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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Korik

It took three days for their supplies to run low again. While they weren’t depleted entirely, it was enough for worry to take hold in Korik’s thoughts. They still had a day’s worth of the salt pork, and two days of the grain, and that was all. Even if they halved their already-scant portions, it wouldn’t be enough to get them to the outpost. Foraging in the snow was a gamble, and hunting had been too scarce to be relied upon. They were still five or six days from the outpost by Korik’s estimations, but the hungrier they were, the slower their progress would be.

Korik was sure Varen was having the same thoughts. He’d picked up on the elf’s pensive expression during their morning meal, as he eyed the meager amount of food left. He’d seen the way his eyes were constantly darting around as they walked through the snow, searching for any sign of game to no avail.

It was a strange feeling, knowing things were not quite dire yet, but would be soon if nothing changed. He didn’t think it would get to where they might starve—unless they got lost or snowed in again—but it would make for a very difficult conclusion to their journey. He would, of course, much prefer to avoid things coming to that, so he scanned every tree and bush that they walked past for signs of anything edible. Plant life was sparser here; and while he found some trees with edible bark, it would really only stave off the worst of the hunger pains, not fill their bellies. Varen’s bow was now constantly in his hand, ready to hunt at the first sign of game, but it remained unused. They were moving too slowly and noisily in the snow for decent hunting; and now that they were off the mountain, they saw hardly any wildlife at all.

With fewer trees and less variance in the landscape, at times it felt as though they had made no progress at all, simply wandering aimlessly in an endless expanse of white snow. Korik knew this was not the case; he knew they were going in the right direction from the position of the sun, their footsteps in the snow behind them, and his scouting ahead morning and night. But it was hard to shake the feeling when the view seemed the same in every direction for so many hours of the day.

Finally, though, more trees were appearing around them—not quite forested, but not nearly so sparse as it had been. Varen even managed to snag a squirrel, which had been perching on a tree and reaching into its stash of acorns. It felt like cause for celebration. Things had changed so quickly, Korik thought as he placed all the acorns in his bag, and now he was thankful for a single squirrel and some tree nuts to give them one more meal, no matter how small.

“Korik,” Varen said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. “Do you see something in that tree up ahead?”

For a moment, Korik was eager, thinking Varen had found something else to hunt. His tone, however, was even and cautious, quickly tempering his gaze. He followed the direction Varen was looking—his bow was out, but not yet drawn. The trees here, though spaced out into small clusters with swaths of empty space in between, were thick and tall with their limbs criss-crossing near the top of the canopy. Leaf cover was all but gone, so he doubted anything could hide—

Then his eyes found what Varen was seeing in a tree about fifty feet away, lower down where its branches were thicker: a huddled shape pressed against the trunk with fur the same mottled grayish-brown coloration as the bark of the tree. It was perfectly still, and Korik surely would not have noticed unless Varen had pointed it out to him first.

“I see it,” Korik said softly.

“Please tell me that isn’t a razorfang cat,” Varen replied, barely above a whisper. Korik winced. He had never seen a razorfang in the flesh before, but had heard stories about others encountering them. He could count on one hand the hunters that he’d met with their pelts as hats or vests; and their long fangs wrapped in twine to make a necklace, fashioned into spear tips, or made into prized arrowheads. So he could not say for sure, but what else would it be? No other large cats dwelled this far north, at least none he was aware of. Even at this distance, he could make out the telltale shape of its fangs protruding from its mouth and past its chin, like the inverse of the tusks that pushed past his upper lip.

“I think that’s exactly what it is,” Korik replied, also keeping his voice low, even though the creature had clearly already seen them. “Unfortunately.”

“We need to back up slowly,” Varen murmured. He remained motionless beside Korik. “We’ll head a little south to get out of its territory, then continue on our way. Hopefully, this will be the only one we see.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” Korik said, nodding. He’d kept his eyes locked on the creature through their conversation; he didn’t look away as he felt Varen step further from him, his snowshoes crunching softly in the snow. They both took a few steps backward, still facing the cat that watched them motionlessly from the tree.

The cat’s body tensed as they moved, and with a terrible cry, it leapt from the tree down into the snow. Its spine curled, and its long fur was standing on end, making it appear larger—the sight had always been comical with Roz, but was much more intimidating on this creature that was many times her size and far more dangerous besides.

“Shit,” Varen hissed, stumbling back. “Don’t run. Just keep backing up—”

The razorfang lunged at them, hissing and spitting as its huge claws slashed through the air. Korik and Varen stumbled backward, still retreating. The cat paused, glaring at them, then lunged once more.

