The heat of the sun washed over Alessandra as she settled herself carefully in the highest reaches of a tree. She slowly exhaled, her breath not even stirring the leaves that concealed her. She could feel the spider web tendrils of magic coursing through her veins as her body’s camouflage adapted to the changing patterns of the windswept leaves. With practiced care the girl brought her bow up to take aim at the massive old buck hiding in the brush on the forest’s floor.

Something about the caress of magic, sliding lightly over her skin, seemed off, almost disjointed, but even as she checked herself over. She was perfectly blending with the tree, even if she felt a strange resistance to the magic. Every movement she made was slow and deliberate, giving her body a chance to adjust to the new pattern of leaves and minimizing the motion and noise caused by her actions.

The old buck remained unaware of her, his antlered head lifting and his nostrils flaring, but it was no scent of hers that reached him. Instead it was only that of others of his kind, moving through the dense forest, out of eyeshot. Alessandra took another deep, steadying, breath as she aimed down the length of her feathered shaft at the old buck.

The moment seemed to stretch on into eternity. Out here in the deep wilds of her tribe’s territory, it was just her and the buck. His head lowered and he grazed on the dying grasses of the clearing. With the traditional prayer running through her head, she let loose her arrow. The bow barely twanged. The buck’s head shot up, ears turning toward the sound, eyes wide and wary. He new something was wrong. If only he had reacted a few moments sooner.

The arrow took him in the side, piercing the plated scales of his buff colored hide and burrowing deeply. He didn’t have time to run, to fight back, or rail at the injustice of his passing. Instead he merely crumpled to the ground. Alessandra climbed out of the tree, releasing the magic that kept her camouflaged. She frowned as she felt a flutter to the magic as she let it go. Something was troubling the Weave.

Kneeling down next to the buck, she placed her bow carefully on the ground. She said another silent prayer over the buck for giving his life so that she and her people could eat. The magical camouflage took time to fade, leaving behind a young woman in the awkward stages of life. Her olive green face was framed by a pair of braids that fell to the middle of her back. Her warm brown eyes were too serious for one so young. Although, by the counting of some peoples she was quite old, approaching her fortieth year of life, she was still but a child in the eyes of her people. She had not even yet reached the age of independence. The sharp planes of her face were caught for a moment in the noon light, the cushion of youth smoothing out the features.

When she completed her prayer, she tucked a stray tendril of hair behind one large, sharply pointed ear, and huffed out a sigh. The triumph of the hunt always drained away so swiftly when she was faced with the reality of it. There on the ground lay a corpse, dead by her hand. Kneeling there next to the buck’s still form, she hesitated for a long moment before reaching for the arrow. The brutal side of tradition was stilled by the rising flutters of guilt and compassion for a bare moment.

Alessandra shoved both emotions aside and grabbed the arrow’s shaft, ruthlessly wrenching it from the buck’s chest. Her fingers trembled as she touched the tip, they came away thick with the heart blood of her prey. Glancing down at her now scarlet fingers, Alessandra’s stomach lurched. Again hesitation was won over by tradition and she smeared the blood in a single chevron under her left eye. The symbolism was part of her tribe’s custom. Disgusting and repellant as it may be Alessandra was as bound by tradition as any of her tribal kin. The blood felt warm against her skin. It seemed for a moment that the mark burned. That it had life held within it and that life was seeping slowly into her. A shudder rippled through the girl as she returned the bloodied arrow to her quiver.

The girl heaved another sigh as she rose to her feet, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Her expression was tense with the rigors of the past several days as she straightened her shoulders by force of will alone. When she lifted her hand to her lips to whistle, the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. The garbled sound that emitted from her mouth was more of a squawk than a whistle as she swiftly removed her tainted fingers from her mouth. The smears of blood were still very evident as she glanced down. The taste of it was rolling about her mouth even as she struggled to work up enough saliva to spit. She could not escape the taste. The shrill, perfect response to her inept call returned to her on the fragrant wisps of the fall breeze.

Already Alessandra could feel the ground trembling through her bare feet as her hunting partner hurried to her side. Though she detested this part of a hunt, she used a rope and a tree branch to heave the buck up and field dress the carcass while she waited.

Eventually, a large palomino horse trotted into view. A well worn and supple net of leather wrapped the horse’s barrel and he towered over the girl as he bent to nuzzle her cheek. She spoke to him in a series of soft, vowel filled words. The horse chuffed out a breath as she coaxed him into position under the hanging carcass. With deft hands she tied the carcass onto the horse’s harness and climbed up in front of it. Alessandra had been away from her people for three long days seeking prey, the tribe was suffering from recent shortages of prey animals and a long lasting drought. They would celebrate her return, she thought as she guided the large horse toward familiar trails.