Damien tightened the straps of the saddle around Bern’s belly. He navigated the headstall around Bern’s massive four-foot tall antlers that would be completely worn away before they returned from the mountains. Everything had its place on the saddle; he only took what Bern could handle carrying up the mountain. He preferred to be, himself, unencumbered in the event that they ran into trouble. He strapped his tent and bedroll just behind the seat, topping them with the extra firewood. The bag containing the lantern and the extra fuel he placed in one of the saddlebags hanging just behind the saddle. His pack with his knives and a few medical supplies he always carried with him in case he had need of them, went into the other saddlebag along with the extra bowstring. The pot of lentils which was cold and congealed by now, was tied to a string hanging between the saddlebags and the saddle itself. He secured the lid to the pot, so that nothing would spill during the journey and then tied the bag of salted meat to the other side of the saddle. His quiver attached nicely to the front side of the saddle, so that he could reach his arrows while mounted. His bow, which he usually just carried, had a resting place opposite the quiver. His hatchet he carried at his hip for defensive purposes. When everything was loaded, Damien walked around to Bern’s snout and softly rubbed it, urging the beast to kneel down and save his energy for the trip. They would be leaving shortly, but he was holding a lot of weight and Damien didn’t want him tiring himself needlessly.
Just as he managed to get Bern to lie down, Landon strolled back through the opening in the fence. He waved at Damien but went straight into his room to check on the chickens. He came out a few moments later with a handful of eggs. “Did you have breakfast yet? Would you like some eggs?”
“No thank you Landon, I had a rather large dinner last night. Take three for yourself and give the others to Bern.
The boy walked over and held an egg in front of Bern’s nose, who stuck out his tongue and pulled the egg into his mouth. He crushed it and a little bit of gold oozed out from between his lips.
“What did you have?” Landon asked.
“I went for a walk and caught myself a decent hare. I ate the lot of it, savoring what I know could be the last fresh meat I’ll enjoy for a few weeks.”
“Did you make any carrots to go with it? I love rabbit and carrots. I wonder if they taste good together because rabbits eat carrots.”
Damien chuckled. “No, it was all I could do to eat the meat, at least three pounds once it was skinned and cleaned.”
The boy fed Bern another egg. “That’s quite a meal. I bet it was delicious.”
“If you manage to get us one while I’m gone, I’ll cook it for us when I get back.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for a big one, and some carrots.” He smiled, shoving the last egg in front of the reindeer, who gladly accepted it.
“Do you any questions before I go?” Damien asked the boy.
“I don’t think so, I’ve done it all enough that I can handle it.”
“Good, you’ll do fine, just don’t burn down the cottage.”
The boy smiled and laughed. “I won’t!”
Damien slapped his hand lightly on Berns neck. “Come on boy, it’s time to go. Up! Up!”
Bern snorted as he climbed to his feet, stretching his legs in the process.
Damien climbed into the saddle and looked down at the boy. “God be with ye Landon.”
“God be with ye as well Damien. Come back to us.”
He nodded and without another word, he clicked his tongue and dug his heels into Bern’s side, and off they went into the woods.
The sun was getting higher in the sky and it was about noon when they reached the mountain pass.
“We’re halfway there boy.” Damien said, with another pat on Bern’s neck. As the crow flies, they were considerably closer to their destination than to home, but they weren’t crows and rough terrain took time and care to cross on foot. This was the definition of rough terrain. Icy outcrops, loose gravel, and uneven surfaces just to mention a few of the problems they would have to contend with. Luckily, after a few hours of careful steps and cautious movement, they made it up the pass and out into another forest. Damien always set camp in the same spot so that he knew exactly where he needed to go. It was just a few minutes walk from the mountain pass to the campsite and while the snow was fairly deep already at this altitude, Bern pushed through with relative ease. The campsite had been chosen for specific reasons, one of which was its natural protection. It was a large rock jutting out from the side of a cliff face, with a long narrow path as its only point of ingress. Damien could set a trap at the entrance of the site that would wake him if an animal became curious or desperate enough to come searching for something to eat. It was also a dozen or more feet above the surrounding terrain, so Damien could easily hang his food off the side of the rock to keep it out of reach of scavengers. Lastly and most importantly, there was a small alcove that kept most of the wind and rain off of his tent and was large enough that Bern could lay down inside. The sun was cascading brilliant pinks and oranges across the sky by the time he finished setting up the site and building a fire to heat up his lentils. Before tending to his own needs, he made sure to remove the saddle and all of his equipment from Bern so that he too could go out and find something to eat. Bern was a more than capable scavenger, always able to find plenty to eat out in the wood.
