Astrid had never considered the winter to be cold. It wasn’t cold. It was wild. It was a season that wanted you to be challenged, to feel scared. All to make you see the beauty of life. It was just the weather that was cold. But even with her own love of the season, Astrid felt a shiver run down her spine. 

It was late at night, the moon was clear in the sky, but something had kept her from sleeping. Figuring she should use her wakefulness while she had it, the girl decided she'd collect some kindling. The fire in their hearth was dangerously low, as was the stack of firewood in the corner. Most likely her father had forgotten to refill it during the daylit hours. He was a buffoon. 

Astrid pulled her cloak on, before stepping out into the snow-filled night. She was glad her father was at least wise enough to purchase thick woolen cloaks for their forced venture into the Alpine forests. Their house was situated in the back of a large clearing, letting the silver moon shine down unobstructed on the untouched blanket of snow that cloaked the land. Even if she hated being here, she at least loved how beautiful it was. 

The girl had never wanted to come here. She was more than happy to simply remain in their village. But she was aberrant in her family’s eyes, and they felt the time away from the village, or more specifically, the priestess that they assumed was the one putting those thoughts in her head, would be good. Astrid rolled her eyes as she tramped through the snow. 

Her parents hated the priestess with a passion. She was one of the few remaining people in the village who had not converted to this new “Christian” religion. But they also couldn’t get rid of her. The priestess’ skill as a midwife and her knowledge of medicinal herbs was second to none. However, her unchristian ways led many people to assume that she cursed their children whenever they were born. And to Astrid’s parents, they assumed the priestess had cursed Astrid to imagine she was a girl. 

And so, they spirited her away to these mountains, to bathe her in the word of their god and cleanse those foul thoughts from her mind. Astrid would once again be their son if they had any say in it.

The girl scoffed at that thought as she slowly began to collect branches and twigs. Any god that insisted she was a man was either wrong or unable to turn her into one. And either possibility was a clear indication that their god was powerless at best and nonexistent at worse. She’d thought about running away before. Running back to the village and pleading with the priestess to make her an apprentice. But the winter had put a stop to that. No sane person would be able to make the trip without any horses and more food than someone could carry on their person. 

She stared off in the distance, watching the gentle and jagged curves of the land speak to her. It was beautiful at night. Quiet, untainted by other people. Perhaps when she could run away, she’d make her own house. No one would be able to insist she was a man if there was no one near her. And the months she’d spent in these woods had turned her into a respectable trapper, after all.

Her father could be cordially described as incompetent at best, which was why he left much of the hunting to the girl. The man could barely shoot an arrow straight, let alone rig a snare, so he was very proud of his “son”, the word itself felt dirty on her tongue, for performing such a masculine activity. 

At least he had finally agreed to stop following her when she went hunting. His stomping through the forest, scaring away prey, often led to days where they had no meat at all. But at least they were always warm. The one positive of being so isolated in the woods meant they had plenty of wood to fill the fire. 

With a shiver, Astrid picked up one final branch, carefully balancing it on her already hefty tower, and began her trek back to her family. 

She did not get far, however, because as soon as she began to move something caught her attention. The snow in front of her had been beaten down by countless horses. All of them heading straight toward their house. How had she not heard them? Had the snow simply deadened their sounds? Had she been too lost in her own misery to notice? 

The wood she’d been gathering clattered to the ground, instantly forgotten, as she made her way to the house, following the tracks of the horses. 

But she was too late. Far too late. A dozen horses stood in front of her home, a few still with riders on lookout. There were crashing and ripping sounds from within her home, and she instantly knew the worst had happened. 

She froze there, just behind a tree, as the horror unfolded before her. One of the men came out, and shouted at the two still on their horses. 

“There’s no gold in the cabin. They must have hidden it. Siegbald, you said you saw tracks from the son? Find him!” 

Gold? These men were after gold. Astrid’s family had no gold. They were farmers. What were the men thinking? She had no time for further thoughts, however, as one of the men spotted her and began to shout. “Over there! I see him, by the tree.” 

