That day and the next were relatively peaceful, though I noticed everyone stepped a little lighter around me. I pretended not to notice; I had no desire to be pulled into explaining myself more than I already had. The time was spent improving our trapping and sling skills as well as learning the basics of Pack hunting. Rawley and Nole were both advocates of thorough, well rounded training.

A Pack hunt was planned on the third full day of the trip. Experience was the best teacher.

To prepare, Fellen and I were both given a spear to practice with and I immediately wanted to put it down and go back to practicing with my sling. Rawley had gone over the very basics of the weapon, such as how to hold it to get the most force out of an attack, at Gabbler Shore but those lessons had been more focused on hunting fish and much more infrequent compared to practicing with a sling. Lone huntresses were more suited to ranged weapons—no one wanted to be the idiot who attacked medium sized prey on their own with only a five foot piece of stone and wood to protect you. That was like asking to get trampled or gored. Distance was safer. Better.

But Pack huntresses were inclined to the weapon and we were supposed to be learning how to hunt as a group. I could see how the spear could lend itself to coordinated, close range tactics, but my fingers still itched for the sling. I might not be as skilled as the huntresses, but I still preferred to used the weapon I knew over the one I didn’t.

The sisters, Keili and Veris, were put in charge of us as they both had a lifetime of experience as Pack huntresses. They worked so well together that it was a little intimidating. Sometimes one would hold out a hand and the other would give her whatever she needed without a word or look exchanged between them. Crest spent the time scouting the area for prey as she knew the forested foothills best and would know which opportunities would offer the best chance of success. She also reported on changes in the terrain that we could potentially use or that could cause trouble such as a hill that offered a particularly good vantage point or an ominous fallen tree. Using her information, Rawley and Nole picked a location for a pit trap and spent the remaining time arduously digging it out. The pit wasn’t very deep, only around four feet, but it had taken them a long while to break through the frost layer as well as digging through the snow and the rest of the dirt. That was one of the contributing factors for us to go after a shaggy coated boar. They were the more common, smaller, and less dangerous version of the russet backed boar in this region. They also didn’t jump well once their momentum was ruined.

Fellen and I were stationed in the middle of the clearing to practice jabbing and setting the butt of our spear into the ground. It was tedious work but I didn’t complain. Repetition was the best way to make the movements second nature, even if that wouldn’t happen in two days. As we practiced the sisters alternated between watching and correcting our movements, tending to their gear, and practicing themselves. Once we learned we would be boar hunting, they also added swapping tips and stories into the mix.

Veris was making wild, fancy flourishes with her spear when she started one such session. “Hey sis, what’s the first thing you want to do if you get a boar on your spear?”

Keili kept pacing around us, checking for mistakes, as she snorted and then replied, “Let go and get out of the way.”

Veris pointed her spear at Keili. “Correct!” Then she caught sight of our disbelieving looks and continued her line of questioning with a wink. “Why is that, Keili?”

Her sister made an encompassing gesture with her hands. “Well, imagine sister, that you were hunting a boar with your Pack. And you had found it! In fact, it was charging at you and your Pack was flanking, ready to pin it once it rammed itself onto your spear. Imagine setting your spear against the ground, bracing for impact, as it pounds towards you on hooves the size of meal bowls. It hits! The spear sinks in, right through the chest and into the heart. But, imagine, you don’t let go then and the boar, crazed with pain and anger, continues to push forward on your spear. You lost your chance to roll out of the way. Your Pack rushes in to help, most even stick it at good vantage points. But it’s too late! The boar catches you with its tusk, goring you in the side with its death throws. It dies, but so do you, hours or days later from an infected, bleeding wound that refuses to close.”

I was vaguely annoyed with their needlessly over the top explanations, but they hit the point home. Keili had a keen memory of gory and unfortunate hunting accidents she’d seen or heard of, and a skilled tongue at wringing every droplet of horror from them. Not that I needed to imagine the awfulness of a gore wound; my memories of tending to several different ones served me well.

We received other lessons as well, such as: don’t try to outrun a boar for long (it’ll win), simple is best, and pay attention to the position of your Pack around you (breaking formation can ruin a hunt). I made a mental note of them all and made sure I had them stored so that I could quickly access them, if needed. That was an old habit I couldn’t break even if I wanted to.

Fellen was more interested in going on a Pack hunt, but less eager to try her hand at hunting boar, than I was. I recognized the huntresses’ skill, but I couldn’t help but bulk at the idea of having to rely on multiple people to get a task done. It was like I was admitting I wasn’t strong enough before we even did anything. I accepted the situation though, partially because I didn’t have any choice and partially because hunting bigger game than birds, squirrels, and rabbits held some appeal.

