I shifted back to human form, fur shifting to human clothing made from the fur and leather of our prey and surveyed our work. The others were also shifting, moving to their kills with the practiced efficiency of wolves who'd hunted together since boyhood.
Then I heard Torin curse, sharp and pained.
I was moving before the sound finished, crossing the frozen grass in long strides. Torin was on his knees beside his kill, blood streaming down his forearm where the buck's antler had caught him—a ragged tear that went deep into muscle.
"Got careless," he said through gritted teeth. "Thought it was already gone when I moved in to finish it. Bastard had one last fight in him."
"Daska!" I called, and the big bear was already there, his human form not much smaller than his bear one, dropping to his knees beside Torin with his healer's pack already open. I watched him work for a few moments. There was something about Daska in his element that always settled something restless in me. I had seen those enormous hands crack skulls in bear form, so watching him at his healing work always amused me somewhat.
"Deep, but clean. Missed the tendon."
"Doesn't feel like it missed anything," Torin hissed.
"That's because you've got the pain tolerance of a newborn pup," Daska said mildly, and Torin barked a laugh despite himself. Daska pulled a leather pouch of dried herbs from his pack, then set about cleaning the wound with water from his skin, packing it with dried yarrow and moss, binding it tight with strips of soft leather. His movements were sure and unhurried, each one deliberate, and I watched the tension drain from Torin's shoulders as the healer worked.
That was Daska's gift. Not just the knowledge of herbs and poultices, though he had more of that than anyone I'd everknown. It was the calm he carried with him, solid as bedrock. You could be bleeding out in a ditch and Daska would kneel beside you and make you feel like the world had slowed down just enough to set things right.
"Keep it dry tonight," Daska said, tying off the last strip. “Try not to use it too much. I’d advise sleeping human form tonight, then shifting tomorrow to speed up the healing process.”
I turned to the others, happy the wound wasn’t serious. It was a decent few days travel back to the camp, especially laden with our kills. Having one of our hunting party seriously wounded would have been unfortunate.
"Jarak, Miska, you take those two over there, Fen, help me with this one. We need to work fast before that storm hits."
We fell into the rhythm of simple butchery: opening bellies, removing organs, sectioning the best cuts for transport. It was brutal work, bloody and exhausting, but necessary. Meat this fresh wouldn't last long without proper smoking, and we had four carcasses to process before the weather turned. Certain offal and organs were discarded, and the blood of the animals was allowed to drain into the earth below, returning their spirits to the Great Mother. Its spirit would return to her sacred realm, drink from the healing waters and be reborn again when spring returned to the earth. I murmured the proper words of thanks as I cut into the carcass, thanking the animal’s spirit for its sacrifice.
Daska finished with Torin's arm and came to help with my buck. He was still in human form, but even without the bear's strength he was broader and more heavily muscled than any of us. He lifted the hindquarters like they weighed nothing.
"Nice hunt," he said, grinning at me. "Thought for a second there you were going to let that old buck get away."
I snorted. "Please. I had him the whole time."
"Sure you did. That's why you needed me to cut him off."
"I washerdinghim toward you. Strategy."
Daska laughed, the sound warm and familiar. "Right. Strategy. That's what we're calling it now."
I grinned and kept working, the easy banter settling something in my chest. This—this was pack. Brotherhood. The kind of bond that didn't need words to be solid.
"How's Torin's arm?" I asked after a moment.
"Deep, but not dangerous. He'll be fine in a few days as long as he keeps it clean and doesn't do anything stupid." Daska glanced over to where Torin was helping Jarak despite the injury. "So probably infected by tomorrow."
I laughed. "Probably."
We worked in comfortable silence for a while, hands moving through familiar motions. Daska was efficient—precise in a way that came from years of training as a healer, but strong enough to handle the heavy work without breaking stride.
"Think we can get all four processed before dark?" he asked.
I glanced at the sky. Heavy clouds rolling in from the north with the promise of heavy rain. "We'll have to. That storm's going to hit hard. We’ll need shelter and to avoid the river valleys."
"There's a cave," Daska said, nodding toward the hillside behind us. "Saw it on the way in. Should be big enough for all of us if we need shelter."
"Check it," I said. "Make sure it's stable and empty, with good air flow. We'll need somewhere to smoke the meat regardless."
He nodded and moved off, and I turned back to the carcass, my hands red with blood and my breath steaming in the cold air.
Four deer. Good hunt. Everyone safe.
