Golden Leaf Pages Vol I: The Beginning

Cold. I remember the still snow still glistening as it fell in the crystalline air. The moon as it peaked among the clouds above bringing a gleaming light to my world below. The forest was dead. No birds stirred from their nests, no creatures disturbed. None but one. My mark had eluded me so for many seasons. 

"Patience," my father had said long ago. "Patience is the true virtue of the hunter." 

It was true. All this time, all this preparing has led me to this time. Having left the rolling hills of Ered Luin, I find myself in the frost crowned peaks of the Misty Mountains. How many nights spent here in the cold I will not know now. The winter itself is numb to me. My body so stiff as I tread on the snow. Vision flickered along the floor and icy trees for sign of track. Bow groaning as I nocked an arrow, and all the while my cloak adding weight with the blanket of powder that continued to fall. 

The moon died behind the clouds then. Utter darkness took its place as I lost sight. The rushing of the wind was suddenly upon me as I fired into the black. A gutteral howl broke the calm as my mark thought to use the shadow as cover. Drawing my bow behind me, I unsheathed my blades as the moon revived. Dread overtook me as I saw my quarry for the first time. 

From the size of the footprints and damage it makes, I had thought it fairly large and dangerous. How a fool I was for not seeing the familiar destruction of this beast's forebears. A Stonehoof. Four times the size of its kin with a shimmering black hide, the creature towered my own stature. Its tusks broad and glaring white as the snow. Its eyes, a bloody crimson. The arrow I had let fly into its back to rest with a nest of hunters before mine. Many it seems, were to be after its hide or for their own protection. This was a beast that felt war, however. It charged.

Were the sound to pierce my ears any louder, I would have mistaken the hulking mass to be death as an avalanche. Under the weight of my cloak, I would not have dodged; Neither could the beast see when I threw it at him. Free of burden I leapt over the confused monster. Mid-flight I found myself to estimate the number of arrows, the number of hunters slain, to this creature as I tried to cut into the blackened leather. I made a slice, but no blood. The cold and pain had made this mark a formidable one. as I landed, drawing breath and planning my next move, a paled bleating echoed in front of me. One of the larger mountain goats had crossed paths with the Stonehoof that I did not see until the brute had charged. His left leg was sprained and lying in the cold trying to bury it to heal. The snapping of branches returned my attention to the body of dark that had turned to also notice the sound. I latched my blades to my side again and drew bow and arrow. Three more flew to the beast, each hitting its sides. The hollow noise of pain began to shift its course to me, as I guided it away from the goat. 

So cold. I was running upwards towards the higher moor. The Brunien snaked its way to my right as I made my way up the mountain's spine. My breath panicked as my ear picked up the hoofs crashing through the snow. I used my hearing as a way to track, not to waste time looking back. I knew it was close and enraged, but how it managed to still charge with so many arrows I cannot say. I pressed my way up the slipping rock, finally reaching steady ground. Who was the hunted now?

Hiding behind the darkened bark of the trees here, I could not stop my breath. It was looking for me as I heard its heated breath melt snow amongst the closer brush. I stood a little ways from the cliffside and the river below. My options limited.I drew my bow again for another three arrows. The string groaned again from the cold and the beast answered. I rushed from my hiding spot and let loose my barbs. 

They missed. Piercing the tree, I realized my error. Just as the fell creature rammed me I latched onto his tusks, pulling his head into the slippery rock. Such a cold breeze. Biting me as we both fell, I worried for the mountain goat still behind. It will carry on, surely. I know I will have some peace alongside this great animal. I have carried my mark. The last thing now was the crashing of the ice under the great weight of the Stonehoof. I fainted beneath the unforgiving frozen water and breathed.

Something pulled my body to shore beside my mark, which had also floated down with me, half of its mass lay on the icy banks. Whatever had brought me from my grave laid atop of me, its shocking warmth breeding life into me again. Still, I could not open my eyes until the gleam of morning when my strength would return. 

A bleating awoke me, followed by the nibbling of a mouth along my matted hair. Shocked to be alive, I sat up from the dirt nest. There rested the mountain goat, still with its sprained leg. If not the grace of my ancestors, than this goat who rescued me from my own demise. Its coal black eyes beamed at me with appreciation I felt. Taking a few more breaths, I looked over to see my mark dead, my blade still stuck in its soft chest as we fell off the cliff. A weak smile crept over my face as I tried to stand, but was denied the power to rise. It would be a few days before both of us would be able to carry the beast down to the Valley.