Reng, Hills, west of the Karhen Rouz oasis


"By the whiptail," Reng curses in his mind as his foot slips on a stone hidden beneath the dry grass. He freezes. The rustling of golden stalks warns the kreliniak grazing on a tojas bush. The hunter holds his breath. He can’t afford another mistake.


The kreliniak rises on its hind legs. Its long ears strain to catch any suspicious sound. The quills on its back rattle, the creature sniffs the air and snorts nervously. Its black, beady eyes lock onto Reng. He could swear it’s looking straight into his soul. But then, it returns to its carefree nibbling. Reng smirks. Luck is on his side today.


He focuses. His bolaso, his trusted weapon, swings lightly. He twirls it above his head and skillfully hurls it forward. The kreliniak leaps at the last moment, but the firm cords wrap around its body, yanking it to the ground. Reng wastes no time. Swift and silent, he draws his knife and, with a single stroke, ends the creature’s life.


A sharp whistle pierces the landscape.


Reng stiffens. He knows what it means. Noel is warning him—he’s no longer alone.


Slowly, he lifts his gaze, his eyes combing through the grass while his heart pounds wildly in his chest. Suddenly, he is no longer the hunter but the prey. His hand slides toward his knife. Outwardly calm, but inside, his blood surges with the fear of what is coming. A round head with a flattened face breaks through the golden stalks.


Reng holds his breath.


Leerd.

He senses that the scent of fresh blood has drawn the beast. He can only hope it isn’t too hungry. If it were, they wouldn’t be facing each other like this—the beast, three times his weight, would have already taken him down in a single leap. He hopes it’s just a lone stray. One leerd doesn’t look for trouble. A pack does.


The beast’s nostrils quiver. It inhales his scent, then snorts. A sharp sound that clenches Reng’s chest. Then it bares a row of pointed teeth, sending a clear message. Reng averts his gaze. He doesn’t provoke. He takes a slow step back. But the leerd mirrors his movement with stubborn precision. Its heavy paws dig into the ground, pressing closer with every step.


From its slight build and the unusual absence of scars, Reng recognizes it as a young male. A lone drifter, cast out from its pack. Now it wanders the land, frightened and irritable. And fear is never far from aggression.


Reng keeps backing away. The beast watches him, its gaze stabbing into him like a knife. Blood pounds in his temples, but he forces himself to stay calm. Still, he slowly draws the only weapon he has. He knows the knife would barely harm the leerd, but he grips it tightly. It won’t save his life—but he won’t give it up easily. Then, he lifts the dead kreliniak and tosses it in front of the beast.


The leerd halts. Tilts its head. Sniffs the pile of fur.


Reng doesn’t wait. He turns slowly and walks toward the camp, step by step. He doesn’t rush. He mustn’t awaken the predator’s instinct to chase. Only when he’s far enough does he finally break into a run. He doesn’t stop until he’s almost at his destination, his heart hammering in his throat from the unnerving encounter.

Noel watches from a rocky outcrop. He lifts a hand. His expression is a mix of relief and the awareness of how little it would have taken. Reng nods in greeting, barely catching his breath. If the leerd had attacked, Noel could only have watched. And in the end, buried whatever remained of him.


***


"Shame about the kreliniak," Noel grumbled instead of a greeting.

"That wasn’t my fault."

"Maybe. Or maybe you’re just too slow and leaving them a trail like a rookie."


Reng stayed silent. He sat by the fire, poured himself a cup of laghota, and buried his nose in the mug. The hot drink warmed his body, but it couldn’t thaw Noel’s icy remarks about his failures. There was no point in arguing. Noel never changed his mind.


"Lanis is going to be pissed. She’ll miss that piece."

"Yeah, she will. But she’ll manage. She always does," Reng shrugged.


That was all that needed to be said. Neither of them was particularly talkative, so their hunting trips often came down to just a handful of words. And yet, they never felt like they had said too little.


Reng wordlessly packed up the canvas shelter. Noel tossed the last log onto the fire, let it burn down, and watched the young man out of the corner of his eye. Between them, there was a quiet routine, forged over years of living together in the wild.


The creature Reng rode was young and unpredictable. Noel had taken in the scrawny kernal, full of bad habits and scars, as an unwanted debt repayment. The old man had intended to get rid of it immediately, but Reng had taken a liking to the beast at first sight. He had pleaded with Noel for a long time to let him keep it. In the end, he won—but Noel had laid down one condition: "If it breaks your neck, that’s on you. No one else is to touch it."


Reng had agreed, not realizing what he was getting himself into. He regretted it soon enough. Sirnak, a stubborn and ill-tempered kernal, repeatedly threw him from the saddle, snapped at him with its beak, and once kicked him so hard he ended up with cracked ribs. At home, he claimed he had been in a street fight rather than admit that his own mount had crippled him. He had bruises all over his body and deep cuts to his pride, but he refused to give up. The urge to prove himself to Noel was stronger.


