3. The Hunted
Click.
The sound of melting snow falling roused Arishte from her heavy slumber. Have they found my hiding place? She flinched, looking around, but there was no sign of intrusion.
As dawn approached, the sky began to shift toward purple. She had covered the cave entrance with branches she had gathered, but she couldn't stop the faint light from seeping through the gaps.
Arishte stirred the nearly extinguished embers, coaxing the fire back to life. The flames brightened only a little, but even that now felt dangerous. Fear that someone might see the light and find her gnawed at her, but if she didn't build the fire, she would freeze to death.
Fortunately, the cave was relatively warm. It looked like a place where wild animals had birthed and raised their young, but there were no recent traces—it had been abandoned for a long time.
A hollow smile touched Arishte's lips as she watched the flickering flames. This wasn't her first time experiencing such hardships, which made her resourceful.
Finding a perfect hiding spot in a snow-covered mountain, making fire from wood—she was skilled at all of it because she had spent her childhood running for her life, clutching her father's hand. She was used to wandering the mountains. Sleeping in animal-dug, abandoned caves, chewing dry bread to stave off hunger—none of it was new.
Memories of the years before settling in Vito, moving from village to village, suddenly surfaced. It had been winter then, too.
It all started because her father had killed someone. Even though it was murder, she was never afraid of her father. The dead man had deserved it—he had raped and killed the physician's wife, a woman who was also his child's nanny.
When her father discovered the truth, he killed the count with the knife he used to trim herbs. After that, the count's family had pursued them relentlessly. Father and daughter had fled like hunted animals. More than once, they'd hidden in caves, filling their bellies with half-cooked game, melting snow when they were thirsty. Those days had been brutal. In a way, finding refuge in Vito Village had been the only stroke of luck to befall them.
"Please, let us live in this village."
Her father had begged, his clothes torn and filthy. His words pleaded, but his eyes were fierce, determined. They showed that there was nowhere left to retreat.
His hand gripped hers tightly. It hurt, but even as a child, she understood this wasn't the time to complain. Young Arishte had hidden behind her father's cloak, looking up at the villagers.
"Taking in outsiders is dangerous, Village Head."
All the villagers had said the same thing, looking at the ragged pair. Outsiders are dangerous. The sentiment was clear in their eyes, even if they didn't say it.
"I know how to handle medicinal herbs."
Those words had been powerful enough to sway the village head. The village's only healer had recently died, and his offer was a compelling one. Moreover, the village head's elderly mother was bedridden. Her condition was so grave that funeral preparations were already underway.
After a long moment, the village head nodded, giving the father and daughter a dilapidated house. Her father had then fought desperately to nurse the old woman back to health. She had been nearly immobile, but she recovered enough to sit up and speak.
Arishte rubbed her swollen eyes, shaking off the lingering drowsiness.
She hadn't really slept—just drifted in and out of consciousness. Curled inside her cloak, she had waited for the night to pass. But now that dawn was breaking, she felt a new sense of despair.
Where should she go?
She had thought this would be her final home. So she had kept her head down, enduring. The village hunters often came back injured—mostly minor wounds, but there were also grievous injuries from hunting large beasts.
Her role had been to tend to those wounds, making sure they didn't fester and helping them heal. After her father died, she took over all his duties, never once neglecting the villagers' needs.
And this was her reward. Once again, she was fleeing. Let them forget about me. Please. Let them think I've died, buried in the snow, and not come looking.
She was burying her face in her arms, drawn up on her knees, when—
Bang.
"......"
Her head snapped up.
The sudden gunshot was enough to shatter the remnants of sleep.
Bang, bang.
The shots grew louder, clearer, crushing her hopes that she had misheard.
The gunfire at dawn wasn't for hunting game. It was the kind of shooting used to drive prey toward hunters, herding them into the most advantageous spots. The animals would instinctively flee the sound, gathering where the hunters could easily take aim.
And that sound now—
It was unmistakably hunting her.
She forced her limp body to stand. She stamped out the remaining embers with her feet and found the fur boots she had set by the fire to dry. They were still damp, but there was no time to worry about that.
She carefully pulled aside the branches covering the cave entrance. She wanted to seal herself inside and never come out. But if they found this abandoned animal den, she'd be trapped—caught with no way to escape.
