and i'm not keeping up
The herd breaks around me like a river finding rocks. I swerve, boots skidding, and a rushing shoulder clips the air where I was a blink ago. “Shit—” I duck out of the way of another and keep running.
My downed luxere thrashes weakly, antlers cutting frantic arcs that could still open me like paper. I veer to its blind side, breath burning my throat, and I’m never more grateful for the shortsword at my hip—long enough to reach what a dagger can’t. Steel clears leather; I circle it once, twice, timing the desperate heave of its chest. Fear shines in its eye and something tightens behind my ribs.
I step in and drive the blade clean to the hilt. The fight leaves it in a single, shuddering sigh. Stillness settles.
Silence folds in after the thunder of hooves, like the snow itself is catching its breath. Tears slip hot before I can stop them. I don’t sob—just that traitorous tremble of my lip as I kneel. I tug off a glove and smooth a hand along its face, feeling the coarse winter coat under my palm while the glow dwindles from its antlers like embers going dark. My palm rests between the luxere’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words a little too thick. The words fog and vanish, but I press them in anyway with my thumb along the bridge of its nose. I'm sorry for the fear, the confusion, the hurt I didn’t take fast enough.
This is a hunt. It feeds people. I know this is a success, ultimately. I feel like a child, and I wipe my cheeks with the back of my wrist and look at the arrows, reluctant to yank them free like I'm still going to hurt the fallen beast.
My downed luxere thrashes weakly, antlers cutting frantic arcs that could still open me like paper. I veer to its blind side, breath burning my throat, and I’m never more grateful for the shortsword at my hip—long enough to reach what a dagger can’t. Steel clears leather; I circle it once, twice, timing the desperate heave of its chest. Fear shines in its eye and something tightens behind my ribs.
I step in and drive the blade clean to the hilt. The fight leaves it in a single, shuddering sigh. Stillness settles.
Silence folds in after the thunder of hooves, like the snow itself is catching its breath. Tears slip hot before I can stop them. I don’t sob—just that traitorous tremble of my lip as I kneel. I tug off a glove and smooth a hand along its face, feeling the coarse winter coat under my palm while the glow dwindles from its antlers like embers going dark. My palm rests between the luxere’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words a little too thick. The words fog and vanish, but I press them in anyway with my thumb along the bridge of its nose. I'm sorry for the fear, the confusion, the hurt I didn’t take fast enough.
This is a hunt. It feeds people. I know this is a success, ultimately. I feel like a child, and I wipe my cheeks with the back of my wrist and look at the arrows, reluctant to yank them free like I'm still going to hurt the fallen beast.
the strength i need to push me
Theea
