Nomay lingered at the entrance of the study, shifting her weight uneasily. She had just finished recounting Erik's actions to Lord Chamber, describing the boy's curiosity and the small, but unsettling, incident. Though she was uncomfortable, she remained composed, bowing low before taking her leave.
"Very well, Nomay," Vindor said, his voice calm. "Thank you for bringing this to me."
Nomay inclined her head again, then quietly closed the study door behind her, leaving Vindor alone with his thoughts. He remained seated for some time, staring at the papers on his desk yet seeing none of them.
Later that night, Vindor joined Celia in their bed chamber. Candlelight flickered softly across the walls as he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes thoughtful. "Celia," he began, voice quiet but firm.
Celia turned to him, curious and concerned. "What is it?"
"I have decided to take the boys hunting."
Celia's eyes softened. "Are your sure? Erik is still so young. I am sure Oliver would learn a lot, but..."
"Erik is smart, even if he can't understand, he will still learn from seeing. I intend to teach him."
"All right. When will you be leaving?"
"I will wait until the day after tomorrow, once the ground has thawed enough to make the journey safe," he replied. "Until then, I'll have everything prepared. The men will ready provisions and equipment, and we'll be ready to set out at first light."
A thin layer of snow still blanketed the grounds, sparkling under the pale moonlight through the window.
At the break of dawn, Vindor stepped outside, pressing the snow flat under his boots with each measured step before returning inside to the warmth of the fire. For three days, he had checked the grounds, testing to see if the frost had broken through, until he was certain the earth would bear the weight of horse and foot.
That morning, the boys awoke to the bustle of preparations behind the manor. Oliver and Erik were bundled in thick winter coats and sturdy boots, the chill of the early hour nipping at their cheeks. In the foyer, their nannies and Celia fussed over the final adjustments; tightening coats, buckling boots, making sure scarves were secure, while the boys' eyes darted to the commotion outside.
Beyond the backdoor, the hunting party was gathering: guards checking weapons, arranging tools, and packing provisions and bags for the journey. Vindor himself moved among them, inspecting the supplies and giving quiet instructions with precise, practiced movements. The crisp morning air carried the scent of pine and frost, mingling with the faint smoke from the manor's chimneys. Both boys watched intently, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension tightening in Oliver's chest, though Erik was more confused than anything.
Their mother, Celia, adjusted Erik's scarf one last time and hugged them both, kissing each on the cheek as she sent them off. "Listen to your father and be safe. I love you both."
As they opened the door, the cold air rushed in, colliding with the warm currents from the fireplace. The boys tread carefully toward their father as the door clicked shut behind them. Vindor nodded at the children, his expression calm but firm. "Stay close. Observe, learn, and follow instructions. Do not wander," he instructed.
With that, they stepped into the snow, the crunch of their boots punctuating the morning silence. Oliver stayed beside Erik, moving cautiously, his eyes flicking nervously to the trees and the shifting shadows. Though timid by nature, he kept a protective hand near his younger brother, ready to help if Erik stumbled. Erik's wide eyes drank in the manor grounds dusted in white, the forest looming beyond like a wall of dark green.
The guards moved around them, securing packs and checking that every tool, weapon, and provision was in order. Erik's gaze darted from one object to another: the sharpness of knives, the intricate design of traps, the woven bags filled with carefully packed food. His small fingers itched to touch, to examine, but he knew better than to interfere.
Oliver, sensing Erik's curiosity, leaned closer and whispered, "Don't touch anything yet… Father will show you." His voice was quiet, almost shy, but firm enough to keep Erik on track.
Erik nodded, and before they knew it, they were beyond the estate's walls. Out here lay the tall grass field, just before the forest. There was a trail, somewhat, as it was common for Vindor to go hunting in the woods for sport.
They walked for some time, avoiding known obstacles, cliffs, and dead-ends. Erik grew tired after a while, prompting his father to lift him onto his shoulders, the boy's small hands gripping Vindor's head for balance.
After nearly forty minutes, Vindor froze and raised a hand. Ahead, through the pale winter light filtering between the trees, a deer grazed cautiously at the edge of a clearing, its breath misting in the cold air. Its fur blended with the muted browns and whites of the snow-dusted forest floor.
Vindor crouched slightly, taking Erik off his shoulders and placing him on the ground beside him, motioning for the group to do the same. Everyone crouched. "Watch closely," he said. "Notice how it moves, how it senses the world. See its ears, its posture, its steps."
The boys mirrored his movements, observing silently. Erik leaned forward on his father's shoulders, eyes scanning the deer's every motion, while Oliver pressed against the snow, careful not to disturb it.
Vindor knelt and reached for the crossbows they had brought, checking the strings and bolts. He handed one to Oliver. "Keep it steady," he instructed. "Aim carefully, but do not release until I give the word."
