Deor...

Deor scanned the trees ahead, hunting for prey, as always.
The vast Asman Range stretched away in front and
behind her, mountains she knew well. Her brother Sam stopped
beside her and pointed. He’d seen something. Deor followed
his gaze. Perhaps thirty metres in front of them, two hares,
nearly a foot tall, nibbled on low grass. Youths, inexperienced,
unused to listening out for humans, they hadn’t heard them
coming. These should make easy targets. Sam drew his bow
while Deor pulled a light spear from her sling.
     Thankfully, she’d tied her dark, light curls back into
a braid—much better not to have them in her eyes when
hunting. Sam had a similar colour and curls, but he wore his
hair much shorter.
     Deor aimed at the hare on the right, as her brother aimed
at the one on the left in an unspoken instruction: fire at the
one on your side, and do not fire across one another’s line.
Trusting her instinct, Deor launched her spear as Sam fired
his arrow. Both hares collapsed immediately. Dinner.
     ‘Slim pickings,’ Sam said, as they picked up their prey.
     ‘Would give a leg to see a bison one of these days.’
     Deor nodded. ‘I haven’t seen a bison in months.’ Its thick
frame and meaty legs would be a welcome sight and target.
‘Maybe a year.’
     ‘I’m pretty sure the patrollers shoot them for fun when
they see them. Even they couldn’t miss a bison,’ Sam said.
     ‘Such a waste,’ Deor said. Since the invasion, fresh meat
was hard enough to come by without the patrollers taking
more away. They already took everything else in the town; why
couldn’t they leave the game alone? Deor tied her hare to her
kit and walked on through the forest with her brother. Ideally,
they’d find another couple of hares. Or at least a decent-sized
bird or two. There were five mouths to feed in her family, and
her younger siblings were too young to help out much yet,
except in the garden. For now, anyway. They could make four
of these small hares stretch for a week. Or they could use two
of the hares to trade.
     ‘Let’s head for the clearing,’ Deor said. ‘There’s sometimes
game there. Maybe we’ll see a sabre.’
     ‘Dangerous hunting sabres.’ Sam shook his head. ‘Miss,
and you’re mauled.’
     They rounded a hill, and Deor froze. Instinctively, she put
her hand on Sam’s arm, stopping him. Ahead, in the clearing,
six patrollers sat in a rough circle in the middle. The furthest
one away, facing her, looked up and saw her. Silence for a
moment as their eyes locked. That is until he stood and raised
his rifle.

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