Men yelled as the bull ran around the trees, turning and breaking the snow and sending waves of unsettled particles into the air. White drifts of hazy white went across the ground, settling back into its kind a few feet away. Men told the reports of where the auroch was heading, whether he was picking up speed, whether he was turning, whether you are too close and should withdraw. All the meanwhile javelins and arrows were thrown and shot, many missing but some biting into flesh. The bull only turned more and more desperate as new bolts of pain entered his body. All was going relatively well, the chief may have been hurt but no one has gotten injured. Taking another arrow from my quiver and knocked it on my string, then I let loose another shot, landing within the shoulder of the beast. It must've hit his bone, for the arrow stopped before it could penetrate too deep and into its vital organs. The flint tipped arrows would go deeper otherwise.

The bull make no notice of its new injury, seeming to have reached the peak of his desperation he turned and once again decided to face against my father, the hunter. What logic ran through its mind I didn't know, but out of its rashness it caught off guard one of our men. I have seen cows kick men and dogs before, but these were cows. Domesticated, weak, bred to produce milk. Cows, not bulls. And definitely not aurochs. The creature lifted up both its hind legs and let out a whip of both kicks, knocking both the air out of the man and most likely crushing his rib cage, too.

I could do nothing but try again to shoot another arrow, hopefully piercing a vital spot rather than bone or muscle, but my nerves were getting to me. My hands shook, and knocking the arrow onto the string was proving much more difficult than it should. It was as if I were a kid on my first hunt again, near paralyzed in fear and over the thought of being the one to take another's life. The bull turned and went after the man again, his first real successful attack, and gouged him with his horns. Turning and lifting his head he flipped and broke the man, his elbow definitely shouldn't be bending in such a direction. If he was not dead from the first kick, he would surely be dead now. He couldn't even let out a scream despite being kicked, the air most likely bursting out of him.

The men came at the bull at all sides, stupidly trying to save the man from more of the bull's wrath. Not caring that they were putting themselves into great danger men with spears stabbed at the bull, men with flint tipped spears and others with copper ones tried to goad the bull away from the man. Semi-succesful, the bull turned and trampled over the mauled victim, threatening others with its own spear like horns. Some men being thrown to the ground as their own spears had been too deep into the flesh of the bull, stuck most likely on some bone, and unable to let go fast enough. There were too many people around the bull now, too afraid to accidentally impale a person with my arrow with my shaky hands I decided to wait and watch. The bull didn't have long now, his breathing heavy and too much blood flowing from his numerous wounds. What once was a tall legged, dark bull was turned to an exhausted and blood soaked creature, fighting for its life against numerous foes.

A roar was heard, to my right the chief, one armed and still bleeding, carrying the dumb boy's spear and charging with all the speed he could muster against the bull. The bull, about to trample and impale the fallen and vulnerable men, turned towards the sound, but he wasn't fast enough to adequately stop the tall man from impaling him on his side. The spear sunk seep into its flesh, deep into his chest, being pushed by Ronan. The bull's frothy mouth started to turn pink as he tried to struggle and kick or throw the chief away, ineffectual save for glancing another man's shoulder. His lungs were probably bleeding heavily, its heart likely had not been pierced but he would soon drown within his own blood, the sign of bloodloss already becoming apparent as his movement became more sluggish.

"Aiden!" a voice came behind me. The voice of Dorcha, the herbalist, I turned to face her. I tried to stop my shaking now, I didn't want to look like a coward infront of someone else.

"What is it, miss Dorcha?" my voice slightly shook. Dorcha's face was bewildered and worried, trying to keep an eye on the bull and on me, and to her back as well. In a rush she let out her voice.

"Attie has run away and I don't know why. Maybe he heard something, there could be danger, will you come and help me look? Your part has been played already, and I need help." She implored me. Attie? Her apprentice, the dumb boy whose said to have the sight. I nodded, whatever he was up to, either stupid, cowardly, or brave, he is valuable to the village.

"Lead the way," trying not to let shaking nerves reach my voice I responded. Dorcha looked around, presumably to see if anyone else would be willing to come. Whether it was truly needed we didn't know, so she looked my way.

"Follow me," she called to me as she started jogging in the snow. She wore trousers under her long cloak, something I hadn't noticed throughout this entire journey. Her green cloak flowing in the wind I ran and jogged alongside her, keeping an eye out for any dangers. There was a trail that Dorcha was running alongside of, obviously belonging to a person and not a tall one at that. Given that Dorcha was the only woman that took part in our journey, the obvious owner of these footprints would most likely be one of the boys, or Attie as Dorcha had said.

