The cold of the fourth morning bit deeper than before. Ren woke stiffly under the tarp, the memory of the small hare already. Liam was awake too, rubbing circulation back into his hands. The small fire from last night was dead ash.
"Those tracks," Liam whispered, his breath clouding in the frigid air as they emerged from the lean-to. "The big ones by the stream."
Ren nodded, his gaze scanning the silent, imposing forest that pressed in on all sides. He touched the handle of the knife tucked inside his tunic. It felt small, inadequate. Good for utility, for close work, but against a determined wolf, or trying to hunt anything larger than a rabbit? Useless reach.
"We need something longer," Ren stated quietly, thinking aloud. Defense. Maybe hunting.
Liam looked at him. "Like what? Branches?"
"Mabey sharpened," Ren said. He remembered diagrams in the book. He pulled out the Book on the Wild, carefully turning the pages past the familiar plant and snare sections. He found it, simple drawings of long, sharpened sticks, the tips darkened. Text below described using fire to harden points. Spears. He showed the page to Liam.
Liam studied it, then nodded slowly. "We need to find hard and straight wood."
"Let's check the snares first," Ren decided. Another catch like yesterday would provide energy for the work ahead.
They moved out, checking the line of simple noose traps they'd set the previous day. The first few were empty or sprung uselessly. Ren felt a familiar knot of frustration tighten in his gut. Then, near the stream again, they found one snare pulled tight around the body of a ruffled, dark-feathered bird, a grouse, maybe, judging by the book's images.
Luck. Ren dispatched it quickly with the knife. Back near the remnants of their fire pit, they plucked and cleaned the bird. It was smaller than the hare, offering less meat. Ren rebuilt the fire carefully, using the last embers and painstakingly gathered dry tinder, while Liam skewered the pieces on green sticks. They roasted and ate it quickly, the meager meal doing little more than dulling the edge of their hunger. It also reinforced the need for a more reliable method.
The rest of the morning and much of the afternoon was spent searching for suitable wood for the spears. It was harder than Ren expected. Most straight saplings were soft pine or fir. Hardwood branches thick enough were often twisted or difficult to cut cleanly from larger trees with just the small knife. They finally found a patch of tough, straight saplings – maybe ash, Ren guessed from the bark, though the book wasn't clear on specific wood types beyond 'hard' and 'soft'.
Cutting two lengths, each taller than himself, took hours. The knife wasn't designed for chopping. It was slow, laborious shaving and scoring, taking turns, hands aching, blisters forming. By late afternoon, they had two rough poles. Sharpening the points was another exercise, scraping and whittling the dense wood down to serviceable, if uneven, tips.
As dusk began to gather again, they used the banked coals of their small fire. Following the book's brief instruction, they carefully rotated the sharpened tips just above the hottest embers, watching the wood darken and smoke, pulling it away before it could catch fire. The process was slow, demanding constant attention to get an even char, hardening the wood without making it brittle.
Finally, it was done. Ren picked one up, testing its weight. It felt clumsy but substantial. Liam hefted the other, mimicking a short thrust towards a tree trunk.
Day four was done, three more to go.
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Hunger was a constant companion by the morning of day five, the small grouse from yesterday doing little to quell the emptiness. They needed more. Armed now with the crude fire-hardened spears, a small measure of confidence bolstered their resolve as they left the relative safety of their campsite near the stream, intending to check their sparse snare line and actively look for any sign of game.
They moved cautiously through the dense coniferous forest, the cold, clear air making every snapped twig sound loud. Ren took point, spear held ready, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees, while Liam followed, covering their back, his own spear held across his body. They found two snares empty, one sprung by nothing larger than a rodent. Discouragement began to set in again.
It happened without warning. A blur of grey fur exploded from the undergrowth to Ren's left. He reacted on pure instinct, thrusting his spear forward defensively even as he stumbled back. The spear tip, hardened but still just wood, glanced off the wolf's thick shoulder ruff with a dull thud. The wolf snarled, snapping at the wood, jaws missing Ren's arm by inches.
Then more shapes burst from the trees, three, no, four wolves, lean and wiry, eyes fixed on them with predatory intensity. They circled, low growls rumbling in their chests, separating Ren and Liam slightly.
Fear, cold and sharp, lanced through Ren, but somehow he managed to fight it off. He kept his spear point low, aimed towards the closest wolf, trying to maintain distance. Liam mirrored him, back-to-back now, their small space shrinking as the wolves padded closer, testing.
One wolf feinted towards Liam, drawing his spear's attention, while another darted in low towards Ren's right. Ren pivoted, jabbing with the spear, but the wolf was too fast, dodging under the clumsy thrust. Ren dropped the spear, useless at this range, and drew his knife as the wolf lunged.
