The first hunt

Week 1, Day 2 – Early Morning

Basha stood by the riverbank, checking each of us one by one. I held the light spear Ben had adjusted for me the day before. Rafi tightened the ropes on his belt. Jonas carried the supply bags. Mirae had her leather pouch with needles, thread, and hooks strapped twice for safety.

“We’re heading northeast today,” Basha said. “Target: a Vellion deer. You’ll recognize it by its antlers—broad leaves that shimmer when under pressure. We take one animal only. No hunting mothers with young. Avoid loud movements. We’re testing formation flow. Everyone comes back. Questions?”

I raised my hand. “What do we do if other animals show up—ones we’ve never seen before?”

“We keep our distance and observe,” Basha replied. “I’ll make the call. Rafi reports sightings first. Ben covers the rear. Mirae stays with me. Jonas stays with you, Aleks, until I say otherwise.”

“Understood,” I said.

We left the riverbank, following the narrow path the scouts had marked the day before. Rafi led at the front—his steps short, light, and soundless. Ben stayed behind, studying every footprint pressed into the dirt. I focused on Basha’s hand signals. Left. Stop. Down. Move.

After about half an hour, Rafi froze and pointed at the ground. The print was split into three sections, the edges hard and defined. In the middle lay something that looked like a thin, transparent leaf. It wasn’t soft—it felt smooth, like a solid layer of glass. The “leaf” had delicate veins spreading outward from the center.

“Antler leaf,” Ben murmured. “Fresh. Less than twelve hours old.”

Basha crouched down, smelled it, then nodded. “The trail’s recent. Wind’s coming from front-right. We keep our distance until visual contact. Aleks, memorize the wind direction. If it changes, report immediately.”

“Got it,” I said.

We moved on. Rafi lifted his hand again—stop.
Ahead, the ground rose into a small ridge. Beyond it lay a shallow basin filled with tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. Rafi pointed to a narrow groove along the ridge’s side—the grass there was slightly bent inward. I noticed something else: on the right edge of the basin, the soil looked brighter, as if something had stepped there repeatedly.

“Flight line,” Ben said. “The basin is a resting spot. If they flee, they take the right edge.”

I felt a brief tug at the back of my neck. The wind had been in my face a moment ago. Now the air felt different — cooler by my right ear.

“Basha, the wind’s shifting slightly to the right,” I said.

Basha looked at the grass and nodded. “Good call. We move left along the ridge, stay lower than the edge. Jonas, stay with Aleks. If we get visual, no shouting. Only hand signs.”

We eased left along the edge. I heard steady chewing. No snorting, no heavy steps. Rafi raised his hand again. The basin opened before us. A Vellion stag stood broadside, half hidden in the grass. His body was slim, legs long, shoulders sharply defined. The antlers weren’t branches but wide, thin leaf-like plates — four on each side. In the sun the edges caught clearly. With every head tilt a faint tone ran through the leaves and up into my throat. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was straight and thin, like a warning.

“Be careful! It’s alert,” Ben whispered.

Basha gave three signs. I understood: we move in a semicircle, tighten the line, I stay back left. Jonas pressed his shoulder into mine. “It’s fine. Stay with me.”

We moved. The stag lifted his head. Another tone ran through the leaves. I breathed steady. Basha signaled “Stop.” Then she pointed to the right flight line and held up two fingers. Rafi and Ben moved to the right edge and held position. I stayed with Jonas left of the ridge so the stag couldn’t see us. When he lowered his head again, Basha motioned forward. Rafi slipped lower. Ben cast a quick look at me. I raised the spear the way Ben had shown: front hand leads, back hand stabilizes, no jerking.

Basha gave the go sign. Rafi stepped from cover and took two quick strides. The stag snapped his head up and bounded to the right. He aimed for the flight line — right where Ben was already positioned, low, spear tip at hip height. The stag changed angle but kept moving. Basha was already moving. Her spear hit the rear flank — not deep, but enough to stagger the animal. It leapt, adjusted, tried to break sideways.

“Close left!” Jonas hissed. We dove over the ridge. I saw only legs, grass, and flank. I didn’t aim for the chest; I aimed lower like Ben insisted. I didn’t hit hard, but I hit. The animal lost its angle. Rafi pushed his spear from the front between the forelegs and forced. Ben came from the side, grabbed the neck, and drove the final thrust. The body collapsed.