We started the hunt as soon as dawn broke. Crest led us to the last spot she had seen a lone shaggy coated male boar the evening before. A stand of few large bushes about a mile outside camp. The boar had rooted through the snow eating seeds and exposed roots. From there Nole led the group as we tracked his hoof prints, though I was sure we didn’t need her expertise. Fellen and I could followed the obvious trail all on our own as the snow was high enough, and the boar’s legs stumpy enough, that even its belly had left a trail.

We made quick work of following the boar’s meandering trail and found him snuffling around the base of a tree a little over an hour later. He was farther from his den, and thus from our pit trap, than we had expected which nearly rendered Rawley and Nole’s hard work useless. If we attacked the boar now, there wasn’t a chance that we could drive him into the trap. So Rawley, our acting Pack Leader, predictably decided to follow one of her core tenets.

Patience.

The next few hours were spent hiding behind trees and creeping along downwind of the boar. Striving to not alert him to our presence as he slowly snuffled and snorted his way closer to his den. I saw more than my fill of wiry gray hair, beady eyes, and tusks the length of my hand during that time. I think Fellen nearly broke. She wasn’t made to spend that long in tense stillness, much less silence. Her fingers kept twitching to her sling.

Once the boar was about a hundred feet from the pit trap, as close as we thought he was going to get on his own, Rawley whistled like a redpoll to signal the start of our plan. The boar lifted his head at the sound before going back to rooting through the snow after a few moments.

Keili and Veris crept to the boar’s other side while Crest and Rawley snuck around behind him. Nole, Fellen, and I were left to cover his left side. Once they were in place, each group whistled like the bird again and we pulled our slings free. Placed a stone in the pouch, and at the quiet count of ten flung them at the boar.

He gave an angry squeal as he was pelted by seven different stones and stomped in a circle, looking for whatever dared to attack him. A handful of seconds later, his bravado was broken as he was hit by seven more stones and he took off in the only direction he hadn’t been hit from. Toward the trap.

We continued to harass him as he ran, keeping him on course. A little over halfway to the trap, he charged in Keili and Veris’s direction, determined to break free and get revenge on his attackers. I fumbled for another stone to distract him with, but two well placed stones—one above the eye and one on the snout—hit him from the other side and the enraged boar swerved back on course.

Then Nole whistled and Veris answered her. They both sprinted forward, leaving the rest of us behind as they stuffed their slings into their belt and pulled their spears free. They made a hard turn as soon they came abreast of the trap so that they met behind it. The boar spotted them and charged forward with extra speed and an angry squeal. They set their spears into the ground, just in case the boar some how cleared the trap.

The boar’s momentum nearly propelled him onto the spear points before the light covering over the pit broke under his weight and he fell. I heard something crunch as I ran up with the rest of the group with my spear now in hand. At the same time, Nole and Veris swiftly changed stance and plunged their spears down into the struggling boar’s side. Rawley’s spear caught him in the neck next, and he died before I got my spear into position.

Fellen met my gaze with an adrenaline filled grin as the huntresses freed their hands to pull their prayer needles free. We quickly followed suit. I pricked a smaller diamond on my thigh as everyone pricked their wrists. Red dotted the snow around the pit as Rawley spoke the ritual words for a successful hunt.

“We thank you, goddess, for this successful hunt and offer you blood for that which we took. May this death sustain you as it will sustain us.”

There was a brief moment of tense silence before the blood staining the snow flaked away. We didn’t offer prayers for every squirrel and rabbit we killed, but when it to larger game, especially with a planned hunt, the attitude that it was better to be safe than sorry prevailed. Plus, Pack huntresses tended to be stricter about observing every act of ritual and ceremony. I think it helped to enforce the hierarchy in their Pack, and there were some, like Fenris, who thought the goddess was always had an eye trained explicitly on her, and that such acts brought her closer to the deity.

Fellen and I were sent to collect the stones everyone had thrown during the chase while the huntresses hefted the boar out of the pit and field dressed it. With every stone I found and picked up, a growing sense of annoyance burgeoned. I had been practically useless during the whole hunt. Even if I hadn’t been there to sling my stones, they would of had the numbers they needed on each side. In fact, I was certain that the huntresses could have accomplished the whole thing without Fellen or I there.

I stomped over to where a stone had rolled in front of a bush that quietly rustled with the wind. Then I froze as I was in the middle of reaching for the stone. My hair hadn’t moved. The chill air was still.

Slowly, I brought my gaze up from the ground as I slipped my free hand toward where my sling was tucked into my belt. Through a gap in the bush’s twigs peered another set of eyes.