He met the attack low, turning his body, slashing with the knife across the wolf's muzzle as sharp teeth grazed his thigh through the rough tunic. The wolf yelped, recoiling momentarily, blood welling from the cut. On the other side, Ren heard Liam cry out in pain. He risked a glance – Liam had managed to fend off one wolf with his spear but another had darted in, clamping its jaws onto Liam's forearm. Liam yelled again, stabbing downwards with the spear butt, forcing the wolf to release, but blood now stained his sleeve dark.
Two wolves pressed Ren now, circling, looking for an opening. He kept the knife moving, short, economical jabs forcing them to respect the small blade, his back brushing against Liam's. His leg throbbed where the teeth had grazed him. Liam, despite his injured arm held tight against his body, used his spear in his good hand to keep the other two wolves at bay, his face pale and beaded with sweat.
The wolf Ren had cut lunged again, ignoring the blood dripping from its nose, jaws snapping. Ren sidestepped, brought the knife up in a desperate underhand thrust, aiming for the chest with pure instinct alone. He felt the blade sink in, meeting resistance, then grating against bone. The wolf let out a choked snarl, its lunge faltering. Ren yanked the knife free as the animal collapsed heavily at his feet.
The sudden death seemed to stun the remaining three wolves. They hesitated, growls lowering into uncertain whines, eyes flicking between Ren, Liam, the dead wolf, and the surrounding forest. That hesitation was all Ren and Liam needed.
"Back!" Ren gasped, grabbing his spear from the ground. "Towards camp!"
Keeping the spear points towards the uncertain wolves, they backed away slowly, Ren limping slightly, Liam favouring his injured arm. The wolves watched them go, making no move to follow immediately into the denser trees near the stream.
Once out of sight, adrenaline fading, the pain hit harder. Ren's leg was bleeding freely from several deep scratches accompanying the graze. Liam's arm was worse, blood soaking his tunic sleeve from obvious puncture wounds. They stumbled back to their lean-to, collapsing near the cold fire pit.
For a moment, they just breathed heavily, the sounds of the forest seeming loud around them. Then Ren looked towards the direction they'd left the dead wolf. Food. A lot of it.
"We need…" Liam started, his voice strained.
"Meat," Ren finished. He looked at his leg, then Liam's arm. "And we need to fix these." He pulled out the Book on the Wild, flipping past spears and snares towards the back, hoping for a section on wounds. Basic diagrams showed cleaning with water, applying pressure, and using specific leaves or herbs, if they could find them, as poultices.
First though, the meat. Ren gripped his spear, glanced at Liam. "Can you watch?" Liam nodded grimly, picking up his own spear with his good hand. Ren took the knife, his leg protesting with every step, and moved cautiously back towards the site of the fight, hoping the other wolves hadn't returned yet for their fallen packmate. He had to be fast.
Ren moved quickly back through the trees, every step sending a jolt of pain up his injured leg. He ignored it, focusing, listening. The forest was quiet again, unnervingly so. He found the dead wolf where it had fallen, grey fur matted with dark blood. It was lean, like its packmates, but heavier than he'd expected. Too heavy to drag back whole, especially injured.
He knelt, knife in hand. Remembering diagrams from the book not of wolves, but general animal anatomy, he worked quickly, cutting through hide and muscle. It was messy, difficult work with the small knife, but hunger and the lingering fear of the pack's return urged him on. He focused on the large muscles of the hind legs and the thick straps of meat along the back, sawing through sinew, separating manageable sections. The metallic smell of blood was strong. He bundled the raw, heavy pieces as best he could, his hands slick, and hurried back towards the stream and their lean-to, constantly scanning the trees.
Liam was still there, spear held ready, his face tight with pain but his eyes alert. He visibly relaxed when Ren emerged from the trees, nodding towards the bloody load Ren carried.
"Clear?" Liam asked, his voice low.
"For now," Ren confirmed. "Got meat."
Before dealing with the food, they tended their wounds by the stream. The cold water stung brutally as they washed away the blood and grime. Ren's leg had multiple deep scratches alongside the graze where teeth had torn through the tunic and Liam's forearm bore distinct puncture marks, already darkening with bruising. Ren glanced at the Book on the Wild's section on wound treatment, diagrams of leaves for poultices, but a quick scan of the immediate vegetation revealed nothing that matched closely enough to risk using. They settled for tearing long strips from the bottom of Ren's already ragged tunic. Working mostly in silence, they helped each other bind the wounds tightly to slow the bleeding, the rough cloth serving as crude bandages.
With that done, the immediate need for food, hot food, took over. They rebuilt the fire, adding wood Liam had gathered earlier. Ren used the knife to cut chunks of the dark wolf meat and skewer them on sturdy green sticks stripped of bark.
Soon, the scent of roasting meat, pungent and slightly gamey, filled their small clearing, mingling with the woodsmoke. It smelled far stronger than the hare or the roots had. They cooked it thoroughly, letting the flames sear the outside. The fat dripped and sizzled, making the fire hiss.
They ate huddled close to the flames, tearing into the hot, tough meat. It was strong-flavored, chewy, nothing like the hare, but it was filling.
Day five Done. Two remained.