“I don’t think this is working,” Korik said. Beside him, Varen drew his bow.

“Gods, I don’t want to kill it,” the elf muttered. “They’re so rare. I’ve never even seen one before.”

The arrow was drawn, but Varen still hesitated, even as they continued to back away. Korik did not relish the thought of slaying the creature, either, though it seemed the cat was aggressive enough that they might not have a choice.

“Korik, can you try to—I don’t know—make it go away?” Varen asked. Korik frowned in bewilderment.

“No,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Get behind me and try,” Varen urged him. “Please. We can’t outrun it.”

Korik wanted to protest again, but he knew Varen was correct. If they ran, and the creature gave chase, it would catch them easily; Varen would be forced to kill it if they were to survive. If he could somehow calm the razorfang, or at least get it to go back up into the tree, maybe they could get away with all three of them unscathed.

“Fine,” he relented, already regretting it, as he positioned himself behind Varen and dropped to his knees. His hands plunged into the snow, and he tried to press his awareness outward as quickly as he could, but his own worry and fear made it difficult. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look away from the razorfang since he first saw it, but now he forced himself to close his eyes and focus.

His consciousness rushed outward, latching onto the cat. It yowled, hissing, as it became aware of him; but immediately he tried to seize control of the creature. Predators were difficult, though—the cat had an intelligence to it that resisted his efforts, far more so than horses or birds of prey, which always fought him. Its body tensed, muscles locking up as it attempted to proceed onward toward Varen. Korik saw Varen through its eyes, still watching it, bow drawn. It took one staggering step, then another.

Go home , he urged it, though he was unsure how much it might understand. Go home!

In response, he felt flashes of rage, protectiveness, a desperate hunger—they were in its territory, and it was starving. She was starving. Something was wrong. Game here was sparse, as they’d discovered; but if this was her territory, then surely she must have been able to feed herself in previous winters. She was frightened of them, but was hungry enough to try and hunt them.

He felt her struggling against him, instinct railing against his willpower, when something shoved against him—or her? His vision upended, his soft belly exposed as he was pushed onto his back. Claws extended, but he forced the creature to keep still. Varen appeared above him. He had pushed the razorfang onto her back, and he’d stashed his bow to draw his sword. One booted foot pressed down on the razorfang’s chest, making her choke, as Varen pressed the point of his sword to her vulnerable underside.

Panic rose in Korik’s mind. He couldn’t tell if it was his own, or the creature, perhaps both. He did not know what would happen if Varen killed the cat while he was still inhabiting it.

“Get out now, Korik,” Varen said, sounding anguished. “It’s still fighting. This is the only way. I’m sorry.”

Korik tried one last time to urge the razorfang cat to flee. Her thoughts were unintelligible, but the flashes of emotion that he could place were the same—fury, protectiveness, hunger. Maybe, with time, he might have convinced her to run far enough to no longer be threatened; but he knew that when he released his hold on her, she would only follow from a distance until their guards had dropped. Varen was right.

“I’m counting to three,” Varen said, his voice rising. His brows were furrowed, eyes wide, but the sword in his hands was perfectly steady. “One. Two.”

I’m sorry , Korik thought to the creature, though he doubted she understood. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

“ Three.”

Something pierced him, white-hot, opening his flesh more easily than any fang. Korik recoiled, releasing his hold on her at the same instant that Varen slashed her soft underside open—burning pain exploded across his own stomach. He curled in on himself, crying out as his awareness returned. It was a phantom pain, he knew; but he couldn’t stop himself from holding his midsection tightly, as if he could somehow keep his insides together.

He was aware of the sound of the cat screaming, and Varen making a strangled noise—the sound of liquid spilling, something shuffling—he forced himself up onto his hands and knees, ignoring the cold bite of the snow and looking through the messy curtain of his hair toward Varen and the razorfang cat.

She had slashed up at Varen when he’d released his hold on her, claws piercing into his calf. He had jumped back, and she had flipped onto her feet, trying to flee. Her innards trailed behind her, and she managed only one leap before staggering and dropping back down. A streak of crimson marked her path as she bled out, blood and viscera steaming in the cold.

“I’m sorry,” Korik repeated faintly, shaking his head. It felt like such a mistake, but what more could they have done?

“Korik,” Varen panted, sitting down hard in the snow and holding his injured leg. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yes,” Korik stammered, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’ll help.”

He shuffled through the snow toward Varen, placing his hand on the elf’s wounded leg. His magic came to him without thought, entirely second nature. The wounds were deep punctures, so he forced himself to focus and knit the flesh back together more carefully to avoid trapping infection within again.