Damien had learned over the years to not go to the trouble of reheating the entire pot over and over again, so he would scoop out what he intended to eat on to the lid and set it on hot coals, stirring it until warmed through. Bern returned, satisfied, around the time Damien’s lentils were ready. Having done most of the work that day, he headed straight for his alcove, laid down on some bedding Damien had gathered, and was asleep before Damien had even started to eat. Damien slowly ate his bowl of lentils, adding a bit of his salted meat for flavor, and thought about how to conduct the following day. The last thing Damien did before crawling in his tent, was fill his water skin with clean snow and lay it by the warm coals to melt into fresh water for tomorrow.
He woke up just as the sun was rising over the trees. He crawled out of his tent to find Bern still fast asleep and snoring. He had rolled onto his side and one of his back legs was kicking, his hoof clicking on the stone of the alcove. Damien wanted to let him sleep and so he took a walk in the woods alone. He looked for signs of deer in the area. The deep snow hindered him in some ways but helped him in others. He couldn’t see droppings or where they’d bedded down, but even a novice hunter could’ve seen the tracks with ease. He picked a set that looked fresh and began to follow them. He estimated it was a group of about five or six deer that he was stalking. Several trees along the route had bark missing, suggesting there was at least one buck among them. That would be his aim, a large healthy buck to feed him while he was here in the mountains. He continued to the follow the trail for an hour or so, when he came out into a large open field. He spotted them immediately. Four does eating what little plant matter they could find and warming themselves in the sun. One large buck, the alpha, standing guard and a smaller buck on the periphery of the herd, the beta. He considered his options. The alpha was much larger, but he was also on alert. He could easily sneak around the edge of the field and get closer to the beta, but to hit the alpha reliably, he would have to expose him himself and go out into the open field. He decided that as it was the first day of the hunt, now was the time to take the risk. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it onto his bowstring. Carrying his bow at the ready, he crouched down to the ground and slowly made his way out into the field. The snow was crunching under his feet and threatened to give away his presence. It also hid half of him from view. A double edge sword if he’d ever seen one. One small step at a time he inched closer and closer to the herd. About one hundred yards away, he stepped on a branch under the snow and a loud pop sounded for all to hear. He froze. That was it, he had lost them. But luck was on his side, the alpha stared right at him for more than a minute and then lowered his head to take a bite from the ground. Damien continued to inch ever forward. Ninety yards. Eighty. Seventy. At sixty yards, he felt confident he could take the shot and hit his mark, but just as he took the last step, the buck walked behind one of the does. His legs were beginning to burn from crouching down for so long, but he persisted. He settled onto his knees to give his calves a short rest while he waited for the doe or buck to move again. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing to try to warm himself, and just listened for movement. Fifteen minutes went by before it happened. His eyes shot open when he heard the crunching of snow under hoof. The doe had started to walk forward, revealing his prize. He slowly stood up, his legs groaning and beginning to tingle as he reached a standing position. He was in clear view of them, but making no noise, they paid him no mind. He placed a finger on his bow string above his nocked arrow, two below. He drew it back as he raised it to eye level. His fingers and the bowstring came to rest on his cheek bone, the cold of the sinew contrasting with the slight warmth of his hand on his face. He knew he couldn’t hold the string back for long, so he lined up his shot and he let the arrow fly. All six deer bolted, the beta running right past him, almost knocking him over, before turning and rejoining the group twenty or so yards later. Damien took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He waited for a moment and then opened them. He watched the timberline to see which way the deer had gone. He walked the sixty yards to where he’d struck his target. There was a large pinkish-red spray of blood. Pink blood meant he’d hit a lung, a spray meant he’d also hit the heart. He wouldn’t get far. Damien gave up all pretense of being silent and followed the herd into the woods. The blood trail was easy to follow in the snow. The buck had made it an impressive two hundred yards before succumbing to his injuries. He lay there, eyes open wide, barely breathing. Damien took his hunting knife from its sheath and stuck it right next to the arrow, mercifully bringing peace to the struggling beast. He watched as the life left the one eye he could see. He dipped his index and middle fingers into the blood surrounding the wound and placed them on his temple, dragging them to his jawline. This was a tradition that fathers usually did with their sons first kill, but he had always done it. It felt respectful, like giving a piece of himself for the life he’d taken, even if only temporarily.
