The first few weeks blurred into a monotonous rhythm of back-breaking labor and fitful sleep. Each dawn dragged me from nightmares of fire and death into the cold reality of Gareth's clearing. There was wood to chop – enough to fill the woodshed twice over – water to fetch, and endless chores designed to test the limits of my endurance. I cleared brush, mended fences, and even helped Gareth repair a section of the cabin roof that had succumbed to the elements.
Gradually, though, the ache in my muscles became familiar, the sting of cold water a bracing wake-up call. My senses, sharpened by necessity, picked up subtle cues—the rustle of hidden creatures, shifts in the wind, the scent of distant rain. Even Gareth's bland cooking grew tolerable. The rabbit stew, though often gamey and thin, became something I looked forward to after a long day of work. I was becoming stronger, both physically and mentally, the trauma of Praag slowly receding into a dull ache rather than a constant, throbbing wound.
It wasn't long before Gareth began trusting me—not fully, but enough to ease his vigilance. His hand no longer hovered near the knife whenever I was near, and curt orders turned into grudging instructions. He even started addressing me by name more often, a small sign of acceptance that I clung to.
One morning, after I split a particularly stubborn log without complaint – a gnarled piece of oak that had resisted my best efforts for nearly an hour – he tossed me a worn leather quiver and blunted practice arrows. "Time you learned to hunt. Can't live off dried berries and stale bread forever."
And so began my training. Gareth pushed me relentlessly, demanding perfection. We began with rabbits, Gareth demonstrating how to set snares and locate their burrows. He showed me how to read the tracks in the mud, how to identify the telltale signs of their presence: droppings, nibbled leaves, and the faint, musky scent of their fur.
Initially, I hesitated, recalling childhood pets from Praag—fluffy, long-eared creatures kept more as companions than food—but survival demanded a tougher heart. The snap of a rabbit's neck soon became a necessary act, not a cruel one. I learned to skin them quickly and efficiently, wasting nothing. Gareth showed me how to preserve the meat by smoking it over the fire, ensuring we had a supply for leaner times.
Then came the deer. Tracking them tested patience and observation far more than rabbits. Gareth taught me to interpret subtle signs—a broken twig, faint hoof prints, musk scent on the breeze. We spent hours crouched low to the ground, following their trails through the dense undergrowth, learning to move silently and invisibly. He emphasized the importance of the wind, explaining how to use it to our advantage, masking our scent and carrying the sounds of our approach away from the deer.
Taking the shot was always hardest—my hands trembling, heart pounding, memories of fire and death invading my thoughts. The weight of the bow felt heavy, the arrow a symbol of the violence I was now forced to embrace. Yet, Gareth's words steadied me: Control your fear, Kael. Or it will control you.
Occasionally, my arrows struck with unnatural force, splintering trees. Once, an arrow pierced through three inches of solid oak as if it were butter. Gareth never commented, but his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He simply handed me another arrow and told me to try again, pushing me to master the control I so clearly lacked.
One afternoon, as we stalked deer trails, Gareth abruptly warned, "The Elderwood is dangerous for the unwary." He pointed to twisted trees and shadowed earth. "Avoid the Whisperwood. Illusions haunt that place, preying on the minds of the lost and vulnerable. Many have wandered in, never to be seen again." He gestured towards a mist-covered ridge. "Steer clear of the Howling Peaks too. The winds carry voices of lost souls, driving men mad with grief and regret. The air itself is thin and poisonous up there."
Curious, I lowered my bow, the weight of it suddenly feeling more significant than before. "What about the elves? You said this was their forest."
His expression darkened, a shadow passing over his face. "These woods belong to the Sylva—Wood Elves. Ancient, powerful, fiercely protective of their domain. They brook no intrusions, and their justice is swift and unforgiving."
"Have you seen them?"
He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "More than I'd prefer. They're unpredictable, governed by rules and traditions that are alien to us. They are not to be trifled with."
Confused, I asked, "Then why live here? Why haven't they driven you out?"
Gareth sighed, staring distantly. A flicker of regret crossed his face, a brief glimpse into the past that he usually kept hidden. "It's complicated. Let's just say I have my reasons. I made a bargain, a long time ago. And I intend to honor it."
"So, could we be killed if we venture too deep?"
"You might," he responded sharply, his eyes snapping back to the present. "I'm bonded to this forest, in a way you wouldn't understand. It recognizes my intent, or at least tolerates my presence. You, on the other hand, are a stranger. And a potentially dangerous one, at that."
He stood abruptly, signaling me deeper into the forest than we'd ventured before. The trees grew taller, the shadows deeper, the air thick with a sense of ancient power. After nearly half an hour, we arrived at a shallow pond with a single fish, a shimmering silver creature that darted nervously through the murky water.
Gareth pointed, his voice low and intense. "Shoot it."
I hesitated. "Are you sure? This feels wrong. It feels like…" I trailed off, unable to articulate the feeling of unease that washed over me.
"Overcome your hesitations, Kael. Survival demands it. And sometimes, survival demands more than just taking what you need."
Taking a breath, I steadied myself, drew the bowstring, and released. Energy surged through me, amplifying the arrow's impact, the water rippling outward with a faint violet glow. The arrow didn't just pierce the fish; it vaporized it, leaving only a faint shimmer in the water. The pond was still except for some ripples in the center.