Something was wrong here. The space between steps have gotten wider, as if Attie had found a reason to sprint in great leaps across the ground. Both dangerous and incredibly tiring, he could've stepped into false ground and had his foot trapped into the earth, possible breaking his bones or spraining an ankle or knee. But he didn't either out of luck or some supernatural knowledge bestowed to him by the sight. It soon became clear why he was sprinting.

A person could be seen wrestling against a bear, scratching and clawing at the bear's face, the boy was trying to get his way out from under it. The bear, in response to getting scratched and beat at, bit at the boy's forearms. The bones inside would likely be broken now. His cloak ripped and dyed red, a brown, skinny but large and clearly strong bear was tearing at him from above. To the right of the scene another young boy was clutching at his neck, leaning against a tree with a trail of blood following. Heavy amount of blood was splurting out between his fingers, the boy looked ready to faint. I did not have to say what to do next next, as Dorcha ran to the heavily bleeding boy, bandages in hand, and I sprinted to the bear.

I threw my bow on the ground, took out a copper bladed knife, a knife with a handle that was at point intricately carved by my father but now worn and ragged, and stabbed the bear's neck as I tackled and tried to get the bear off of the person beneath it. The knife sunk, hopefully cutting an artery with it. The bear let go of Attie, and rolled with my tackle, throwing me to the other side and across the ground. Wary and confused, and now with a knife heavily embed into its neck, the bear made distance from Attie and looked towards his new foe, breathing heavily and open mouthed. Its right eye was bleeding, bleeding from what were probably blunt wounds against the head. The bear took a beating itself but was clearly still in fighting condition, up until my knife stuck within his neck.

Attie, to his favor, stood up and grabbed at a bloody club with his left hand. His right was no longer in a condition to grab anything. If his bones were not broken then his forearm was simply too wounded to grab anything with. Breathing heavily, Attie watched the bear and the bear switched between watching me and watching Attie. Being both bewildered and hurt, and judging by his emaciated frame probably very hungry, it decided to lunge towards its new enemy. Me, the one unarmed although uninjured. I still had my arrows which I had not thrown away with the bow, and took one of those out before it could fully charge at me. Attie made his best effort to come to my aid, a sort of half jog and half scamper towards the both of us.

I could grab the knife and pull it out of the bear's flesh, allowing for his blood to start pouring out and my knife to be in hand once again. But the bear was still a bear, and I unarmed, I couldn't do that without being in immense danger. But I had no real distance, as I had not tumbled too far, so regardless I would be within the bear's arms. Gritting my teeth I widened my stance, an arrow in my left hand and remaining empty handed with the other. I had not thrown my quiver away with the bow.

The bear jumped at me, wishing to do what it had done to its two victims before. Pushing me down, I grabbed my knife and pulled, eliciting a grunt in response from the bear. I stabbed at it's neck again, this time feeling fairly sure it had pierced its artery. I have never hunted a bear before, but animals tend to be fairly similar in structure. The knife was bloody, both of my hands were covered in blood, and the bear scratching and tearing at my cloak, breaking skin along with it. The bear hugged my close and tried to bite at my neck, I took the opportunity to stab the bear in the belly with my arrow, and then moved myself as to make him bite my shoulder instead. Not being bit would be better, but I would take not getting a bite to the neck as well.

The bear started to jolt and twist his neck, trying to rip my flesh through fast and sudden movements. By all that is divine was this painful, the bear wasn't as strong as I thought it was and the bite didn't break any bones, nor was it that deep, but that probably made it worse as it made it keep readjusting its bite. Then I heard a thump, follow by another thump, and then another as Attie started beating at the beast with his club. If I did everything correctly the bear should be bleeding out heavily, all I had to do was not get killed in the wait. And with Attie beating at the thing heavily, it became convinced it should let go and hopefully reconsider a retreat.

The bear let go of my shoulder and I rolled away as fast as I could, as the bear did in fact start to retreat from Attie's blows. His wooden club was covered in blood, especially the bulbous tip of it, his breathing ragged and his body emanating bloodlust. I could almost see it. Attie placed himself infront of me as I crawled towards somewhere safer, the bear deciding to run instead of fight. He had lost twice, was heavily wounded, and his opponent's blows hurt. Despite being extremely hungry, it knew better than to fight against impossible odds. But it's life had already been taken, as his neck was freely flowing with splurts of blood, and its steps of retreat became slower and heavier. Attie and I watched as he suddenly fell, great heaves of breath lifting its back and chest up and down, until even that slowed, and it stopped moving entirely. A good fifteen or so feet away from us.

