The Tenth World - Valheim

Four - Boar

Skeillr followed the coastline south, leaving his fire well stocked, the pile of tools and materials next to it. The Valkyrie had brought him in from the north, so he had an idea of the terrain in that direction. He'd seen the lay of the land from the sky. He planned on going north as soon as he felt ready.

The wind had picked up, and the waves crashed against the rocks. Goosebumps covered his skin, and his manhood had shriveled up from the cold. He hoped to the Gods that should he come across another person, it wasn't now. Skeillr needed clothes soon, or his time here wouldn't be pleasant. Nor particularly lengthy.

He came to the foot of that small hill he'd seen boar on earlier, and decided to climb to the top to scope out what lay beyond. Cresting the rise, he scanned the landscape. A large field lay before him, boar roaming, picking through the grass, a herd of deer wandering the outskirts of a green woodland. The woods wrapped around to the west, where a river wound it's way down from the mountains that dominated part of the horizon.

Skeillr spotted a boar rummaging through some tall grass at the foot of the hill. It was alone. He slowly made his way down, making sure the boar didn't see him. As he got closer, he heard a snort of satisfaction from the animal. It must have found a meal, he thought. A shame the boar would soon be a meal of its own. Skeillr approached the boar from behind, gripping his axe tight, ready to make his move. The boar was much bigger than those back on Midgard. Well, he thought, the bigger the animal, the bigger the meal. Meat sounded amazing after so far only tasting the berries and mushrooms. Delicious, juicy meat. His hand around the axe tightened, and he gritted his teeth.

He snuck up as close as he dared, and swung the axe with great force into one of the boar's hind legs. It struck the animal in the thigh. With a squeal of surprise and pain, it leaped forward and rounded on him. Skeillr stood, taken aback by the ferocity in its eyes. "Shit," he said, suddenly regretting his choice, and turned to run back up the hill. The boar gave chase. When he reached the top, he stopped, and watched the boar slowly limp up the hill. He'd crippled it, just as he hoped he might. It made slow progress, weakening as it closed in towards him. Blood streaked the grass behind it. With renewed confidence, Skeillr grinned, then puffed out his chest and stuck his elbows out so as to appear larger. The boar knew it was hurt. Skeillr watched as it changed it's mind, and in the blink of an eye the boar went, as far as it was concerned, from predator to prey. Skeillr let out a great roar, and stomped toward the boar as menacingly as he could. The animal's own confidence faltered, the adrenaline quickly leaving its body, and it's leg gave out underneath it. The boar slipped in it's own blood and began tumbling back down the way it came, it's hunter close behind. When the boar came to a stop, it floundered on the ground, and Skeillr buried his axe into its skull. It died instantly, slumping down as it released a final great huff of breath. As well stuck as it was, he did not want to leave the axe embedded in the boar's head. With a bit of wriggling, the flinty axe came free, bloody with other lighter, chunkier shades sprinkled across it. He wiped the gore off onto the grass, and, realizing there wasn't much of a way to carry the axe as well as the boar, at least not too comfortably, he grimaced and whacked the axe back down into the dead boar. He bent to lift the animal. With a groan of effort, he draped the body over his shoulders and carried it back to his camp.

Exhausted, he dropped the boar to the ground. Using a particularly sharp piece of flint, he fashioned a knife and got to work skinning and butchering his kill. Skeillr could not recall whether he knew how to butcher animals in his life in Midgard, but doing so now came naturally to him.

Thanks to the hunger, this boar was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten. Some increased satisfaction came with the meal too; Skeillr had killed and prepared it himself, for himself.
Cleaning off his fingers and smacking his lips, Skeillr felt more relaxed than he had since arriving in this branch of Yggdrasil. As he watched the sun slowly dip in the sky, a full stomach, a roaring fire, and the lapping of the waves nearby, it was easy for him to begin to drift off. Warmed by a ragged but clean patch of boar skin for a blanket, and comforted by a gentle breeze from the ocean, he couldn't help but grin as he fell into a deep sleep.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't last long.