Over time, their relationship improved. The hatred turned into a fragile tolerance. And yet, riding Sirnak remained a gamble. Reng never knew whether he’d make it home in the saddle—or on foot.


Today was no different.


The massive predator lurking near the camp had terrified Sirnak. The kernal was now trembling, its eyes darting wildly, ears twitching at every suspicious sound. Reng had his hands full trying to convince it to kneel and allow him to mount. But the moment the saddle landed on its back, Sirnak sprang back to his feet.

Reng barely had time to react before his forehead collided with the creature’s hard skull, sending him sprawling to the ground.


"By the whiptail!" he cursed, rubbing the throbbing spot on his head. He had wisely kept hold of the rope—otherwise, he’d be walking home. Sirnak pranced erratically, still frantic, but at least the saddle had stayed in place. Reng quickly tightened the straps, narrowly dodging another snap. The massive beak, lined with two rows of leathery teeth, clamped shut on empty air.


"One day, I’m going to roast you myself," he muttered.


Sirnak let out a mocking croak in response. "KER-nal! KER-nal!"

Sweating from the effort, Reng placed a hand on the creature’s trembling chest and silently swore. There was no point in getting angry. The beast was simply scared, its senses stretched to the breaking point. He whistled softly to calm it, but today, its nerves were too raw.


"That thing belongs in a slaughterhouse," Noel grumbled, his look saying: I told you so.


Reng didn’t argue. This wasn’t a battle he could win. He tightened the saddle straps and dropped the rope with the mounting stirrup. He had to move fast—one moment of hesitation, and he could end up trampled. Sirnak stomped furiously, tossing his head, but Reng nimbly swung himself into the saddle. He pulled the reins tight, feeling the beast gradually yield under his hands.


He nodded to Noel, signaling he was ready.


The old man calmly guided his mount onto the rocky trail, and together, they set off for home.


***

Their destination was a small house on the edge of the oasis.


The view of the gray wall surrounding the entire settlement wasn’t pleasant, but Reng didn’t mind. He liked that it stood apart from the rest of the community. He wasn’t much of a social person. The locals never let him forget that he hadn’t been born in the oasis. His unknown origins and his habit of roaming the Hills set him apart even more. The only one who truly understood him here was Noel. Their shared journeys into the wild had drawn them so close that, eventually, Reng had come to see him as a father.


Still, Reng knew that life within these walls wasn’t for him. This year, he had applied for release from the oasis, stirring up more trouble than he had intended. To his surprise, the locals seemed reluctant to let him go. Maybe because he regularly stocked the kitchen with fresh game. Or because every pair of hands was needed on the farms, especially young, strong ones. Or perhaps because their family had already let one of their own leave. Ela, Noel’s eldest daughter, had left two years ago, and everyone knew that, despite her occasional visits, she would never truly return.


It was her that Reng thought of every time his gaze fell on the small table by the door, where the mail was kept. Her letters smelled of glue and carried the strange scent of the city. He liked reading about her life in Prim, searching between the lines for hidden messages. As time passed, her letters grew shorter, more formal. The words that had once been just for him faded away.


And yet, Reng read them over and over, even though her new life was a world completely foreign to him. He had no idea what the city looked like. His world began in Karhen Rouz and ended in the wilderness, where elkers bid each other goodnight.


Today, however, an unexpected sight awaited him. A light coat hung by the door, one he recognized instantly. The soft fabric and the fresh scent of perfume stirred familiar memories. He would have known it anywhere. Just as he would have known her.


"Hey, buddy, you look seriously weird when you do that," Ked sneered, his usual crooked grin in place.


Reng had noticed him too late. He let go of the sleeve and smoothed out the fabric, ignoring the remark.


"When did she get back?"


He didn’t need to say a name. They both knew who he meant.


"This morning. Right after you and Dad took off."


Reng cursed inwardly. If he had known, he would have skipped the hunt altogether.


"Did she leave a message?"


"Yeah. Said not to wait for her at dinner."


Bitterness rose in Reng’s throat. That answer stung more than he wanted to admit. Without another word, he headed for the steep staircase leading up to the attic, where he had his small corner of solitude.


"Hey, buddy," Ked stopped him. "You got plans tonight?"


Reng sighed. Ked wanted something.


"What is it this time?"


"No need to get all prickly. I’m just asking you for a favor."


"I’m exhausted," Reng admitted, already thinking about the bed waiting above.


"Yeah, I get it, but could you cover my shift? I’ve got a meeting, and it’s really important. I won’t make it in time, and the foreman’s gonna flip. You know I’m already in trouble with him from last time."


"And you wonder why?" Reng growled.


"I never said I don’t. Just that I won’t be there," Ked shrugged.


Reng exhaled in resignation. He knew there was no changing Ked’s mind. In this, he and his sister Ela were exactly the same.


"Fine, I’ll cover the start. But you better show up later, got it?" he called after him, but Ked was already grabbing the door handle, waving his thanks without looking back.


Reng swore under his breath.


Instead of his bed, a night shift awaited him.


Because of Ked. Because of the others.


Once again.