Not Gonna Die (A Skybrine Fanfic)

|Chapter 1| An Unexpected Proposition

I am a little annoyed because in the google doc where I'm writing this, I have each new paragraph indented, but for some reason, Wattpad doesn't allow indents in your paragraphs, and I am not bothered to do three spaces for every single paragraph.

So sorry, you don't get the cool layout I'm doing.

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Centuries later...

The young caribou nuzzled at the damp and dying grass, trying to find some nutrients. It was nearing the end of the few warm months they had in this harsh climate and the caribou was well-fed. It must have been its first month away from its mother and its antlers hadn't quite grown in yet, instead being little more than rounded stubs jutting out of the top of its head.

It raised its face, sniffing at the air, legs tense and ready to bound away. Its nose quivered for a few moments and then, upon determining that there was no danger present, it bent back down, continuing to search for food. Some sixth sense warned it again and it poised itself to run. But the arrow had already spat from the bow and as the caribou's front legs left the ground, the arrowhead pieced its hide and it instantly lost strength in its body, falling to the ground in a heap.

A boy stepped out of the shadows downwind from the caribou, a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows at his side. He swiftly came forward, slinging his bow onto his back and drawing the hunting knife from his belt before kneeling next to the animal, a hand feeling for a pulse, the blade resting on the neck. But his shot had been true and the animal was dead.

Now he let a small smile come onto his face as he sheathed the knife, sitting back on his feet, eyes scanning the animal. The hide was soft from the warmer weather and, once tanned and cured, would sell quite well in the nearby village. The antlers were a bit small but still useful and the meat, of course, was the most valuable of all. His mouth started to water as he thought of eating caribou tonight.

He went to lift the dead creature onto his shoulders to carry home when he froze, ears attentive. He had heard a sound, the sound of many people walking. Moving very slowly now, he put the animal down and silently moved in the direction of the sound, his hand on his knife. A slight wind stirred his brown hair, cut short so that it stayed out of his eyes. He wore a long shirt made of a cheap wool but the worn leather jacket he wore over the top kept him warm. His boots had soft soles and were silent on the grass and branches but they were also suited for tramping through the thick snow that could fall for over half the year.

His warm brown eyes were constantly flicking, searching the shadows both near and far. The bow on his back was old but in good condition, and his knife was the sharpest thing his family owned. He was young, not quite yet an adult, but he was strong and lean, his body still bearing the signs of the near-poverty he was raised in before he could hunt and the fortunes of his family changed.

He neared the edge of the small mountaintop he was on and knelt to the ground, sneaking forward until he was looking over the edge to the valley below. It was full of grass, with no trees or animals, and the two exits of the valley were filled with a dark mass that he knew to be hundreds of people, all armoured. They came to a stop hundreds of metres apart, and he heard faint noises in the air that must have been the two leaders of the armies talking. He took one look at each of their banners and scoffed.

"Brilliant," he muttered. "Another territorial war." The voices drifted up as the speakers grew louder and he fancied that he could understand the words that they said. It would have been the same things that he had heard them speak before: 'By the might of the eastern sun', 'This land is mine by Herobrine', the same old crap that gave them an excuse to continue feuding and gain more land.