Page 127 of Grim and Oro
The shelter is soon filled with his snoring.
The storm intensifies in the night. Wind whistles through the gaps in the wood, making our shelter tremble.
I keep trying to form a fire, thinking that the relative heat from the shelter might warm me enough to find my flames again.
But nothing works. I finally fall asleep curled against the wood.
I wake up to hear Calder cursing.
I get to my feet quickly, thinking we might be under attack. Thinkinghemight be about to attack me.
When I rush out of the shelter, all I see is him glaring at the snow. The pieces come together quickly. Someone—or something—stole the food he had left outside.
I swallow, shame biting more than the cold.
Calder hauls his pack onto his back and turns toward the forest. I know what that means now.
“I’m going with you.”
Calder doesn’t say a word.
I don’t know how to hunt. I’ve never accompanied my father on one for sport. I’ve never had to hunt for food. It’s always been served on golden platters. Even in Sunling training, when our food was a far cry from the Mainland castle feasts, it was provided for us.
I realize now I don’t know the full extent of survival. Of going hungry. Of desperation.
Calder looks like he has known it.
I don’t know anything about him, other than his father. I try to remember what his father was fighting against, but I can’t. I was too young. Or maybe I didn’t pay enough attention.
Was he cast out when his father was executed? Is Calder so skilled at hunting because he was forced to survive beyond the Moonling castle?
I wonder why he was even permitted to start training ... Instructor Cleo must care about strength more than lineage.
Calder slows down, and I follow. I pay attention to the way he steps, quietly, even his large form barely making a sound through the forest.
I try my best to calm my breathing. To become one with the snow, and the trees, and the hissing wind.
The cold sears my nostrils, but I try to embrace it. If I’m going to learn Moonling’s ability, I need to find the cold within me, just as I found the fire.
Calder doesn’t have arrows. I wonder how he’s going to hunt another animal, and how he was able to ensnare the first.
We walk in silence for an hour. Then, out of nowhere, Calder stops and ducks. I do the same, seeing it a second later. A deer, with a crown of white antlers. It’s almost undetectable in the snow, quieter than we are.
Calder reaches back for his blade.
I wonder what he’s going to do. Throw it at the deer?
I don’t find out. Because I lean forward, and my knee cracks a branch. Immediately, the deer turns—and looks right at me.
It does not run. No.
It charges. Right at us.
Calder remains fixed. He outstretches his blade, as if he’s going to go head-to-head with its antlers.
But the beast bows its head, and it’s like a wall of blades surging toward us, ready to rip us to shreds.
I turn and run.