He could have carried the deer on his shoulders back to his camp, but it made more sense to dress it where he was. Less weight to carry and no chance of the deer’s organs drawing wolves near to his camp. He cut two small holes between the bones of its hind legs and its tendons. He found a study branch and stuck one end in one hole and the other end through the other hole. Then he hung the branch between two trees nearby so that the carcass was just a few inches off the ground. He took out his skinning knife and felt around for the bottom of the deers ribcage. When he found it, he ran the knife from the bottom all the way to the top, along the sternum. He turned the knife around, and using two fingers to pull the skin away from the organs so as not to puncture them, he did the same to the belly, stopping just a few inches before the tail. He reached inside the animal, feeling its warmth on his hands, he grabbed the bowel as far up as he could, cutting just above his hand. He pulled the bowel out, firmly grasping it to keep any fecal matter from falling out and contaminating the meat. He pulled at it with one hand and used the other to loosen the organs from the abdominal wall until they all fell out of the cavity and onto the ground. The last thing to do was the cut the windpipe and the dressing would be complete. He reached up into the ribcage and took hold of the windpipe, cutting it as far up as he could. With it severed, gravity pulled the remaining organs out of the body of the deer into a pile. Damien sat down next to a nearby tree to rest his muscles for a minute and let the blood dry before hoisting the body onto his shoulders to head back to camp.
When Damien arrived back at the camp, the sun was beginning to sink below the tree line. He hung the deer from the side of the rock alongside his supplies, so that wolves couldn’t get to it while he was sleeping. Bern snorted at him as he walked back from hanging the deer. “Hello Bern, how was your day?” He said, chuckling, and rubbing between his eyes. He scooped another few spoonfuls of lentils onto the lid of the pot and built a fire to warm them for his dinner. While it heated, he sat down next to Bern, who laid his head on Damien’s lap. As he stroked Bern between his shoulder blades, he recounted the tale of his hunt. He knew Bern couldn’t understand him, but he felt closer to him just by talking, and he didn’t know what else to talk about. When his lentils were warmed, he moved closer to the fire to eat, using another piece of bread as a spoon. He heard several wolves howling, from the direction that he’d killed the deer. Likely they had found the remains of his prey and had whipped themselves into a frenzy. He finished his dinner, washed his pot lid with some snow, refilled his water skin again, and crawled into his tent for the night.
His routine was to have a day of hunting, and then a day of rest. Luck was on his side on this trip, and of the three weeks he’d spent in the mountains, he’d only come home empty handed on two hunting trips. This had resulted in a staggering nine deer to take home. It would be a load for Bern, and Damien would have to help him, but they could do it. This would easily fill two more of his smokehouses, and while it wouldn’t be the most prepared he’d been for winter, it would see them through to the spring. After garnering his fourth kill, which was the most Bern could carry on his back, Damien had begun working on a sled. It was rudimentary, constructed somewhat haphazardly of sticks and rope he made from strips of young birch bark, but it would get the carcasses home. Not including the first deer he’d killed, which had sustained him for the past three weeks, he had eight in total. Four, Bern would carry, and the other four, he would pull on the sled. On the first day of the fourth week, Damien loaded all of his supplies, what was left anyway, back onto the saddle. He loaded the deer into Berns back and the sled, and hooked the sled to a harness he’d quickly fashioned out of the hide of his first buck. “All done, ready to go home Bern?” Bern didn’t know a lot of words, but he knew mountains, and he knew home. He enjoyed being in the mountains, being free to roam, but it was also a lot of work. When he heard Damien say the word home, he grunted excitedly. Damien laughed and rubbed under his chin. “I’ll take that a yes. Let’s get to it then boy.”