“Are you alright?” Varen asked again. His voice still sounded strained, but was tinged with concern now. “I wasn’t sure if it would hurt you, if I... I’m sorry.”

Korik shook his head. “It’s fine.”

For a moment, Varen was silent, then he asked tentatively, “ Did you feel it?”

At that, Korik hesitated. Something in him desperately did not want to talk about it—wanted to just focus on healing, and nothing else. His powers weren’t for elves to know.

But he cared about Varen. He wanted Varen to care about him, and maybe this was his way of showing concern.

“Yes,” Korik replied, his voice coming out shakier than he meant it. “Predators especially, I can get a strong sense of their... thoughts and feelings. But it’s like I’m in their body with them. Like it’s my body, too.”

Varen was silent as Korik finished his work. When he cleaned the blood away, the wounds were closed, now marked only by fresh, pink scar tissue.

“How does that feel?” Korik asked faintly.

“Better,” Varen replied, his voice soft. “Korik, I didn’t... I suppose I didn’t realize what it’s like for you. I’m sorry I asked you to do that. I’m sorry you had to feel the things it felt.”

Korik couldn’t bring himself to look up at the elf. It had come down to choosing between the cat or their lives, so of course he too would choose their own lives. But it was a bitter choice, and Varen’s remorse made no difference.

“It’s alright,” Korik finally replied, rubbing his eyes one last time. “I think... I think she might have had kits. That was why she was so aggressive.”

“Kittens? This late in the year?” Varen repeated, sounding surprised.

“It’s possible. A late litter, maybe,” Korik said, shaking his head. “She was hungry. Ravenous. If she’d been trying to feed her young and herself... It could explain her behavior.”

For a moment, the elf didn’t respond. Then he let out a deep sigh and staggered to his feet.

“I’d say let’s bury her before the smell attracts other predators, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to dig deep enough without shovels,” he said, his voice hollow. But neither moved; they both sat there, looking at the still body of the razorfang cat and the pool of blood that had spread out around it. Korik’s mind felt blank. The creature that had just been fighting against him so fiercely, full of vigor, was dead. What did it matter what they did with the body?

“I’m going to see if I can find the young,” Korik finally said, pressing his hands down into the snow again. Beside him, Varen frowned, starting to protest; but Korik was gone before he could say anything. His awareness raced outward, spiraling further out from the place where they were, trying to find any signs of life.

He snagged onto little songbirds and lemmings and a family of snow foxes before he finally found what he was looking for: a razorfang kit in a dark den with at least one sibling. The kit mewled in surprise as he entered its consciousness, and though he felt it was afraid, it was too young still to fight against him.

Korik projected calmness as much as he could to keep the creature placid as he rifled through its short memory. The dark, cozy den was all it really knew. There were a few flashes of poking its head out of the den as its mother left; but the outside was bleak and blinding white, so they never ventured out after her. They still tried to nurse, but their mother’s milk had slowed to a trickle, and they were hungry. She had brought them lemmings, and once, a rabbit to eat; but the kit could sense its mother’s hunger, too. The den was warm, and relatively comfortable, except one of the other little ones had stopped moving and was growing cold—even though it and its sibling still huddled close to keep it warm. And it was starting to smell strange.

Korik urged the kit to leave the den; its mind shuddered with uncertainty, but its little body obeyed. The kit crawled through the den and up into the opening—it was really just a hole in the ground, tucked beneath the roots of a tree. A large tree with exposed roots, Korik thought, which would be hard to miss. The kit shivered in the cold as its paws touched snow. Korik had it walk a few paces out before scurrying back, to leave paw prints he could try to find. Between those and the big tree, he was sure he could find them.

I’m coming to protect you , he thought, though he didn’t think the kit could understand him well. I’ll bring food and warmth. Don’t be scared.

There was no response from the creature, so he released his hold on it and rushed back into himself. He stumbled to his feet before the disorientation had completely worn off, but stopped when his eyes landed on Varen, who had dragged the body of the mother cat further away.

They didn’t have the tools to bury it, but Varen had started to pile snow on top of it. It was probably the best they could manage with what they had; the snow would keep the body cold and slow down decomposition, minimizing smells that would attract other predators until they were long gone. He wondered if Varen had taken one of its fangs as a trophy before burying it, but somehow he doubted it—the elf seemed almost as regretful about killing it as Korik felt.

“I found her young,” Korik said, clearing his throat. “I found the den.”

“Help me with this, and we’ll go find it,” Varen replied, not looking up. The mother cat still had both her fangs.

