The Hunt That Wasn’t

The Hunt That Wasn’t

The cold air still lingered beneath the trees outside Greyhollow.

Zio passed through the broken wooden fence and slowly entered the forest. The ground ahead was uneven. His boots sank into the damp earth, forcing each step after the last to become shorter. A bow rested in his left hand, its surface worn smooth from years of use. A quiver hung across his back.

The forest remained quiet. Mist drifted low between the trees. Zio walked through it without haste, keeping every step as light as possible.

Not long after, he lowered his body as the low brush ahead lay split in two. He crouched, his gaze dropping to the ground before him. Shallow tracks marked the soil. The earth had sunk unevenly beneath their weight. Zio followed the trail, letting the ground guide him.

The tracks wound between the trees without any clear pattern. Some remained sharp, while others gradually faded away.

Zio stopped when the faint rustling of leaves reached him through the silence of the forest. He stood behind a tree, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Brown fur broke the sea of leaves where sunlight filtered through the canopy.

Zio crouched. His right hand reached back and drew an arrow from the quiver. His grip tightened around the bow. The arrow was already nocked.

Zio exhaled slowly, then carefully shifted his body a little. His foot came down on a dry branch.

The deer's head snapped up at once.

Zio moved. His fingers searched for the bowstring in haste. The bow was only halfway raised.

The deer turned.

Zio released the arrow anyway.

The arrow sliced through the air.

Then buried itself into the side of the deer's leg.

Not deep.

The deer kept running despite the slight limp. Its hooves tore into the earth. The arrow fell free as it crashed through the brush ahead.

Zio remained where he stood. He lowered his bow, his gaze sweeping over the splashes of blood scattered across the grass before him.

Then he moved again. This time, faster.

Zio kept running, following the trail of blood. Branches scraped across his forearms. Tree roots shortened his stride.

Now and then, he stumbled as his balance slipped. His breathing gradually grew heavier. Still, Zio kept moving.

Not long after, the trail veered sharply. Zio slowed, one foot slipping. Ahead, the ground narrowed into a tight path between massive trees and dense brush.

The deer rushed through it without hesitation, its hooves continuing to rip through the earth.

But above those tracks lay another set. Footprints far deeper than the others. The distance between each step was much wider as well.

Zio continued the chase.

Roots jutted from the ground where the path should have been clear. He cleared one, clipped another, then stumbled hard. Ahead, the deer continued crashing through the undergrowth.

Still running.

Zio's boots scraped across the loose soil as he turned after it. The branches flung aside snapped back and struck his face.

The forest seemed to close in around him.

His lungs burned. Every breath became shallow and broken. Even so, he forced his legs to move faster.

A low branch slammed into his shoulder.

The impact twisted his body sideways and forced a muffled groan from his throat. He immediately slapped a hand against a tree trunk to keep himself from falling.

He pushed himself forward again.

The deer leaped over a fallen tree trunk.

Zio followed without thinking. His thigh slammed hard against the log, folding his body over. He clenched his teeth. Both hands hit the ground to catch himself.

Sunlight shattered through the gaps in the canopy.

Zio lifted his head, his vision narrowing until only the flick of a pale tail remained in the distance. He forced himself back to his feet and continued forward. Every step felt heavier than the one before.

The forest fell silent once more.

***

The axe came down. Wood split along the grain, the two halves dropping to either side of the block. Trod set another log upright without pausing, his movements the same as they had been since morning. Chips of bark lay scattered across the yard.

Footsteps came from the direction of the road.

"Where's Zio?"

Trod swung again. "Forest."

Martha stopped near the edge of the woodpile. She glanced toward the tree line before looking back at him.

"You let him go alone?"

"He went alone." Trod turned the next log over, checking the grain. "Different thing."

Martha let out a short breath through her nose. "Heh. You really are something."

"What if something happens to him out there?"

"He's not a baby anymore."

"That's not what I said."

Trod set the axe down against the block and straightened. He looked at her without any particular urgency.

"He's been going out with me long enough," he said. "Time to see what he does when I'm not standing next to him."

Martha was quiet for a moment. Her gaze drifted toward the tree line again, the way it sometimes did when she was turning something over in her mind without quite finishing the thought.

"Fine," she said at last.

Trod picked the axe back up. Martha turned toward the house, her steps unhurried. She didn't say anything else

***

Zio moved through the brush without a sound. The deer came into view again, but this time it did not run. It stood between two trees, its weight shifted unevenly to one side. The injured leg trembled with every shallow breath. Its head hung low.

The distance between them slowly closed. His steps were short. His breathing remained steady. The deer's ears twitched once, then settled.

Zio stopped. He drew the bow.

The string reached his jaw.

Then the brush to the deer's left collapsed.

Something large slammed into the deer from the side and drove it into the ground.

The impact shook the earth beneath Zio's feet. Leaves burst into the air. A branch snapped somewhere above.

Zio took several steps back.

The deer let out one short cry.

Then silence.

A tiger stood over its body.

Its chest rose and fell slowly. One paw pressed against the deer's side, its claws buried deep through the hide.

The tiger turned its head. Its eyes found Zio.

Then it snorted, a cloud of white breath escaping from its mouth.

Zio kept his bow raised for one more breath before his fingers relaxed. He lowered it slowly.

The tiger continued watching him. It did not step closer. It did not move away. It simply stood there with the deer beneath its paw.

Zio returned its gaze. He remained where he stood, but a faint tremor ran through his legs.

Slowly, Zio reached for the short dagger hanging at his waist.

The tiger remained where it was. Then it turned its head away.

It closed its jaws around the deer's neck and began dragging it away. The body scraped across the blanket of leaves, heavy and limp. Branches bent, then snapped. The sounds grew softer, then fainter, until they disappeared.

The forest filled the space it left behind.

Zio exhaled slowly. His bow remained in his left hand. The quiver on his back felt lighter than it had that morning.

For a brief moment, he looked up once through the gaps in the canopy. Then he turned and walked back the way he had come.

***

The walk back felt longer. Zio followed the same muddy grass path. His steps were heavy. Mud clung to his boots, drying unevenly and pulling with every step. He drew a short breath and kept walking without forcing his pace.

Greyhollow gradually came into view between the trees. Thin smoke rose straight from the chimneys, calm and undisturbed, as though nothing had happened today.

Zio passed the low wooden fence, then the narrow path he had always known.

Not long afterward, he reached the workshop yard. His left heel dragged slightly. He took off his bow and leaned it against the stack of firewood beside him.

Footsteps came from inside. Trod stepped out and sat down on the bench in front of the workshop. His eyes dropped to Zio's boots. A short laugh escaped him.

"Missed?" he asked.

Zio stayed silent.

A moment later, Martha approached from the other side carrying a damp cloth. She crouched, lifted Zio's foot, and tilted it slightly to inspect the sole. Mud still clung along the edges, dark and wet.

Martha stood up. Without saying a word, she picked the leaves from Zio's hair, then gently wiped his face with the damp cloth until no trace of dirt remained. She turned away, then returned with a cup in her hand.

"Drink first," Martha said softly.

Zio took a few sips before handing the cup back.

Trod rose from the bench.

"You came back with both legs still attached," he said as he walked back into the workshop. "That counts. Tomorrow, find a different route."

Zio nodded.

The yard sounded as it always did. Wood creaked now and then. Birds chirped from the direction of the forest.

"Go clean yourself up first," Martha said.

"Yes, Auntie."

Zio went inside. Through the narrow window, the tree line stood dark and still against the afternoon sky.

Somewhere beyond it, the forest had already forgotten he was there.