With Bern loaded down with deer and pulling the sled, Damien had no choice but to walk alongside him. He didn’t mind, it was just going to take some extra time. Luckily coming out of the mountains was mostly downhill. It took about fifteen minutes to reach the mountain pass, and they began their descent. Downhill had its own share of complications, especially for a seven-hundred pound reindeer pulling and carrying a combined eight-hundred pounds of hide, bone, and venison. In addition, three weeks later in the winter meant it was that much colder. Icy spots had begun to form on the rocks, not always easily seen before stepping on them. These spots in addition to the gravelly nature of the mountain pass made slipping and falling a very real possibility, and with most of the pass paralleling this crevice or that ravine, slipping usually had lethal consequences. The first half of the journey went smoothly, a few slips and skids, but nothing worrying. The second half however, proved to be more difficult. Could be that Damien had been lulled into a false sense of security. Either by the fact that the first half of the pass had gone smoothly, or by the the less steep nature of the bottom half. Damien wasn’t one to become overconfident or lose focus, but just a few hundred yards short of reentering the forest at the foot of the mountain, Damien experienced the worst moment of his life. Coming around a corner in the pass, sheer cliff face to the right and a deep ravine to the left, Bern’s back leg hit a patch of ice and slid. Bern was able to keep himself upright, but the sled had different plans. The patch of ice was large enough to send it careening on its own, straight over the ledge and into the ravine. It was hanging from Bern and threatening to pull him down with it. Damien leapt to action as fast as he could, grabbing Berns reins and holding him steady. He talked to him, telling him to hold on. Bern couldn’t understand most of what Damien was saying, but he was frightened, and his master speaking calmly to him helped him to stay calm too. “Just stay put Bern, hold on, it’s all going to be okay.” Damien peered around the beast and saw that the sled was completely over the side of the ravine, there was no saving it. It was now a matter of not losing both of them. He thought for a minute, as Bern’s legs grew weaker. He started to snort in discomfort at first and then pain. He couldn’t hold on much longer. He began to slide backwards, his legs beginning to give in to weakness. Just as he was about to go over the edge, Damien slipped his hatchet out of the sheath and leapt toward the ravine, bringing the blade down into the stone where the leather straps connected the sled to Berns harness. The sled and all four deer attached to it plummeted into the darkness below, but Bern and Damien were safe. Terrified and exhausted, Bern wanted nothing more than to lie down. As he started to settle, Damien pulled at his reins. “Sorry boy, we can’t stop here, he have to get to the bottom.” As he pulled as hard as he could on Berns reins, the beast resisted. Damien gave it his all, and the strain caused him to break a little. He shouted at Bern, “No, you big dumb beast, we can’t stay here!” Immediately the guilt washed over him like freezing water as Bern began to whimper, leaving Damien in a cold sweat. He knew Bern hadn’t understood his words, but it was obvious that he’d gleaned some meaning from his tone of voice. He could only imagine what was going through Bern’s head, his every instinct telling him to do one thing, while his master and great protector was telling him to do the opposite. Damien hated himself for putting Bern in this position, but he had no choice. He leaned back on the reins, pulling with all his strength, until finally, Bern stopped resisting and slowly trod the last of the mountain pass, putting it behind them for another winter. They were only a few hours from home now and sundown was still a ways away, so Damien stopped and they both took a short rest to recover from the tragedy they’d experienced.
