He had no time to admire its muscled flanks, the hide that would make his leather, or the beauty that the Creator provided. Branches scratched at its toughened hide as it seemed to fly through the underbrush. At that speed, its antlers would be deadly.

“Ancient, please!” He prayed to a being he wasn't sure even listened to him. Furlon released the arrow.

Desperation entered his movements as he tried to get another arrow notched in the bow. There was no time to watch the arrow fly.

The arrow drove deep into the deer's chest and startled the beast in its headlong run. Its head lowered in response to the pain, and its antlers caught in the brush. The momentum, along with its weight, did the work the arrow couldn't. It broke the deer's neck and killed it instantly.

A wide smile split his face as relief flooded through him. Furlon sagged against the tree nearest him.

“Kirosi Skeida! That was close! A few more seconds and it would have killed me!” Furlon walked towards the deer's carcass, its antlers still tangled in the underbrush. His eyes went wide as he got closer. It was truly a monster.

“By the Fallen! I've never seen a deer so big! Its the size of a horse! How did something this big live in these woods and never be seen?” It was easily twice the size of any other deer he could remember hunting.

Monstrous size. Never seen before. His face paled as those two details emerged within his mind.

“Is it from across the river?” A palpable dread began to fall over him. The steps he took to get here, to this point, in front of a deer that could possibly be from the Jakt-Agor, resounded in his mind like thunder and lightning.

The river. The bridge into the Jakt-Agor.

“Why did it run? It's full light, warm, and no one else is near. I'm downwind, so the deer couldn't smell me.” The dread continued to grow.

Something was wrong.

“Oh no.” He noticed something off in the distance. A patch of gray that looked like a wolf was standing beside a tree. If it was a wolf, he’d have to lie in wait to kill it before he retrieved his horse.

“Hitto! Wolves and their stomachs!” Furlon shook himself, fought the instinct to get out of there, readied his bow and patted the dagger in his boot. A wolf was a hunter, but could be a scavenger if it was hungry, and the meat was fresh. A free meal would be hard to ignore. A shiver went up and down his spine as he watched the animal cover a dozen yards in only a few seconds.

“By the Fallen, look at it go!” It was over a mile away when he first spotted the beast, but it started to close the distance in a very short span of time. “Gray fur, fairly big, and strong looking too. But why is its back white?” It entered a shallow depression and disappeared from sight for a few seconds. When it emerged from the gully, the color drained from his face.

“Oh no! Riivaaja! Kirosi!” Demon! A cursed and twisted version of a bobcat, a nightmare for every living thing on this side of the bridge, and straight from the Jakt-Agor. The natural denizens of that unexplored country were the most brutal and sadistic killers imaginable.

“I've hunted bobcats and you're not one!” Furlon slid around a tree, backed away from the deer, and tried to get out of sight. He wanted to cry out in anger, frustration, and fear.

The standard bobcat of the Ostyr-Agor grew up to four feet long from head to rump, stood two feet tall at the shoulder, and averaged about fifty pounds with beautifully colored fur that could keep a person warm during the season of Kalsea. This monster far surpassed the average at ten feet long, almost four feet tall at the shoulder, and two hundred fifty pounds of bone and muscle.

“My leather is not match for those claws!” He looked down at his dagger. “I hope you're up for the job ahead!” His hunting dagger and bow would prove highly ineffective.

That monster was one of the reasons they had a tradition of not hunting alone.

The animal's claws raked over the stones at its feet but never lost traction. Its spine curved, contracted, and extended as it ran onward. The bony extrusions of its spine clicked against each other as it ran. If he had not been trying to get away from the beast, he would have been mesmerized by its fatal beauty.

“I need more time!” Furlon was only able to put a hundred or so yards between himself and the deer when the cat appeared next to it. It sniffed the arrow and growled low in its throat. He was too close.

“I’m not worth it. Go for the deer, go for the deer!” Furlon whispered. Furlon continued to put some distance between himself and the cat, and with each yard grew more hopeful that he might yet live to see another day. If the beast sensed his presence, he would have to try and kill it. It would not allow him to leave without a fight.

The cat still had not taken any meat from the deer and Furlon was sure he was far enough away that he could relax. He turned to try to get a last look, but the beast was nowhere to be seen. He could still see the brown coat of the deer, but the gray fur was gone.

“Where did you go, Kirosi?” He felt apprehensive, and decided to quicken his pace. Furlon started to scan the surrounding trees.

He caught a flash to his right as pain lanced through his left shoulder. He grunted, felt the area, and his hand found wetness. He raised it to his eyes and before he could see the liquid, he knew it was blood. He heard a growl on his right, but barely caught a glimpse of fur as it disappeared into the woods.

“It circled around me.” He pulled his bow off his shoulder, notched an arrow, and ignored the pain. “Got to get some cover!” He ran from tree to tree while trying to get back to camp.

“The horse might be able to scare it off. Maybe that will give me enough time. Maybe.” The horse's hooves might persuade the beast to go back after the already dead buck. He wouldn't be able to get close to the horse while it was rearing up, but if it's reins were still tied off, the horse could distract it. He might be able to get some arrows into its hide, maybe even win.

The cat continued its ambush tactics, attacking from the side but Furlon was able to release an arrow at only two horse lengths away. The beast yowled in pain and anger before retreating to the cover of the forest.

“How much can you take!” He yelled at the cat as it retreated. It slashed his other shoulder when he tried to get to the next tree. Pain lanced through him and blood flowed dark through the leather. He scanned the area again, looked for signs of the cat, but not quickly enough. It struck again from behind and slashed his thigh.

“Its enjoying this! Hitto riivaaja!” The cat was taking him apart a piece at a time. He wouldn't be able to defend himself soon.

“Veriside, if only you were beside me, this thing would be dead by now!” His best friend, Ta'rak, was not beside him though. Together they would have won. He straightened his shoulders, and pulled his blade.

“If I die, its going to be on my feet fighting! I won't be an easy meal for you!” Furlon was raised to believe that how you lived and how you died effected your rest at the end. The last moment before you closed your eyes forever was the most important one and how you met that moment dictated your level of comfort in your Final Rest. Regrets were not something you would want to take with you.

For a short time, the tactics and his resolve kept him alive. He was able to take a few shots at the cat with his dagger, stab it as it tried to slash him. The cat still wouldn't attack him full out yet.

Furlon ran to another tree, a large oak that completely covered his back, and that allowed him to fire another arrow at point blank range. The cat was injured, but not severely enough to kill it, and it did not change its mind.

“Stop chasing me and I'll stop hurting you!” Furlon ran to another large hardwood. This time, the cat was on top of him before he could set up to fire another arrow. Its weight came at him from the side, knocked him away from the tree, and onto his back. The cat was on his front, claws dug mercilessly into his thighs and belly, right through the leather. Furlon screamed in pain, took his dagger and slammed it into the side of the cat repeatedly. It jumped off and seemed to run away to lick its wounds.

Furlon turned over and lifted himself to his knees. He was injured and not thinking clearly. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet but failed to check for his adversary. It crashed into his back.

His face hit the cold snow, its pristine surface not yet darkened with blood. He tried to speak his wife’s name, but the impact of the fall knocked the air from his lungs. True to the nature of the feline species, it locked its large teeth onto the back of his neck.

It twisted and snapped his neck cleanly.