The Chronicles of Outsider: Humble Beginnings

by Justin Wayne

  ***

  His breathing was slow and steady, his feet rose and fell with methodical patience silently, his cloak was perfectly hidden in plain sight by snow, and his sharp knife as keen as his senses; at least all but touch.

  He avoided the small patches of lumpier snow beneath the tree; recognizing them to be full of leaves, and took a more direct route where the ground was relatively smooth and rolled forward down a slight incline. Before the silent stalker stood the doe, wide-eyed and grazing with a layer of sweat frosted over on her hide.

  He noticed this and scanned the surrounding area as he went. He noted every thick copse of tree and bush as well as the numerous patches of vines that clung to spindly shrubs. Even the rise and fall of the land was within his mind’s eye as he memorized the layout.

  For not the first time, he thanked whichever god was listening for picking up a few of the hunting basics from his old mentor, as well as the patience to practice them. He paused as he remembered the long days in which he had spent day and night in the wild hunting and tracking. Months had come and gone without his knowledge as he learned the finer points of identifying tracks and how to follow them; even anticipating movement, and how to move silently through all sorts of terrains.

  He remembered a particularly painful week in the fall in which he had received dozens of bruised for failing to “ghostwalk” across the dead leaves and instead being attacked by a spooked deer. He had crunched his way across the clearing and all the trails after following the deer from within the treetops; another trick that had taken him painfully long to acquire.

  After enough attempts he had grown tired of the headaches and attempted it with his eyes closed. He began the walk through the trail and a few minutes later came out of it purely on memory. Realizing he had performed it, he had clapped his hands loudly in celebration and set the deer into a frenzy.

  Now, a year later, he was a ghost in the woods; gliding through the forest unseen and unheard to strike with deadly precision. With that day in mind he reinforced his belief not to match to where his brain told him to go and where to place his foot but to let his instincts guide him.

  He closed in on the doe to within throwing range as he slipped the slender throwing knife from under his cloak. The low light of the evening sun scarcely filtered through the thick clouds so he had no worries the blade would glint.

  He drew it back behind his head between his thumb and forefinger and shifted the weight to a lower fulcrum nearer his palm for a heavier throw. He took a deep breath in.

  His heartbeat calmed.

  The snow about him slowed in its descent.

  His arm shot forward almost of its own accord.

  The blade spun forward over and over repeatedly at a pace he could watch, even as it brushed flakes of snow that hung in the air out of the way, and descended on the doe’s side just behind the shoulder where it sunk down to the hilt silently. He rose from his crouch as the doe fell.

  And all sound returned in a sudden rush as it caught up.

  He grinned at his success and made his way over to the deer when a bright light to his left caught his eye. He turned that way and a row of trees exploded into kindling with enough force that a wall of dusty snow engulfed him in an immense white cloud.

  Outsider batted it away and rushed forward through the bramble to find the source; leaving the freshly killed doe behind.