Knowing she’d been seen, the young girl fled, leaving her family and home behind. She would not be there to see the bandits put the cottage to flame or to hear the wolves howl further up the mountain as the hunt began. 

Her legs took her away from the clearing with her house before her mind even consciously realized where she was running. She’d spent months here. She knew this place like the back of her hand. Hiding was her best option. Or if she could steal one of their horses, riding to get help. Even if it would be several day’s ride. 

The air sharpened by her ear as an arrow whizzed past, embedding itself into a branch inches above her head. The missile was swiftly followed by two more, thudding into the snow just ahead of her. 

Adrenaline flooded her senses, and she began to pick up speed. She bolted this way and that, trying to put distance between herself and her pursuers. More shouting followed her as well as the solid thunder of hoofbeats. Whoever these men were, they knew how to maneuver their horses through the forest. But these were her woods. 

Another arrow whipped past her face, causing her to scream and lose her footing. One moment, she was running forward at full tilt, using the shadows of trees and brush to confuse her pursuers. The next, she was face first in the snow, as she rolled down a small incline. 

Rocks and roots stabbed and scraped at her as she rolled, the soft snow doing little to cushion her impacts. Her falling was brought to a sudden, painful stop as she reached the ground. The girls’ body was covered in oozing scrapes and cuts from her tumble. It was a wonder that she was even alive. One of the rocks had jammed into her shoulder, making it difficult to even move. 

But move she must. Above her, she heard more shouting, more horses. The men were still on her trail. Mustering strength she didn’t know she had, she pushed herself up. Her shoulder screamed in agony from its wound, and she was forced to lean against a tree as her legs threatened to buckle and send her toppling into the snow once again. 

She shivered against the tree. It was so cold out. The snow was soaking into her bones, making her trembles rattle her very core. How long had she been out here? Had gathering wood taken that long? 

As Astrid’s strength renewed, her hand slid against the rough bark of the tree. There were markings on this tree. She recognized them. A few short slashes with a knife. She’d marked this tree months ago, when she was still learning the woods.

With a frantic look, the girl scanned the surrounding forest until her eyes fell on it. A massive tree that had fallen over years ago. It lay on its side, lit by a ray of moonlight that managed to find a break in the dense foliage above. The tree itself wasn’t that interesting, but there was an abandoned wolf den below it that would be the perfect hiding place for her. 

The thump of hooves and sound of shouting grew ever closer to her. She had to move quickly if she wanted to hide. Snapping a branch off a tree, she used it as a makeshift broom, to obscure her tracks in the snow as she crept to the wolf den that she would hopefully be able to hide in. Her shoulder burned with every step, but even so, she breathed a sigh of relief as she found her way to the small hole below the fallen tree. 

Her breathing was thin and shallow, barely creating any cloud of condensation, as she slid into the den. It was a snug fit for her, and she barely managed to squeeze in before the thunder of hooves drowned out any sound she may have heard. The bandits had just found where she’d fallen down the hill. 

“Spread out!” the leader shouted. “Find the boy. He should be wounded.” 

From outside her hiding spot, Astrid heard shouts of affirmation and the impatient snorts of a dozen horses. Far in the distance, a wolf howled at the moon, quickly joined by other canine voices. Astrid felt her heart begin to beat faster. If wolves were in the area, she had more to fear than just the bandits. She had nothing to fend them off. Her bow had been left in the house. 

As the horsemen began to spread out in search, she watched with bated breath. Too afraid to make a sound, her already shallow breathing became even shorter, coming out in a staccato rhythm that threatened to expose her if any of the men slowed down to listen. 

A small army of hoofs and boots paraded past the small hole in the ground where she lay. Some of the bandits had dismounted in an attempt to track her better. One pair of boots tread so close to her hiding space, that her breath caught in her throat, the shock of which sent new spasms of pain from the wound in her shoulder. 

