long, with my path stretching long past your little outcropping, I can make one concession. A deal, I will do what is in my power to aid your village through your current predicament and in turn I will expect some... concessions and guidance in turn. Most important is that no questions be asked, my purposes are mine alone."

The man looked a blend of shocked and relieved, which spoke enough about those of the cloth in this world. Not too dissimilar from the exploitations of the clergy in many states across Europe, especially France pre-revolution. He didn't speak, but nodded rather aggressively as I cycled the archives of my mind for just the right manner to channel my anima in. 

Manpower was an issue, and so was food. Surmising these two and the threat posed by the frozen ones I had just the right deity in mind, just as the village drew ever closer. A sight that brought a heaving sigh from me.

"This is going to be a lot of work..."