CHAPTER I
Land in the North
Crack. Rig marked the snowy pine tree with his hatchet. The noise echoed through the forest. He yanked it from the bark and struck it three more times. Crack. Crack. Crack. He left the hatchet stuck on the last blow. He’d be able to find his way back through the forest should his tracks fill with snow. He straightened his wolf-pelt cloak and sat on it cross legged, pulling the hood down with his bow in hand. Rig waited until the dim grey skies of dawn cast shadows across the forest floor. The creeping shade faded in and out with the swaying of the branches, teasing his heart with hopes of rabbit. The ends of his long brown hair hung solidified outside his hood, and his facial hair collected snow, forming a white beard. He tightened his grip and gritted his teeth, gazing between the trees. There was nothing. No movement besides snowfall, the swaying of branches, and the occasional dumping of snow. This was the seventh day in a row Rig had trekked by early morning moonlight to these parts in search of game only to find lands devoid of wildlife. The first three days made him question his skill, and he wondered if he was doing something wrong, but as of the last few days, he believed the game was gone altogether. “Nothing…” His voice was a cracked utterance in the cold. “I don’t believe this. Not once have I hunted this many days in a row in the late spring without any sign of game.” Rig took a deep breath through chilled nostrils. The cold stung, but the stark realization of failure hurt worse. This day was already like the others, he reckoned. He should have seen several elk or deer by now. It baffled him. Not so much as a bird had flown from a branch, nor had a single animal track been seen. Rig tried not to let his frustrations consume him and refocused on the ever-brightening forest floor. The food store back at the longhouse was low, and he needed to find something to kill soon or he’d have to barter. Rig shifted his thoughts to alternative ideas. Searching for bear caves crossed his mind, but that was never an idea worth acting on without a party. He thought back to his days growing up in the village. He remembered a particular time hunting bear as an adolescent with some of the townsfolk. They’d found a cave with a mother and her cubs. It didn’t end well. One of the village’s better men lost a leg and bled to death
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