Chapter Text
Feyre was running out of time
It was almost twilight, the watery sunlight barely making its way through the tree tops now. She’d been trekking her way north through the Shrieking Woods since dawn, and she knew better than to return home empty handed this time.
Feyre wearily wiped at her eyes, the freezing temperature and her exhaustion making them sting. But that was the least of her worries. She could feel Jack Frost reaching through her well worn boots and hunting cloak, slowly sucking the life out of her. Tired. So tired.
The last of the light and the coming night made her vision an eerie world of lilac, the enormous Larch trees heavy with snow surrounding her. It was going to be a clear night, some stars already prickling in the eastern skies. The familiar smell of decaying wood saturated the air. The only sounds Feyre could pick up were the rhythmic calls of an owl, a distant jay singing, and the crunch of snow under her boots.
This years winter had been brutal, and they were still months away from spring. It had not even been her twenty second naming day yet, winter solstice. Not that it meant much to her these days. Feyre had found herself going deeper and deeper every day into the forest, desperate to find anything with a pulse to shoot. Her full quiver of arrows hung heavy on her back. She knew the trail she was tracking was her last chance. She couldn’t face her family empty handed, their gaunt faces pleading. No. She would rather die out here alone and shivering than see them suffer.
She was certain the tracks she was following were those of a red elk, going slow based on the distance between each step. An elk. Feyre felt a surge of hope at the thought. She hadn’t seen one in weeks, let alone gotten a kill. This is what she needed. She had no idea how the hell she was going to bring it back home if she did kill it, but who cared. Even if she only had the remaining strength to drag back a hind leg, that would still be more food than she’d brought home the past month.
Things weren’t always like this, feyre thought with bitterness. If she hadn’t been trying her hardest not to alert her prey, she would have let out the scream that had been building tight in the back of her throat all afternoon. How had life become this desperate clawing just to survive. Feyre couldn’t even remember the last time she didn’t feel the tightness in her chest of wondering how the fuck she was going to keep her family afloat.
Close now, she had to be close now. The tracks she was following had been steadily bending towards the eastern river, at least she thought. She had never been this far from home before. The trees were starting to thin out, and she could see the dark ice of the river now. Slow now. Feyre felt like her heart was going to escape and break free from her ribs from joy. Finally. Creeping along, Feyre hid herself behind a wicked tangle of bare magnolia trees, the clearing to the river bank just behind them. 10 metres if she had to guess. She drew her bow quietly, and nocked one of her stronger broad head arrows. It would probably take more than an arrow to kill, but this would at least slow it down.
If there was one thing feyre was proud of, it was her gift of archery. Always hitting through the nose or eyes, but she couldn’t trust herself anymore. She could feel the chill right to the bone, and if the aching emptiness of her belly told her anything, it was that her strength wasn’t going to hold out much longer. She was out of time, and this was her last chance.
Shaking off her hood, Feyre stepped out of the woods. The river winded in front of her, north to south, and there at its bank, she could only just make out the shape of her prize elk. Using her last surge of strength, Feyre didn’t waste a second in taking two gentle strides, simultaneously drawing her bowstring till it cut into her cheek, aiming her shot.
At the sound of her steps the elk jumped up and whipped towards her. But no.There at the riverbank, a red elk calf. Motherless. A trembling little thing, eyes wide and shining, and even from where she stood she could see it was emaciated, ribs jutting out. Each of its breaths heaving, body frozen in fear.
Feyre felt her entire body crack from whiplash from what she was seeing, feeling the last light of hope inside her shrivel up and die forever. She let the tension out of her bow, and let it fall out of her hands. Looking to sky, the hair on Feyres body stood on end, and she finally let out the shrieking wail she couldn’t hold in anymore. She felt her face flush with anger and started screaming at every god she could remember. Fuck everyone. Fuck every godforsaken being for looking away at the worlds suffering. Feeling a surge of energy, Feyre picked up her bow, and threw it as hard as she could. It bounced away, and she crunched to the ground, face in her knees, exhausted from her outburst. Exhausted from trying, from struggling, from living. The snow drenched her through her clothes, and she knew it was over.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to make home. And being in the shrieking woods after dark… she shivered a bit harder at the thought of what else might be in these woods.
When she felt her breathing slow, she lifted her head, surprised to see the calf still trembling before her. The temperature was now rapidly dropping, both of their breaths clouding the air. Feyre held its gaze, and they both quietly watched each other breathe. Why it hadn’t run away, Feyre was baffled. She hadn’t exactly been quiet when she was cursing the gods and their bloodlines earlier.
The calf took a wobbly step forward, and feyre couldn’t believe her eyes. She kept perfectly still, as the calf slowly made its way towards her, it’s gait unsteady. It was so close now, Feyre slowly raised her arm outstretched. It stopped at her movement, but then began to come closer again. It sniffed her hand, held just out of reach.
‘Well, at least I’m not going to die alone’ Feyre thought to herself, her face pulling into a small smile.
Just as the calf was about to step into her lap, it suddenly froze, and scrambled away, bolting north and flying into the tree line. Her heart strained at the calfs fear. Once Feyre could no longer hear it crashing through the forest, she realised something. She couldn’t hear anything. The owl was silent, the jay had stopped singing, and there was nothing to hear except her own breathing, and the blood pounding in her ears. A prickle went up her spine, and Feyre leapt to her feet, turning to look behind her.
If a decade of hunting in these woods has taught Feyre anything, it was that silence was never a good omen. Feyre could barely make out anything in the meadow now, twilight close to night, and her vision of lilac turning to one of blues so deep, she didn’t feel alone anymore. Heart pounding, willing herself to stand still, she strained her eyes, desperately trying to make out what the calf had seen. Scanning the southern tree line for any movement.
Nothing. The silence weighed heavy on her, crushing the breath out of her.
After too many anxious minutes of straining to hear or see anything, Feyre finally allowed herself to let go of the tension in her muscles and move again.
No.
There.
In the treeline.
And at what Feyre saw, she sprinted north.