Knowing time was of the essence, Korik summoned the magic around him and brought the snow up in one great pile, as he had done before with the dirt and earth. Once she was completely covered in snow, he placed a hand on Varen’s shoulder and shunted away all the moisture that had accumulated on his clothes. It all burst away from him in a puff of frost. Varen let out a dry chuckle, as Korik did the same to himself.

“Thanks,” he said, still sounding glum.

“Wet clothes kill,” Korik intoned, the same way his father had told him a hundred times as a child.

He turned in a slow circle, looking for the tallest tree in the area. To the south, it looked like there was a towering pine on a sloping hill that might have been what Korik was seeing—he certainly wasn’t spotting any trees larger than that one.

“There, I think,” he said, pointing at it. It was in the opposite direction of where they were going, but he started walking toward it, anyway. He didn’t wait for Varen to respond, but he heard the elf’s footsteps following him in the snow.

The tree was deceptively far. With how flat their surroundings were now, it was harder to gauge distances. What he had hoped would be a short walk away ended up taking nearly half an hour in the snow; but eventually he could see the tall tree with its gnarled roots, and a small circle of paw prints near the base that led back into the exposed tangle.

“Prints,” Varen said. At first, Korik thought he meant the short trail of prints in front of the tree, but the elf pointed a little ways away where bigger prints were still in the snow. They were from the mother cat, leaving the den in the direction they had come.

When they arrived at the tree, Korik knelt down and peered down into the mess of roots in the snow. He could just make out the opening of the den; further in, four gleaming eyes stared up at him. The two little kittens hissed and spat at him; but coming from such small creatures, the sound was more amusing than intimidating. They were even smaller than Roz.

“Careful,” Varen cautioned, as Korik stuck his hand into the hole. But he didn’t reach directly for the kittens. With a snap, he illuminated the den from the inside, so he could see better. The two kits blinked and yowled in protest, shrinking back. The den was barely big enough for the kittens and the mother; and, pushed toward the back of the den, was the body of the third kit that had passed away.

With his magic, he pulled at the earth and scooped the two kits up, bringing them closer to the opening of the den, despite their protests. When they were both close enough to touch, he quickly grabbed both by their scruff while they were still disoriented. The two kits looked to be a few weeks old: not quite old enough to survive on their own, but maybe after a few more weeks, they would be self-sufficient.

Held up by their scruff, they stopped struggling so much, still looking at him with wide eyes—their breaths coming in short, anxious bursts. Without their mother, they were completely helpless.

“We’re taking them with us,” Korik said.

“We can barely feed ourselves,” Varen protested, shaking his head. “We can’t take them along.”

“We’ll manage. They won’t survive on their own.”

“The outpost might not let us in with them,” he argued, and Korik forced down a grimace,

“They may not let me in anyway,” he replied curtly, adjusting his hold on the kits. “I don’t care.”

When he looked back at Varen, the elf had a disturbed expression on his face; but he didn’t protest as Korik bundled one kitten into his coat. It had grown calm quickly, so he suspected it was the one whose mind he had touched. The other still hissed at him. He held it in the crook of his elbow and pressed it against his chest, so it would have a harder time swiping at him.

“They’ll let you in,” Varen said softly, when Korik crouched back down to look into the den once more. “You’ll be with me. Of course they’ll let you in.”

“Hopefully,” Korik grunted. He could see the small shape of the dead kit at the very back of the den. The kit in his shirt squirmed, trying to get out. He placed his free hand on the ground and churned the earth up again, this time collapsing the den and burying its little body. The soil wasn’t frozen here, kept warm by their body heat, and was more malleable with his magic. The deceased kit would nourish the roots of the tree that had sheltered its siblings. It might have been kinder to bury the kit with its mother, but he wasn’t sure how long it had been there and was hesitant to move it.

When he straightened back up, Varen was looking at him with an expression that he couldn’t read. They walked in silence for a long while; the kitten under his arm kept squirming and meowing in complaint, while the one in his shirt had settled and was now sitting quietly.

“Wait,” Varen said, and Korik stopped short. There was a small commotion at the base of a nearby tree. Korik felt Varen’s magic whip out toward it, then the elf was jogging over to pick up the carcass of a rabbit. Korik hadn’t spotted it. When Varen returned, he sighed and offered the carcass to Korik.

“Shall we feed them, then?” he asked. He smiled faintly at Korik, who managed a slight smile in return. It was a decent enough peace offering.

Varen cut up pieces of the rabbit, still warm and fresh, and handed them to Korik so he could hand-feed the kits. The restless one took the pieces without any caution, its needle-like fangs digging into Korik’s fingers; the calmer one was more gentle and licked the blood off Korik’s hand. Its tongue was rough and reminded him of Roz.