Almost as quickly as they’d come, they were gone. One or two of the men poked around the area for a few minutes, but Astrid knew they wouldn’t find her. These were her woods. The only beings on this earth who knew it better than her were the animals themselves who had lived here for eons.

This was her home, even if she hadn’t wanted to come here, so she began to plan. She knew she had to wait in the wolf den for a while longer. Wait until the men had either given up or gotten further into the forest. That would give her ample time to circle back to the house, gather her equipment, and maybe see if her parents were still alive. 

And so, Astrid steeled herself. This was going to be a fight. A shiver ran up her spine, and it was only then that she began to really register the cold. She’d already been out in these temperatures for more than an hour. That itself was cause for concern. This would be a battle for life, the wolves, the men, and the cold, all vying to end her life. 

But she was so tired. The late night and her mad dash through the woods were casting a spell of exhaustion on her senses and it was all she could to stay awake. And she needed to. It would not do for the men to find her because of loud snoring from below a log. She shook her entire body, and felt a spark of warmth begin to drive away the cold. Perhaps it was milder of a night than she’d realized. It was almost comfortable, and she let herself slip into a dreamless sleep.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she awoke, but the moon was still bright. So, the girl slowly began to work up the courage to escape from the wolf den that had hidden her so well. But she had barely stuck a hand out of the ground when she heard it. Hoofbeats. A slow plodding sound, deliberate. Was it one of the other bandits, Astrid worried, and yanked her hand back into the hole. It was almost comfortable in there now, her body must have been warming the small space. 

In the small gap through which she could see the forest, a horse came into view. It’s coat was such a pure white, it almost camouflaged into the blanket of snow. If it weren’t for the black hooves and splashes of red above them, it would have been invisible. 

From her vantage point, Astrid could only see the bottom of the animal and only the boots of its rider. The boots were immaculate, jet black, made of a perfect, supple leather. These were no shoes that a peasant wife sewed for her husband. These were the shoes of a noble. If this person was with the bandits, what did that mean?

The rider slid off their horse, sending the snow up into a small flurry where they landed. The boots paced back and forth, searching for something. At one point the rider stepped out of view, only to return moments later with the branch that Astrid had used to hide her tracks. 

She could see it better in the moonlight, some of the pine needles were stained darkly, and Astrid began to worry about the severity of the wound in her shoulder. Trying to maintain her silence as much as possible, she reached one arm across her back, until a twinge of pain told her she’d found her wound. She drew the hand back to find it covered with a small amount of blood. A little worrisome, but with a proper dressing she would be fine. Should be...

The boots standing in place before her hole stole the girl’s focus from her wound. Had this person found her? Were they going to drag her out and demand gold that she did not have? 

Her breath froze as she heard metal scraping against metal in the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath. Astrid began murmuring silent prayers to every god she knew both living and dead, trying to hope against hope that she would survive the next few minutes. Her pulse rose to a fever pitch until it felt as though her very chest would explode.

Almost as though her prayers were answered, the strange rider stepped away from Astrid’s den and remounted their horse. But they still didn’t leave. What were they waiting for, the girl fretted. 

Moments later, she heard a thunderous crashing sound as something impaled the log she hid beneath. It rattled her teeth, and she felt a squeal break through the lips she had pressed together at the sudden shock. But as soon as she looked up, the horse and rider were gone. And once again the forest fell into its night time peace. 

Astrid let minutes drag on, as her tumultuous thoughts conjured specters in the shadow of every tree outside the wolves’ den. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay in this hole forever, even if it was comfortably warm by that point. It shouldn’t have felt warm to her. 

With her heart still racing, and her breathing almost non-existent, the girl pulled herself out from under the log, only to come face to face with a dagger that had been embedded in the fallen tree. A weapon. One that the rider had left. 

The girl wrapped her hands around its hilt and pulled it free. She could use this. She could fight back. These woods were her home, and now she was armed. 

Somewhere, closer. The wolves howled again and Astrid felt it in her bones.

The hunt was on.