Unprepared hunt

Ingrid Erikdottir; Ylri of year 1032 Ab Teoria Magica; Hamlet-nested-between-mountains-and-river; Preparing in case

I had to run over the hamlet, my gun hitting my back at each stride I made.

Not simply “I ran” or “I felt the need to run”.

Vic needing to help someone understanding why an animal was sick? It was very strange, but him needing it when even the blind could see that it was tiredness, and it was caused by the recklessness of the rider?

And him not berating said rider immediately, and openly?

It was too strange, and I could feel a strange aura around the mann, but not like what happened with Grandma when she used magic, or with Lucrezia the alfar when she used her strange blessings.

It was…slimy, in a sense.

Wrong.

So I ran, I ran fast, and I ran well.

Inhale and exhale, as long as my legs could take me, crunching over branches and snow and mud, sure footed as I had been on this mountains for decades, like my father had.

I would pause after a hundred breaths of running, seeing the rising smokes of the chimneys of the hamlet, and so run again.

It could be nothing. I hoped it was nothing but a moron deciding that going alone, on the mountains, in winter, was a good idea and Vic had taken a bug from somewhere.

“Ingrid! Why are you running?! Did something happen?!” I ran without stopping for Astrid’s questions, and entered the long common house, out of breath but now in front of Grandpa and Grandma, the latter wagging her finger to the former, who had the good idea of at least being sheepish from being hurt again while training.

But it was not important.

They both looked up at me surprised, and Grandpa was the first to question me, while I felt like my heart wanted to jump out my chest and my lungs were made of fire: “Girl, what happened? It’s not like you to run like this.”

After a few more breaths that made my throat feel like gravel, I finally was able to speak up, slowly so to be able to be understood, heavy breaths still in the middle of words: “...Strange man… at Vic’s… strange aura… slimy… Vic ain’t normal.” Were the words I was able to breathe out, and only those.

Grandma, thanks her intelligence, understood that I thought something was wrong, and got up, her cane in her hand: “I needed to get some cool air, and going to Victor would help that. Let’s go, let’s see who is the man that’s making you so concerned.”

I didn’t need for this to repeated twice, and we moved, far slower than before, something that made me almost run in the direction of the forest.

I knew it was only a suspicion, I knew it could be nothing, hel, it probably was nothing.

But I could feel in my heart of hearts that something was wrong, that something was amiss, and I had to be sure, damn it.

I almost walked back and forth for how slow I felt Grandma was moving and, while at first she took it good naturedly, the closer we got to the forest where Vic’s house was, the more her face darkened and her steps became faster.

Then, when we got to the limits of the forest, roughly a third to the way, she ordered, her eyes two slabs of ice while her metallic cane almost shone of its own light, and her voice iron: “Go to Victor, there is something wrong happening right now. Prepare to use your gun, Ingrid, and shoot to kill. I will be behind you, do not wait for me.”

I stopped at that, my heart going through my stomach in that moment when I saw that face, and she had to shout “go!” for me to start running, my gun in my hand, the flint already cocked back and the black powder ready in my pouch.

I was right, and I had to move fast, faster than normal.

There were no animals around but some crows, the wolves were hidden, the hares scared, and I had to run faster.

No sounds but my breath and heart.

No smell but iron and salt.

Which is why, when I reached the house, almost falling every one out of ten strides, the roots and the branches fallen on the ground hidden by the snow, I almost let go of the rifle.

The door had been torn off from the inside, I could see the horse still breathing inside, and signs of fight all around, broken trunks, deep scars on the ground, and moved snow.

But I was not a mewling babe, so I followed those same tracks, and they were easy to do so.

When what I tracked was more similar to a small storm, even blind and deaf whitebeard could do so.

So I moved.

I moved towards the cracks and silence.

I ran towards the destruction and fury.

I jumped on fallen trees, over deep holes and broken rocks.

I moved to help my friend and the one he had, for his oath, decided to help.

I had already been on this path, it was close to the small river, where Lucrezia had done her small altar.

The sky above me had become cloudy, and I could see snow falling.

Then, from afar, I started to hear fighting, and shouts, and anger.

There was a treeline, before the river, and before the altar, and from there I could see that same man, that same mage, because he was a mage, holding up Lucrezia by some shadowy magic, thinning and thickening at the same time, like being out now weakened them.

I didn’t have much time, for Lucrezia was being slammed again and again, blood starting to seep from her forehead and ears and nose.

I could shoot him, but the shadows were around him like armour, always reforming despite them becoming mist soon after,

So, I filled the gun with powder, and put a lead ball in it.

After that, I put some powder in the breach, closing it after that.

With an inhale, I was silent, only hearing slams and laugh.

After that, I pulled the trigger.