Chapter 1/1 The path of the hunter
It is dark, the constant noise of heavy rainfall from above fills the forest. While the foliage of the trees is so dense not much of the rain comes through it, water is dripping from the leaves, just enough to make the undergrowth moist. People rush home as fast as their legs can take them in weather like this, but not him. A man is sitting at the bottom of a tree. In front of him a small campfire burns, it flickers every time a drop of water lands on it, and there’s plenty from the rain. He stares in front of himself, lost in thoughts. His face is well lit by the fire, along with his long dark hair and full beard. His eyes look empty at first glance, though they are very much the opposite, they are full of anguish. The man wears a leather coat with short fur and a coarse to the touch linen shirt under that, while his pants are the same with even thicker leather. His boots are the sturdiest of his apparel, going halfway up his shin. On his side, in a small half-sheath there’s a knife, a twenty centimeters long blade with wooden handle and a small hilt, next to it another, a smaller one, with a bent blade and bent handle, a skinning knife. Not far from the campfire on the ground lies a leather backpack and a water pouch both full, next to a bow and arrows. The bow is a strong and weary one, it looks to have served its owner for a long time, its limbs are polished yew with a grip on it from reddish wood. The arrows are standard iron tipped ones, more than forty-fifty in the quiver, undeniably the essentials of a hunter.
Hours have gone by, the hunter sits there in the same posture, not moving the slightest. The rain starts to fall even harder. As the dripping from the foliage quickly turns into pouring the fire starts to fade away and within seconds it’s out. The hunter’s expression doesn’t change. He just stares the same way he did for hours, the almost pitch black doesn’t concern him, nor the lack of warmth from the extinguished fire. Time flows differently for him, thanks to the state he’s in. He can’t tell hours apart from minutes.
Sometime later, the rain stops showering so heavily, not fully over but it’s not penetrating the foliage anymore. His expression is the same, like he’s frozen in time, suddenly he closes his eyes and bows his head down. In his mind there is perhaps darker than the pitch black forest around him, and his memories are shadows lurking in that darkness. The thoughts won’t let him sleep, he’s in pain. Despair and misery slowly eats him away; one can almost hear the chewing.
The rain gradually fades away, as it completely stops a howl echoes from the distance, a strangely low pitched one. “Come for me.” he says quietly, in a husky voice. The hunter sits there the exact same way, while he listens to the sounds of the birds and bugs slowly taking over the silence left by the rain. They come out because the rain had stopped and also because the sun is starting to rise.
