A Tale of Time

Chapter 11: The White Stag

Chapter 11: The White Stag

The silver rope stays taut as Gailien slowly hunts down the deer. As soon as her feet left the path, the forest knew it had her in its clutches and began to play every single trick of the mind that it can. She looks over her shoulder, the small company barely visible. Behind the small group, the rest of the company has almost finished making the cot.

Facing back to the company, she tries to retrace the steps she had seen the white stag take. It had darted forward but then turned around. While not much of a tracker, the skill is not absent and she bends down, examining the ground for the heavy marks of the animal.

Sure enough, there are three heavy imprints of hooves and one slightly unpatterned one. The tracks are easy to follow, and her pace quickens as she moves alongside them. The company are now well out of sight and even her ears cannot pick up any sound of their voices. Her concern now is how long the rope is.

She can hear a child's laughter once more and though her neck itches to turn, she keeps it set straight, only allowing her eyes to watch the tracks and the path ahead. But then a cold hand grasps her arm.

A sharp gasp escapes her throat as her body turns around, ready to face whoever has followed her. But there is nobody – not even a whisper of anything living. The hand of her other arm lifts, resting on the spot where she felt the hand but there is nothing but the leather of her jacket. It was so cold that she had felt it through both her layers. Still not convinced that there is nobody there, she walks backwards, scanning the eerily quiet trees.

The back of her heel catches on a large root and her arms flail out but there is nothing to grasp. She falls backwards, landing on her back. Her breathing is heavy but steady, determined to keep her calm mind. The rope around her waist tugs sharply at her. Once. Twice.

She reaches out, tugging as sharply as she can twice back. She is alright. Pushing herself back to her feet, she looks back to the ground, looking for the tracks. They are still there, drifting off to the right. The imprints have become uneven, swaying from side to side and she knows that it cannot be far off now – it looks like it is barely walking.

Sure enough, only after another minute of walking, the stag presents itself to her, lying dead in against the trunk of a tree. The white fur on its shoulder is coated in bright red, the arrow still poking from its flesh. It is such a beautiful creature that a small pool of guilt settles in her stomach, but this beautiful creature will be even better in their stomachs. Her own growls in anticipation.

Gailien crouches down to it, pulling the arrow out. The fur is as soft as it looks, and she cannot help but run her fingers through it. A small, Elvish prayer of thanks slips over her lips. Her hands drift to her waist, thanking the makers that the rope is long enough. It takes a bit of fiddling from Thorin's tightening but it undoes itself soon.

She keeps it taut by being held under her knee as she starts pulling on the stag's legs, moving all four until its hooves are together underneath. Then Gailien starts tying the rope around its legs.

Double checking that it is secure, Gailien stands back up, tugging on the rope and sure enough, the stag moves with the rope. She is glad that the Dwarves will be able to pull it back as the creature is much larger than her. Content, she turns back in the direction of the company, holding the rope tightly in her left hand and gives it three sharp tugs. A moment after the third, Kili and whoever is helping, begins to pull on the rope and the stag is dragged along the ground.

Gailien stands in front of it, pulling it over roots or around trees where she can. She has done it – the company will have food. They may just make out of this forsaken forest alive. As long as they keep pulling, nothing can stop that stag from reaching them. Except for perhaps spiders – but they have not been seen since they entered.