The bear was dead, and we were alive. Neither of us had moved as we watched the bear's attempt at escape, too afraid to turn our backs in fear of the bear deciding to try its luck again against us. but it was dead now, and Attie visibly relaxed once he noticed the bear was no longer moving.

---

Attie's POV

---

My right arm throbbed with pain, my back was on fire, only through pure force of will have I managed to keep a hold on my club without it slipping out of my hand. My left arm was wasted, burning with the familiar pain of exhaustion. I dropped my club and let it land into the snow, piercing the surface and leaving it stick out of the ground as I looked over to Aiden. His left arm was bleeding, likely from the bite wound, or wounds, received on his shoulders. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes, fiery blue, looking at me and my own injuries. My cloak was ruined, and the bleeding hadn't stopped yet.

I couldn't treat myself. It would be a shame if I died from the loss of blood. Loss of blood? I suddenly remembered the point of my suicidal charge, Éamonn's little brother was bleeding out. I quickly turned towards where he last was, an imprint of blood red and disturbed snow showing me his original location. A small trail of blood led to his current location, resting next to a tree and besides him, my master. His neck was bandaged, whatever color the original bandaging had gave way to an entirely blood soaked red. The herbalist was working silently, a grim expression on her face, tending to smaller wounds and healing them as best as she could. Too much fallen, brittle and used herbs littered the boy.

The bear had bit his neck. It would be a miracle if he could survive that, even with my master's care. Still heavily breathing I made my way towards them both, before the world passed by quickly, fast into the blood dotted snow below my feet. I had experienced something similar to this before, after having practiced too much magic with Brenna for too long. I had tried to walk back home but instead got a face full of dirt as I my body felt numb and my legs, arms, and everything else felt distant and hard to control. But this was slightly different. My legs gave out from under me, and my arms burned with each movement. I could feel everything, the pain of my injuries becoming more and more apparent by the second rather than less. The high of a life and death struggle was wearing off, leaving me with the pains of the consequences of my actions.

I heard a voice, a feminine one above me. Asking me to come closer, and asking someone else to help in dragging me. Rough hands flipped me over and let me stare into the clear blue skies above, nearly cloudless at this point, the sun not in my sight. Either the trees were blocking his light or he had simply disappeared.

"You still there, Attie?" A familiar voice called, "look at me. I'm to your right, look at me." I turned my neck to my right and met the face of my master. She stuffed a leaf into my mouth and told me to chew. I abided her word and did my best to chew on the leaf. Tasted like a greater plantain leaf, I could taste a life essence within it greater than it should've had even when freshly picked. "That's to help stop the bloodloss, in case you've forgotten the plant," I haven't, "how much can you move? Can you get up for me? I want to inspect you without your cloak or tunic on.

I tried to get up, wobbly and shaking from the exertion. A hand was placed on my lower back, helping me get within a sitting position. I turned to my left as I heard slight rustling. Aiden was next to me, clutching his left arm.

"Aiden, go find the villagers. The auroch is most likely dead, and the injured must be cared for, and I can't leave either of these two alone. Your injuries aren't severe enough to force my hand in healing you. Here's another leaf, chew on it until I tell you to spit it out. Or swallow, it's not deadly." Her lightly accented voice calm and collected as she handed him another plantain. She had gone through enough life and death situations to know how to calm her nerves.

"Understood, miss Dorcha," collecting the leaf Aiden and inserting it into his mouth, Aiden looked at Éamonn's brother, looked away and began his light jog towards the villagers. He had plenty energy to spare it seemed if he could still jog or even stand.

"Lift up your arms for me," the herbalist commanded me. I lifted up my arms, my back muscles straining to keep my spine straight. Master quickly untied the leather laces holding my cloak together and threw it off me. Then came the tunic, not as badly torn as my cloak but still bloody with gaping holes running through several sections. It was cold, but the cold was less serious than the injuries my clothes might've hid. She lifted the tunic off my body and I lowered my arms, bringing the tunic behind me she started to inspect my back.

"Your upper-back is mostly scratched, no serious injuries here. Although you are bleeding," she lifts up my arm and touches my forearm. Why, I don't know. Maybe she's just sadistic, as I jolted from the pain of her probing. "None of your bones are broken. The rest of your upper body looks to have taken cuts and scratches but none are that deep," moving her hands around she spread one particularly deep cut on my chest. Maybe she is a sadist.

