One, the raspy cord of my bowstring.
I moved my hand to the earth.Two, wet, mushy ground.
Three,I touched a crawling vine to my left,slick but fuzzy leaves.
Next, I did sounds.
One, the thumping of my heart. Two, the rhythmic, deep croaks of the chitter bugs. Three, a branch snapping—
Breath hitching, my eyes flew open and I froze, my fingertips coming to my arrow. I stayed perfectly still as I scanned the dark forest in front of me without moving my neck.
I waited for long moments, listening for anything big enough that could snap a branch, but heard nothing. Still, I was uneasy. Glancing back to the quiet burrow, I contemplated leaving for the night, but I knew that if I didn’t make my quota, I wouldn’t eat. My last meal had been yesterday morning and it had only been a shriveled root my neighbor, Bard, had given me out of pity.
If I snagged one grounder, I could get a bowl of thin soup from the kitchens. Two would get me herb bread, a small chunk of boiledkinnumeat,anda bowl of broth soup.
Mouth watering, I stayed and waited.
My patience paid off. Even I was surprised when I finally heard the telltale signs of a grounder shuffling its way to the surface with its claws.
Heart pounding, I lifted my bow, effortlessly and silently sliding my arrow into place. The raspy cord of my bowstring pressed into my cheek as I leveled it and steadied it against me.
The grounder appeared, its black head poking through the burrow. The sliver of moonlight gleamed off its three beady, black eyes and I used that reflection to guide my shot. I waited only a moment more, a moment for the grounder to heave its small body out, before I released my arrow.
The shot was clean. It hit. My lips pressed together as I lowered my arm, a dull sense of relief flowing through me.
Unfurling my body to stand, I realized my legs were numb and I winced, aching from the position I’d maintained for the majority of the night. I approached the grounder slowly, snagged my arrow from its head, and hefted it up.
I looked into the burrow and started, my fingers gripping my arrow tighter, my breath quickening.
Three eyes were looking back at me from the darkness. Another grounder. It stared, unmoving from its home, frozen.
I can have meat and bread tonight, I thought, my arrow twitching in my hand.
But I hesitated. I looked at this creature, staring up at me from the ground, and I suddenly wanted to cry. I’d thought that grounders were solitary creatures, creatures like me.
My stomach growled but the noise didn’t scare the grounder away. Instead, it was me that looked away. I had one dead grounder. It would get me soup and, knowing from experience, I could survive on that.
I turned away, my footsteps squelching into the wet earth. Returning to my spot, I picked up my bow, looping it through my arm and around my shoulder, and my dark lantern.
I looked back at the darkened burrow just once. Then I left the forest.
When I returned to my village, I waited for the guard to open the gates and then I veered left, towards Grigg’s home. It wasn’t far from the entrance of the village, but it was guarded, considering Grigg had the vast majority of the village’s supply of credits. I ignored the way the guards looked at the dead grounder hanging from my grip and knocked once on Grigg’s door.
When I heard him call out inside, I entered. The older man was seated behind a table, looking over curls of parchment, scribbling notes. I’d often wondered if Grigg had become the village’s leader just because he was one of the only villagers that knew how to write our language and read it.
“Nelle,” he greeted when I walked inside. It was warm in the house, no cracks in the walls. Grigg’s attention returned to his parchment. “You brought me a grounder, I see.”
“Yes.”
“Only one?” he asked, his lips tight when his gaze returned to me.
“There were no others,” I lied. “It took me all night to get this one.”
“Kier brought me three,” Grigg returned, leaning back in his padded chair. “And Tyon brought four.”
My fingers grasped my arrow tighter. The weight of the dead grounder suddenly felt very heavy. I merely hefted it onto the table and said, “My credit.”
Grigg glanced down at the grounder disapprovingly and nudged his parchments out of the way so its black, sticky blood wouldn’t get on them.
