Every evening the deer travelled this trail, but these she never hunted for they were too close to the settlement. As her father had warned her during her training, ‘When you are fit and strong, hunt far from home. You never know when disaster may strike - a sudden blizzard, or a lame leg — and you may come to need the meat you allowed to live. But hunt within sight of the settlement and you will drive the game far from you.’ He had been a good man and a better father, until the wasting disease hit him. It had been hard watching his strength melt from his bones, despite all his wife’s skills. As the end drew near Arian’s mother prepared him a goblet of wine mixed with foxglove. He had died peacefully and the two women had wept together beside his corpse. Arian’s mind dwelt on that image as she ran - and she did not see the slender wire, taut across her path. Hitting it with her lead leg, she tumbled to the trail and instantly three men raced from the trees.
