Chapter 1
SHE squatted, perched absentmindedly in the tall tress. The soft snow crunched beneath her boots, and crumbled from the branches. The winter weather bit at her pinked nose, and her cheeks felt the nibbling of the cold frost. Her hands looked pale, and she brought herself closer in an attempt for warmth.
It was the third winter after the FALL. A dear blinding light from the sun came down above her. The dead branches looked sad in the winter, she thought. Her gear was tied around the middle section of the tree, left there to keep her balance steady while she was up so high, but high enough not to be stolen or ruined by some wandering dog or raccoon. A breeze tickled her short light hair, sending a chill down her neck. She liked it short- her hair that is. Very short, but still long enough to accommodate her habit of twisting it in her fingers. It stayed out of the way in that condition. She mused at what her mother would have thought of her with such short, boyish hair. "How are you going to find a man now, young lady?" her mother would have scolded.
Concentrate. This was hunting. This was about survival, this was about her. Most of the game in the forest had gone into hibernation by now, except for the occasional rabbit, which she picked off now and again. But today, the third week of the month was left reserved for hunting the birds still left in the whipping trees.
She unsheathed an arrow, looking at the strong, sharp tip. It prickled her finger at the touch. Her bow, something she had stolen a long while ago from some Hunters, back in when she lived in the city, played across her fingers. It was large for her, painted gray and black with complicated looking mechanisms all over it. She tried to learn how it worked in case she ever had to repair, but it was so complicated and so intricate, so she settled on just being very, very delicate with it.
All of a sudden there it was the black and brown bird, the type that appears ever so often in these mountains. Speckled feathers, and a slight, slight red undercoat. She would like to know the name of it someday, the name of the bird that has been sustaining her life for over 12 months now. And the rabbits, but rabbits are just rabbits, she thought. She felt like it would give the species a sense of respect. Happily, the thing hopped from branch to branch, cheeping.
She strung her expert bow, feeling the wire repent under her patterned hand. Aiming, aiming, aiming. Calculating. When will it hop again? Is she steady enough? Will the breeze be a problem? Don't move, don't move, silence.
A quick release: a sharp fire. The arrow clipped the bird straight through its soft red breast, pinning it to the next tree. No sound emitted from the beak. It was dead in seconds. The soft red turned into a sickening, satisfying bright curdling maroon. It reminded her of roses. The red stained the white snow on the tree, tainting it.
She began to rise from her perch, steadying herself. The tree was a few meters away, but luckily there were enough in-between thick branches to hop across. Once reaching the poor bird, she withdrew the arrow, wiped the great red on the grayed bark, and tied the limp thing to her belt. She took a moment, looking into the red.
AUTHORS NOTE:
Ok 2nd chapter written, will continue if there's enough activity on this story. I'll take suggestions, comments, whatever.