"Patience," Vindor whispered. "Wait. Watch. Every movement counts." The deer lifted its head, sniffing the air, then shifted slightly. Vindor repositioned Oliver's crossbow, aiming it for him. "Good. Is your finger on the trigger?" he whispered.
"Yes, father." Oliver whispered back.
"All right, pull the trigger."
The crossbow fired, the bolt it had thrown piercing through the air and grazing the animal's nape. The sight of shot missing prompted the men to break out into light laughter. "You almost had it, Lord Chamber."
Vindor responded in laughter as well. "Yes, yes, I missed. You did good, though, Oliver." He patted his son on the back, carefully taking back the crossbow. Oliver still felt the sensation of having pulled the trigger and grazing the deer's nape, was smiling gleefully.
They would go hunting a few more times throughout the winter, learning all sorts, like the wildlife that inhabited the forest and the kinds of berries that were edible or not. As the winter season approached its third month, the temperature actually became warmer to the point that the snow had begun to fade completely. Still, lingered a chill in the air, but the sun was bright to shine.
This would be their seventh time going hunting, with Vindor opting to catch game rather than killing.
"Throw it over!" Thompson blurted, at which another guard, Pall, threw the rope over the thick branch.
"Watch closely, boys," Vindor began to explain. "this is a kind of trap, called a snare. When an animal steps into the rope there, trying to get the bait we will lay out, it will be caught by its leg and pulled up. It won't be able to escape then."
They set up a handful of these traps, scattered across a small area of the forest before returning home. It wasn't until the next day that they returned to check on the traps, with a few of them being empty, with the food having been taken, but two having snagged something.
The boys trailed close behind their father and the guards as they approached the first snare. The rope hung taut, swaying slightly with the weight of something struggling against it. A rabbit dangled helplessly, its white-flecked fur blending with the thinning snow, eyes wide with panic.
Oliver drew back at the sight, clutching Vindor's cloak, while Erik leaned forward on his toes, staring hard at the writhing creature.
Vindor crouched low, his expression calm as he inspected the catch. "A snow hare," he said, more for the boys than the men. He reached into his satchel, drew a small blade, and with one swift, practiced motion ended the animal's struggle. Oliver flinched, but Erik did not move. His eyes followed every precise step as his father wrapped the hare in cloth and tucked it into the provisions bag.
"That will make for supper tonight," one of the guards remarked with a grin.
They moved on to the second snare. The rope was still in place, twisted awkwardly around the branch, but the loop hung empty. Snow was churned and scattered beneath it, and faint drops of blood marked the ground before fading into the underbrush.
"It fought free," Vindor muttered, crouching to study the tracks. "Larger than a hare, smaller than a stag. Fox, perhaps."
The men exchanged a few quiet words, but Vindor rose with a short wave of his hand. "It is gone now. We'll set more later. Come."
The boys followed, Erik glancing back once more at the half-broken trail of prints vanishing into the forest shadows.
Several weeks later, the hunting party set out again, the morning bright though still cold, the ground patched with snow and brown earth alike. Vindor carried a bow this time, Oliver walking close at his side, eager but still hesitant, while Erik bounded along beside him, tugging at Oliver's sleeve when his curiosity ran ahead of his patience.
They moved deeper into the forest than before, silence broken only by the crunch of boots and the occasional bird darting from branch to branch. Vindor raised his hand once, signaling stillness, and the men spread out in quiet preparation. A stag had been spotted, tall and lean, feeding near the edge of a grove.
While the guards began to circle, Vindor crouched with the boys, pointing softly toward the animal. Erik's gaze lingered, not on the stag, but beyond.
Something moved.
Among the trees where the shadows clung thickest, a figure stood still. Not a guard. Not any man he knew. Erik squinted, his breath caught in his chest. He saw slitted eyes, a monstrous and hungry gaze that looked at him like the starving to a warm meal. It was the impression of a woman, though her features were too far, too blurred by the short distance and shadows to tell, but those eyes were seen clearly.
She did not move. She only watched.
Erik tugged once at Oliver's sleeve. Oliver shushed him, eyes fixed on the stag, not even glancing. Erik hesitated, then looked again.
The figure was gone.
Only trees, only shadow. The movement of something nearby was heard by one of the guards who drew his blade quietly. Erik saw the man turn his head into the direction he saw the creature.
His small hand curled into his scarf, a faint chill prickling at the back of his neck.
All else seemed to fade away, as later that night, the child, as young as he was, remained still and silent as he stared up at the ceiling of his room. The image of that unknown individual, watching him in the forest remained seared upon his eyelids. He could not sleep, only realizing until morning that he had lost consciousness, and yet it seemed as though only moments had passed before he realized the sun was coming through the curtains.
The days continued on as normal for all others, but for Erik, he was experiencing something new for the first time. Some children would tell of what they saw, perhaps cry and come to fear the forest, but Erik, no, he only grew curious.