"Yes, not that deep. You'll be fine." she lays me down ontop my clothes and pats my head, "when we find a stream we'll wash off the blood. For now just rest, it'd be easier on my part if your wounds were cleaned before I truly tended to them."

And rest I did. There was no sound save for the occasional gust of wind and my own breathing. The herbalist had gone after the villagers as well, considering me and Éamonn's brother were more or less stabilized. I do not think I had lost that much blood and from that wasn't able to move, but rather that I was incredibly tired. I turned to look towards Éamonn's little brother. He was sitting idly, leaning on a tree with his eyes closed. His lips were dry, and his skin very pale. Was he truly alright? I willed myself into movement once again, getting up from my resting spot. My wounds were no longer bleeding from what I could tell, as most of it was dry and no new blood was flowing. Although I had no shirt on I was not cold. I could move safely without fear of suddenly dying from bloodloss.

He wasn't breathing. Slightly panicked I placed my hand on his wrist and felt for his pulse. I felt none. I put my hand over his mouth and felt for a breath. There was none. He was cold, very cold, and getting colder by the minute. He had most likely died, most likely from the bite to the neck, and most likely minutes ago. I had failed in protecting him. I sat and watched his elements play and dance, my sight wasn't so grand as to allow me to see the inner workings of his makeup. I couldn't tell whether he was alive or dead by sight alone. On closer inspection, slight wisps of white light fell out of his mouth, as if breathing. I had not seen this element before, either.

Helplessness tore at my heart, I could do nothing but watch. I decided to sit next to him, leaning on the tree he leaned on, and sat in silence. Neither meditating or focusing on anything, I placed a hand over his hand and waited until the rest of the villagers had arrived. Or some. Or anything, really. I felt the elements within his body move and shift, the warmth of fire leaving him. Focusing on that until something else would take my attention.

"Over here," came a boyish voice. Probably Aiden's, his voice ragged and gasping.

"Is that the bear over there?" Came another voice. More masculine, deeper, but not the voice of the chief.

"Where is Tenor?" A voice like Éamonn's came. His sounded desperate, angry almost.

"Tenor and Attie are over here,"

Then I heard the sounds of snow being pushed forcefully, and then the sound of a body collapsing.

"Let go of him, cursed mute!" My hand was forcefully taken off of Tenor's, Éamonn's little brother's, hand. I got up with shaky knees and took some distance away from Éamonn and his brother. "He's not dead! No, no, he's fine. Tenor, open your eyes, I'm here. Now is not the time to sleep." Éamonn held onto Tenor's hands and shook his head softly side to side. He stopped and waited for a reaction. When no reaction came his shaking became rougher, and his voice deeper in anger, "Tenor, this isn't funny. Open your eyes, you're already all bandaged up," he placed a hand on his neck to inspect the bandaging. At this point he must've realized the severity of the wounds Tenor, his little brother, received. The bandages were incredibly damp, and the blood had been dripping through the cloth and down his neck.

I looked away from the scene and towards Aiden, he stood and directed the men towards the bear, five men had come over to see what was happening. The bear would be processed and his meat collected, most likely his head coming along too. We had only fourteen people in total joining us in this hunt, at least three of them injured, and one a woman, the amount of meat both the auroch bull and the bear carried would be too much for one trip to fulfill.

But ignoring that, Aiden came over to me and Tenor, as the men knew enough of what to do as one of them ran back from whence he came, most likely to tell the chief the happenings. He waited for his breath to settle before speaking.

"Éamonn, bring Tenor with you back to the chief," almost formally were the words spoken. Éamonn turned his head furiously at Aiden, his face red and cheeks wet, he got up and charged at us both, letting out a roar in the process. Aiden put distance between himself and me, and I tried to do the same, but I realized Éamonn wasn't aiming for the both of us. Like the bear before, Éamonn's goal waas to bring me to the ground, and from there I don't know. I couldn't move very fast, although once again I could feel the surge of energy that comes from fighting, I wasn't gaining enough energy to do much. So I stood my ground and lifted my left arm up to stop him.

Éamonn slapped my hand away with his right and let out a heavy left hand punch to my face, my nose would certainly be bleeding now. I stumbled backwards, not yet falling, and tried to keep my eyes open for what else he had planned for me. As it turns out, another punch to my head, this time right handed. My world twisted to the right, turned blurry and dark as I feel to the snow, hands still trying to cover my face. He would get ontop of me from this position, and I didn't have the energy to defend myself from him.