Gareth nodded, expression unreadable. "Good. Now clean it."
I stared at him, confusion warring with a rising unease. "Clean what? There's nothing left."
Gareth's gaze intensified, his eyes boring into mine. But he said nothing. He simply turned and began gathering wood for a fire, leaving me to grapple with the strange, destructive power that surged within me. The detached feeling lingered, a chilling echo of something dark and uncontrollable.
We built a fire, cooked nothing, and ate silently, the silence punctuated only by the crackling of the flames and the distant calls of unseen birds. Gareth continued instructing me about the Elderwood, sharing his extensive knowledge as if nothing had happened. He spoke of the ancient trees, the hidden pathways, the creatures that roamed the shadows. "Respect this forest, Kael," he said gravely, his voice low and resonant. "It remembers more than men have forgotten. And it repays both kindness and cruelty in equal measure."
Days later, Gareth announced, "A bear's been raiding my traps northward. We're hunting it."
My stomach churned. "Why? Aren't deer enough? And isn't it dangerous?"
"It's causing trouble, and it'll be good practice," he replied cryptically, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "Besides, a bear's hide will fetch a good price in the nearest town."
We set out before dawn, tracking signs for hours into increasingly wild terrain. The deeper we went, the heavier the air felt, thick with the scent of damp earth and something else… something primal and unsettling. My heart raced, a frantic drum against my ribs.
Gareth moved purposefully, his sharp gaze constantly scanning the undergrowth, as if expecting the forest itself to attack. Finally, we found the bear—a massive grizzly, easily twice my size, tearing apart a fallen log with savage efficiency.
Gareth stopped me with a hand, his grip surprisingly firm. "Your hunt," he whispered, stepping back and blocking any chance of retreat.
He didn't draw his own weapon. I was on my own. His expression, unreadable but strangely expectant, made my skin crawl. It wasn't the look of a teacher, but an observer, a scientist watching an experiment unfold.
I notched an arrow, panic surging as memories of the fire, the screams, the violet light, flashed violently through my mind. My shot went wide, clipping the bear's ear instead of hitting its vitals.
The startled bear roared, a deafening sound that vibrated through the trees, and reared up on its hind legs, towering menacingly. Saliva dripped from its jaws, and its eyes locked onto me with predatory intent.
Gareth stood motionless, leaning against a tree, watching with an unsettling intensity. He might as well have been a statue.
Then something inside me snapped. The fear, the grief, the constant pressure of Gareth's scrutiny—it all coalesced into a blinding rage. A chaotic power, wild and uncontrolled, surged through my veins.
The air crackled with energy, raising the hairs on my arms. The ground beneath my feet trembled, a subtle tremor that resonated deep within my bones. My vision tunneled, and a violet haze burned at the edges of my sight. I felt a scream building in my throat, a primal howl of defiance and despair.
The bear charged, a blur of fur and muscle, its claws extended. I didn't think, didn't plan. I simply reacted, channeling the raw power that coursed through me. I dropped the bow, my hands clenching into fists. A wave of violet energy erupted from my body, slamming into the bear with concussive force.
The bear was sent flying backward, crashing into a thicket of trees, but it was far from defeated. It staggered to its feet, roaring in pain and fury, its eyes burning with hatred.
It lunged again, faster this time. I barely had time to raise my arms in defense. The bear's claws raked across my chest, tearing through my already tattered clothes and ripping into my skin. Pain exploded, searing and agonizing.
I stumbled backward, blood welling from the gashes. The beast was on top of me in a flash, pinning me to the ground. Its hot, fetid breath washed over my face, and I could see the gleam of its teeth, inches from my throat.
Desperation clawed at me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. This was it. This was how it ended. And through the haze of pain and terror, I saw Gareth, still leaning against the tree, his expression unchanged. Impassive. Watching. He was going to let me die.
With a surge of adrenaline, I lashed out, kicking the bear in the stomach with all my might. It grunted in surprise, momentarily loosening its grip. I used the opportunity to roll away, scrambling to my feet. The bear swatted at me, its claws tearing another gash across my arm. I cried out, the pain almost unbearable.
I needed to end it, and fast. Reaching deep inside myself, I grabbed hold of that raw, untamed power, focusing all my will on a single point. Violet energy coalesced in my hands, crackling and sparking.
I lunged forward, slamming my fist into the bear's chest.
The force of the blow was immense. The bear convulsed, its eyes widening in shock, and then collapsed, lifeless, onto the forest floor.
I stood there, gasping for breath, my body trembling, blood dripping from my wounds. The violet energy faded, leaving me weak and drained. I looked over at Gareth, expecting… what? Approval? Relief?
But his expression remained unreadable, a mask of cold indifference. He simply nodded curtly.
Gareth swiftly intervened, striking me unconscious with his sword's hilt.
I awoke in the shed, body aching, memories flooding back. I stumbled into the clearing where Gareth sharpened his knife silently.
Approaching dusk, returning from another hunt days later, the air felt charged, shadows darker. Gareth halted, gripping his knife.
"Something's wrong," he murmured, eyes fixed on darkness beyond.
I tensed, senses heightened. "What is it?"
Without answering, Gareth stepped forward, knife drawn. I followed, heart pounding, knowing our fragile peace in the Elderwood was ending.