Winter's Bite

One

   

  “This hoof is near the size of my hand.” Idrys laid the hand in question alongside the depression in the rocky soil.

  Emyr pushed his crouching brother playfully. “Come on, slow one, our prize went up that hill.”

  Idrys flashed a wide smile at his twin. The boys were in good spirits. It was high summer, the sun shining hot in the lazy afternoon but with a cooling breeze coming down from the rocky hills. Standing, which put him exactly of a height with his brother, Idrys ruffled Emyr’s unbraided black curls and took off up the slope. They’d been chasing the same large buck since the early dawn hours, their quarry always ahead, just out of sight.

  They were nearly two days travel from home, nearing the boundary of the Cantref of Llynwg. If the stag crossed into Arfon, they’d have to turn back. The twins knew they’d gone further than they should have, but the large hart beckoned. The forests of Llynwg opened up here, turning to scragling brush amid tall grass and stones. The trail led them to a steeper hillside covered in loose soil and larger stones.

  The stag stood at the base of the hill, his proud head raised in alarm. Nostrils tasted the air as the twins laid down their short spears and carefully knocked arrows to their light bows. Moving as silently as possible they crept to where the tall summer hay turned slowly to shorter growth.

  Idrys looked at his brother. No words were necessary. Emyr nodded and moved to the left. The stag waited, still as an etching against the backdrop of boulder and sky. His rack boasted six points, a little velvet still clinging in ragged strips, and his fur a rich caramel. He was in his prime and a true prize.

  In perfect unison, the twins broke their cover. They stood up smoothly and each let fly an arrow. The stag twisted away in a desperate leap, foiling both shots from a killing wound. Emyr’s arrow struck the shoulder instead of the neck. Idrys’s arrow fared no better, striking the flank. The injured deer leapt to the nearest boulder, springing up the hill and away from his assailants.

  Emyr turned back toward where they’d left the spears with a shake of his head. Idrys, however, ignored the spears and started climbing up the steep slope after the hart. The stag had left a trail of bright blood that would be simple to follow.

  “Idrys!” Emyr called, realizing his brother was moving swiftly away. The stag had almost reached the crown of the hill.

  “He’s hurt, he’s slow. Come on brother.” Idrys paused atop a boulder and waved to his twin.

  “We’ll find some other way up. That hill looks unstable.” Emyr slung his bow over his shoulder and walked with both spears to stand at the edge of the rocky slope.

  “Coward,” Idrys said, laughing, “You’d leave our prize for the wolves for fear of a few rocks?”

  Emyr’s dark brow knit in anger and he opened his mouth to make a rude reply. His eyes shifted past Idrys as a low rumble caught his attention. The stag had loosened stones with its mad rush up the hillside and now a large boulder was free and gathering momentum. The whole hill began to tremble.

  “Idrys!” he cried in warning. His twin felt the tremors of the slide and looked behind.

  “Emyr, run,” Idrys yelled as he leapt down from his boulder and skidded over the rocks down the hillside. He lost his balance as the soft soil beneath him gave way and tumbled down at the head of a wave of grit and stone. Idrys kept rolling, hearing his bow snap beneath him with a wince. Strong hands caught him and pulled him to his feet. There was no time for thanks. The twins ran across the scrub meadow and did not pause until they’d crested another hill.

  Turning to look behind, Idrys whistled softly. He grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him to a stop. The meadow below them was nearly gone, covered now in a blanket of dust and stones. Somewhere beneath the haze and rock was their deer. Idrys sighed.

  “Gwydyon’s balls, Idrys,” Emyr said, leaning over to catch his breath in the dusty air. “You can’t seriously be sad over the loss of the stag. You nearly died.”

  Idrys, also still breathing hard, grinned at his brother. “But it was a magnificent beast, eh? We almost had him.” He sighed again, more for dramatic effect than real sorrow.

  “Sorry father, I didn’t mean to get my brother killed. But what do you know? We were after such a magnificent beast!” Emyr straightened. He wondered if he looked near as terrible as his twin.

  Idrys’s tunic was torn on the right shoulder revealing his tanned skin beneath. His trousers had fared a bit better, though only a strip of leather remained hanging forlornly off his belt where once his quiver had been. His bow hung from his shoulder, its limbs snapped just above the riser. Idrys had a small cut on his chin just below his generous and grinning mouth. A deep purple bruise was forming above his right eye along the ridge of his brow.

  “Admiring how I’m still prettier than you, brother?” Idrys’s clear brown eyes flashed with amusement as Emyr shrugged.

  “You’re explaining the loss of the spears and all when we get home.” Emyr made a face at his brother. Idrys shrugged and started moving toward the dark line of the forest.

  The twins hadn’t brought much with them since it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to go out hunting the morning before. When it looked as though they might have a race over open ground for the stag, they’d tied their light packs up in a spreading oak at the forest’s edge.

  Emyr, being the less bruised of the two, nimbly climbed up into the branches and cut free their gear. He climbed down and sat with his brother at the base of the tree.

  Idrys grabbed the water skin and drank deep before passing it to his brother. He then began to gingerly prod his bruises and take stock.

  Emyr leaned against the tree and said nothing as he watched his brother. The adrenaline had worn off and he was hungry and tired. Idrys cheered him, however, by making exaggerated faces of pain and consternation over his condition.

  “Well,” Idrys said after a few minutes of prodding, “nothing’s broken save my bow.” He pulled off his boots and dumped a fair amount of gravel from them with a sigh.

  “You’re bloody lucky.” Emyr shook his head and winced as a small cloud of dust and a few tiny stones came free from his hair. I must be a sight as well, though without the bruises. He’s going to complain the whole way home and then play up that cut on his chin as him heroically saving me by the end, I imagine. Emyr grinned despite himself.

  “I recall a stream not far. Let’s go wash up and maybe get a fire going. There’s daylight enough to fish since, thankfully, you didn’t manage to lose our hooks in that tumble.” Emyr rose and shouldered his pack.

  They found the stream and walked along it until they came to a little heugh. The stream pooled in the overhung glen and the wide roots of the trees would make a good camping place. With the unspoken communication of long habit, Idrys dropped his pack and began to gather deadwood from the forest floor around them as Emyr dug into the loam near a stump for worms.

  Night fell and the stars emerged to wink between the branches. The boys had a little fire going and the picked-clean bones of their dinner were neatly piled on a flat stone near the blaze. The boys curled into their cloaks back to back with heads resting on their leather packs.

  “Em,” Idrys said softly.

  “Eh?” Emyr answered him sleepily.

  “Thank you. For pulling me up and all.”

  It was as close to an apology as Idrys would come. In the dark Emyr smiled.