"Éamonn!"

But no one mounted me. Turning my body around as to lay fat, belly down on the ground I picked myself up with my only good arm, stumbling onto my feet. My nose was definitely bleeding, as a steady stream of blood was falling from my face. I turned towards the sound of wrestling to meet Aiden and Éamonn in a fierce competition, Aiden trying to restrain Éamonn and Éamonn in return trying to get him off. Éamonn had a massive advantage considering his bulk, and Aiden's previous injuries, and this showed.

"What upon this earth are you boys doing!? This ain't the time to wrestle you dipshits," a man, the ginger haired one I had healed the blisters of yesterday, came from behind me. "Éamonn, Aiden! Stop wrestling, what are you doing?" He ran and grabbed at Aiden, taking him off of Éamonn and throwing him onto the ground. Éamonn, being as stubborn as a bull, took the opportunity to once again try to charge me. I should've taken this chance to run.

The ginger haired man grabbed Éamonn's cloak and did his best to pull him and stop his momentum from gaining much ground. I tried my best to distance myself away from the situation, not turning away but instead taking careful backsteps.

"Éamonn you idiot what the hell are you doing?" The ginger man reprimanded, struggling to keep Éamonn's strength under control.

"He killed him! That dumb bastard killed him, I know it!"

His struggling became stronger, strong enough to almost throw the ginger man off of him. More men came to see what the commotion and yelling was about, and upon seeing the ginger haired man struggle to keep the large boy in check they jumped in to help.

"You didn't hear a single word of what Dorcha said? Attie tried to save Tenor, why would he nearly kill himself trying to protect him if he wanted him dead?" Exasperated the man said, Éamonn registering the words and visibly calmed down.

"But Phelan, he said Attie's going to get one of us killed. He was right, he killed Tenor!"

"The bear killed Tenor, and almost killed Attie as well," Aiden jumped in now, holding his arm again and wincing in pain with each step. He spit to the ground and parted with a final command, "pick up your brother and follow me, you tool."

Éamonn stopped moving at that. Telling the men to get off him one last time, the men obliged and let him get up. He stared at me, glaring more accurate of a description, and went over to pick up his brother. Gingerly taking his brother's hands, pausing for a moment as to take in the sight of his brother's cold and pale skin, and positioned him within a bride carry. He got up, Tenor in his arms, and followed Aiden, who was a fair bit away as he didn't wait for Éamonn to follow.

Looks like I'm safe then. Looking over to the ginger man, who had been standing and watching the departure with tense posture, ready to jump in again. I walked over to my cloak and tunic. Picking both up with my left hand I walked up to the ginger haired man and presented the cloak to him. Sort of confused, he grabbed the bloody cloak with some level of hesitation and told the men to go back to skinning and butchering the bear. I wanted to put on some upper body clothes, as I had been getting cold at this point. My nose had stopped bleeding by now, something that would save my tunic from further blood, and struggled to put it on one handed.

At that point the ginger man understood my plight. Once I had fully gotten my head and both arms through the long sleeved tunic I motioned him to help me put on my cloak. Which he did, with a flourish of the cloak over my head he tied on the laces.

"You're a gruesome sight to behold, herb boy," looking at me in the eyes, grim faced and almost foreboding. "Go back with Aiden and the rest, you won't be able to help us here."

Nodding, I made it over to my club and picked up the bloody stick. Then, with a look of the men inspecting and skinning the fallen bear, I made it back to the main group. Again the rush of energy from the fight ebbing away. Each step hurt.

The path to and from the way to the fight scene, of both ends, was heavily disturbed snow. A bit dirty, but no red spots anywhere along the path. In silence I continued along, empty handed as I had already placed my club securely into my belt.

Eventually reaching the rest of the men, I noted that the bull had already been under heavy processing, the bull already skinned and the meat being harvested from the carcass. One man was on the side. A body covered heavily in cloth, and some parts dyed red in blood, the body most likely belonging to the unfortunate victim of the bull's kick and subsequent gouging. Next to him stood another body, smaller and similarly covered by a cloak. Probably Tenor's body. Ronan and the Hunter were talking to Dorcha as she tended to any of the injuries of the men, Aiden watching from the sideline and Phelan and Éamonn sitting beside each other, Éamonn without his cloak.