From the sound of the gunshots, her pursuers were experienced hunters. Had some of the villagers taken up arms? A thought crossed her mind.
Those men who had stayed in the village last night. The scars and wounds covering their faces flashed in her memory. They were no ordinary wanderers. The villagers had accepted them because of the money they offered, but everyone had been wary.
Some hunters would do anything for money. For the right price, they'd kill, capture, sell. If those men were that kind...
Arishte stretched her neck out like a rabbit in its burrow, scanning the outside. Judging by the distance of the gunfire, she still had time.
She slid out of the narrow cave the same way she had entered, lying low and moving carefully. Once outside, she scanned her surroundings again, then began walking through the snow. She headed deeper into the mountains, not directly away from the gunfire, but toward the opposite side.
A naive hope: perhaps she could throw them off this way. She walked relentlessly through the snow, which reached her knees. For all her frantic effort, she barely covered any ground. She was weaving wildly between trees when—
Bang.
The gunshot echoed through the air. Arishte dropped to the ground, half-buried in the snow, her ears straining like a startled rabbit.
The shot had come from closer than before.
"......"
It was unmistakably aimed at her. Some animals, upon hearing such a sound, would freeze as if caught in a trap. She was exactly that prey now—if she panicked and fell, she would be captured for sure.
Bang, bang.
At the next shots, she tumbled down a slope. She emerged covered in snow, but no longer felt the cold. The sound was closer still, so near it seemed it would pierce her temple any second.
At the bottom of the hill, she forced herself up with all her might. The deafening gunfire was clouding her senses, robbing her of the rationality to think clearly.
She must have twisted something when she fell—her shoulders, her back, every part of her body ached. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Tears froze on her lashes, brittle as ice.
She walked with only one thought: to get far, far away from the gunfire.
"......"
Suddenly, a wooden signpost driven deep into the ground stood before her. Arishte read the words, then read them again.
"Snow Leopard Forest – Domain of Duke Ikanus"
The words were brief, but she knew what they meant.
Those who entered here did not survive.
From the day she first came to this village as a child, her father and the villagers had drilled those words into her bones.
What made a forest truly dangerous was not the beasts within—it was the owner. Especially an owner of such noble rank that one dared not even look upon him. The moment she set foot in that forest, she would become prey; she would have no excuse even if her skin was stripped from her. She had never even gone near it.
The grim rumors about the forest's owner only reinforced her fear.
But now, things were different. Standing before the sign, she looked back. Once daylight came, hiding would be even harder. Her pursuers would have the advantage.
Still, she hesitated to cross that line. The forbidden forest. The place you must never enter in winter.
It felt as though the moment she set foot inside, beasts would spring forth and tear her apart.
Isn't there another way? Somewhere they can't follow...
"There she is."
A voice from behind made her freeze.
Click.
The unpleasant sound of a gun being loaded. Her thoughts ceased. She ran with all her might.
Bang—!
She was sprinting through the snow, her feet sinking with each stride, when she suddenly stopped. The air around her seemed to freeze.
"......"
Her gaze, fixed on the sky, slowly lowered. The hem of her skirt was stained red. A moment later, blood began to drip from it. A sharp pain seared up from her calf.
Drip, drop.
The blood pooled on the ground, spreading like a winter-blooming flower.
She clutched her cloak. Blood flowed steadily from the deep wound.
Yet she moved forward again. Driven forward by the gunshots, her pace quickening. She heard shouts behind her, but she lacked the strength—and the courage—to look back.
---
The gunfire roused someone from deep sleep. The man's eyelids, resting on a bed draped with snow leopard pelts, stirred with the sound.
"......"
Pale lids parted, revealing crimson eyes. He blinked slowly, processing what he had heard.
It had been a long time since he'd heard gunshots here. A perfect disturbance to his sleep.
He slid out of bed as though shedding a skin. His smooth, muscular body cast pleasing shadows with each movement. The air was thick with smoke, scattered powders covering the floor—medicinal incense he had been burning.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Only after several breaths did he slowly open them.
He walked to the wall and picked up the rifle propped there.
Time to hunt.
***
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