Sang and I had always hunted in turns. He’d take the forest some days, and then the river others. Today, I was supposed to go fishing. But I was sick of reminders of my brother’s death. 

I chose the forest instead.

Hardened snow crunched beneath me. My breaths came in frozen, billowing streams of frost that died in the chill. 

I was halfway to the hunt when the wails of Shadow-beasts echoed in far away cliffs. Glancing beyond the mountain ridges was almost a matter of instinct; although attacks had been scarce in the last few decades, safety wasn’t promised. There was always a risk. 

The tribe might’ve been precise at neutralizing potential threats, but Shadow-beasts weren’t tied just to silver-eyes. They attacked and slaughtered and destroyed who they wanted when they wanted. 

Souls damned to roam a world they’d died hating, the mountain was their hell. 

I used to not believe in such tales, but it wasn’t long before I did, for as the slaughter of men and women with silver eyes grew, the howls did as well. 

And with every death, I’d recognized the distinct voice of a different beast each time, as if the Shadows had been formed from the souls of those who had once been part of our own people.

Another howl, a desolate sound. Like a wolf separated from its pack.

I shivered, goosebumps spreading down my arms. “Safety isn’t promised,” I whispered to myself, reaching for my arrow. But I grabbed at air.

What? 

I reached again, both arms this time, but my back was empty as I patted it. I’d forgotten my arrow, I realized. I turned and looked back at my hut’s distant shape; wind caught in my hair. I’d been so eager to escape from that place I’d all but forgotten my things. Although I despised the idea of walking back, the distance was short enough that I could get from point A to point B in a matter of minutes. 

Exhaling, I made my way back toward home. If memory served, I’d set my tools somewhere near the entrance. 

Silently, I stepped inside and glanced. I found my things in seconds. I reached, then froze as Mother’s sobs filled my head. 

My head snapped toward the kitchen. Mother’s trembling form lay crumpled over the table, a piece of my brother’s jacket squeezed in her tight, shaking fist. She cried fiercely, every sob tearing into me. 

My chest tightened; I swallowed painfully. Somehow, seeing Mother grieve only made me angrier. She was part of the reason Sang was dead. It was far too late for her to regret her decision now.

My eyes stung as I hastened to grab my things. One more time, I glanced at Mother, who cried on.

I glowered, a tear of my own slipping down my cheek. 

“It’s your fault.” I accidentally said my thoughts. 

Mother startled, her head lifting. But before she could see me, I ran. As quickly as I could, I sprinted through the cold brisk air, and didn’t stop until I saw the distant shape of forest ahead.