After about an hour, Damien felt reenergized, and Bern seemed to be feeling a little better as well. They started through the woods toward home, and the first couple of hours was uneventful, which Damien appreciated with every fiber of his being. About halfway home, Damien heard a guttural lowing. He diverted, following the sound to its source. He found, entangled in a web of thick briars, thorns the size of his thumb, the only reindeer he’d ever seen that was larger than Bern. It was sleek white all over, except for a handful of gray spots in its back. They weren’t visible currently, but Damien was well aware of similar spots on Bern’s back, and he wondered. The creature let out another fierce cry, pulling Damien back into the situation. He walked over to the beast slowly, trying not to startle it. He watched it as he moved closer. It seemed to be going through a cycle of trying to get loose, cutting itself on the thorns, and then becoming still again due to the pain. Damien slowly drew his hatchet out of its sheath and the beast started to stomp the ground, causing the thorns to dig in further. It began to bleed visibly and he could tell it was in agony. He held up a hand and looked away from the beast, inching forward without looking. When he could feel the reindeers hot breath on his hand, he stopped and waited. A few moments later he felt the wet tongue of the reindeer licking his palm. He looked at the beast and slowly placed his hand between its eyes, rubbing it as he often did to comfort Bern. When it had calmed down, he hacked one of the briars with his hatchet. The beast lost all composure once again, causing the thorns to tear even more deeply into its flesh. He tried once again to calm the beast, but the moment he severed another briar, the cycle repeated. He quickly realized that the beast was going to kill itself long before he could manage to get it unstuck. He knew his only option was mercy, a quick kill to put the poor thing out of its misery. He calmed it a third time, and began to speak to it. While rubbing under its chin, “Peace my friend. I know you don’t understand my words, but perhaps the cadence of my voice will convey some sort of meaning. There is only one way out of this for us. I am loathe to kill such a majestic beast such as yourself, especially when it is of no contest or challenge. Just know that your sacrifice will not be made in vain, your death will help many. May God have mercy on me for what I am about to do.” He took his hunting knife from his hip, bringing it around swiftly, he began to weep and drove it straight into the heart of the beast. It whimpered but for moment, and then it was gone. “Peace to you my friend, and God be with ye always.” He laid his forehead onto the soft spot between its eyes and he cried for it. He stayed with the creature for several minutes. As the sun was starting to creep down behind the trees, he hacked away the briars that had imprisoned the reindeer. In the process he managed to step on one of the thorns. It went straight through his boot and into his foot, where it broke off. He groaned loudly in pain, but he had more important things to worry about currently, so he ignored it. He quickly and painfully fashioned another rudimentary sled for the reindeers body. It was after dark by the time they started moving toward home. He pulled out his lantern, having just enough fuel to last through the last part of their journey. Making as much haste as they could, they hurried home, arriving back at the cabin just as the lanterns flame burned out.
As they approached the cabin, Landon came running out to meet them. “Damien! Damien! You’re back, welcome!”
“Thank you Landon. It’s good to be home.” Talking was a struggle for Damien. Now that he was home he started to realize just how hot he was, despite being out in the frigid cold. He was also extremely thirsty. Also his foot hurt far more than thought it should. Landon helped him inside and into a chair, where he removed his boots. The one the thorn had punctured as all but ruined, full of blood and a big hole. After Landon pulled off his boots, Damien laid down on the bed and rasped “I need to eat something Landon, please can you bring me some bread.”
“Of course Damien, whatever you need.”
Landon went and got some bread, but when he came back, Damien was already fast asleep. He tried to wake him but he couldn’t. He went back outside and took care of Bern, unloading him and putting him back in his stall. Then he went to bed. He awoke the next morning and made breakfast. He assumed that if Damien had been hungry last night, he would be ravenous now. He took a large plate into Damien’s room and offered it to him, but he was unable to wake him still. The boy looked Damien over and at first he couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong. Then he looked at Damien’s feet and one of them, the one with the thorn in it, was swollen and red. He observed the foot closely and found the thorn sticking out of the bottom. He grasped it with his fingers and pulled at it. At first he wasn’t sure if he would be able to remove it, but just as we was about to give up, it popped out, bloody pus running out after it. It smelled horrible, worse than a tannery. He was frightened that Damien was going to die, and so he ran as quickly as he could to fetch Myra from the tavern. She came at once and cleaned Damien’s wound.
A few days later, when the wound had still not begun to heal, she wrote a letter and told Landon to take Bern and ride to the next town over and deliver the letter to the barber surgeon. The surgeon arrived at Damien’s house two days later. He cleaned and dressed the wound again, and gave Damien some medicine, but after a week of no improvement, there was only one option left. He went to Myra and told her, “It is as you feared my dear, either he loses the foot, or he loses his life. I hope this hunt was worth it because either way, it was his last.”