Silence. I could only hear our breathing. Basha dropped to her knees, checked the eyes and the breathing. Then she nodded. “It’s dead.”

Mirae took out a knife, set it in place, and called every step. “Cut here. Drain the blood. No one steps over the head. Aleks, hold the bag. Jonas, hold the tendon.”

After a few minutes, I heard a faint rustling in the grass behind us. Rafi raised his hand. Ben didn’t raise his voice, but I caught every word. “Three animals in the hollow. Skarn wolves.”

Shit. Ben had told me about them yesterday — that a pack of Skarn wolves had attacked the Squad Seven before us. None of them had survived.

I looked over. The creatures stood in a triangle formation. They were leaner than Earth wolves, with longer legs and short, coarse manes. Their eyes glowed faintly, and their breathing was calm. They didn’t charge. They just watched.

“Don’t move toward them!” Basha ordered. “We don’t back away either. Spread out. If they approach, we tighten formation.”

Rafi stepped forward, raising his spear, but he didn’t aim it directly at the wolves — just in front of them. Ben mirrored him. Mirae kept working, her tone steady as if nothing had changed. “Jonas, keep the pressure steady. Aleks, hold the bag higher.”

The wolves stayed still. One lowered its head, then raised it again. The middle one stepped forward, then back. It wasn’t a charge — they were testing us. After all, to them, we were the aliens here.

My hands tightened around the strap. Jonas pulled the tendon until Mirae said, “Good.” Then we moved to the next step. Basha calmly listed which parts of the deer we’d take and which we’d leave behind. No wasted words.

Minutes later, the body was ready to carry. Basha gave the signal. Four of us lifted the poles. Rafi and Ben kept their eyes outward. The Skarn wolves were still watching. Basha raised her spear and kept its tip between us and them. Nothing happened.

“We’re heading back,” Basha said quietly. “No running. Keep your pace even. Rafi up front. Ben covers the rear. Jonas and Aleks take the left side. Mirae, right with me.”

We started moving. The wolves didn’t follow. After about a hundred meters, Rafi turned onto the same narrow trail we’d come from. Ben stopped once to place a small marker stone, glanced back over his shoulder, then continued on. I didn’t say a word. I just carried and kept the rhythm.

We reached the camp before sunset. At the palisade, two guards with rifles — humans we’d only seen from afar — looked over the carcass, then waved us through. Lydia stood near the main hut, talking with two orcs and a dwarf. When she saw us, she walked over.

“This is the first Vellion catch of the day,” Basha said. “No injuries. Test completed.”

Lydia looked first at the deer, then at us. “Good. We need every bit of protein we can get. This goes to the kitchens today. Tomorrow morning, the hunters get a share back. That’ll be our routine.”

We carried the parts to the cooking area. A few dwarves took one portion, while the humans at the fire pits received the rest. There were no cheers, no pats on the back—just clean, silent handovers. I felt… calm.

When night fell, I sat with the whole Squad Seven around our small fire pit. Jonas threw out an idea for the next day; Basha listened, nodded once, then set it aside. Ben went over the two most common mistakes in spear posture. Mirae checked my gloves—worn thin from carrying—and stitched up two spots with quiet precision.

Sometime after night watch began, I heard a soft fluttering near the palisade. I stood up. Along the top edge, dozens of insects had gathered. Their wings gave off a steady, pale glow—not bright, more like a calm shimmer. One of the guards lifted his hand to swat one away, then stopped and let it stay.

“What are those?” I asked.

“Lumen moths,” Ben said. “They come when the air’s still. They like the palisade edge.”

I stared at the glowing line of tiny lights stretching along the wall. The narrow paths between the huts were dark in comparison. A thought clicked in my head. “If we ran thin ropes along the paths, maybe they’d settle on them. We could make light trails through camp—no fire needed.”

Basha looked up, then over at me. “We’ll test that tomorrow with the scouts and the dwarves. If it works, we’ll string the first ropes between the watchposts and the kitchens.”

I sat back down. Mirae adjusted the gloves on my hands. “If you’re carrying again tomorrow, we’ll wrap the worn spots. Otherwise the skin will tear.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

That night, exhaustion hit me hard. I fell asleep almost instantly.