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been long and hard, and his stomach was as empty as the meager reserve of provisions they had left. If they did not get some meat soon they would be in trouble; they had almost nothing left with which to barter and they had already run out of grain a few weeks ago. The mountains were unforgiving. They were beautiful but cruel and merciless, and learning to survive was essential—that was a maxim Komir knew well. He checked the direction of the wind to make sure he was hiding facing into it. That way, the animals that came out of the forest would not be able to detect him but he could detect them. Nothing worse than being surprised by a gray bear.
    He inhaled deeply, trying to pick up the scent of the deer on the breeze blowing in his direction. The delicate art of hunting required skills thoroughly committed to memory—and extreme patience, as his father had repeatedly reminded him on each and every one of the countless hunts they’d been on. He picked up the hunting bow resting at his side and verified that it was in perfect condition. All he could do now was to wait in silence for the precious catch.
    After an hour, he finally picked up on the presence of the prey for which he had been lying in wait. Ever so carefully, without making the slightest sound, he stretched his neck and peered out over the undergrowth from where he was hiding.
    There it was! A magnificent, large deer was approaching. Timidly. Cautiously.
    To the east, at the edge of the forest, he noticed a silhouette moving stealthily, expertly directing the skittish animal toward Komir.
    He mentally prepared for the shot. He could not miss; they needed this meat.
    He breathed in, filled his lungs, and drew back the arrow, pulling his right hand to his cheek in a quick, trained movement. He took careful aim, looking for the heart, then waited an instant for the right moment.
    He exhaled.
    The arrow released.
    The unsuspecting animal collapsed, the arrow stuck in its heart—dying almost instantly.
    Komir stood up from his hiding place, shouting with joy.
    “Great shot, Son!” Ulis congratulated him as he came running out of the forest. The expert hunter was carrying a bow in one hand, a leather bag and quiver filled with arrows slung on his back. He was dressed in his typical hunting attire: a doublet with tanned leather pants, both dyed a dark green. On his feet he wore lightweight, weather-beaten leather boots. Komir never remembered having seeing his father dressed any other way—whether in spring, summer, or the dead of winter. As was customary for him when hunting, Ulis had covered his face and hair with mud to blend in better with the underbrush and not draw the attention of his prey. Komir looked at his own clothes and realized he was dressed identically, right up to the same mud stains and the same dirty face. He couldn’t help but smile.
    “Thank you, Father. You taught me well, even though I’m not half the expert hunter you are, nor do I think I will ever be. I wouldn’t have been able to find the deer’s tracks in the ravine this morning. It’s good you don’t miss a thing. You’re like a two-legged hunting dog!” he laughed admiringly.
    “I wish! I almost lost the tracks on two different occasions. I have to admit it was more luck than skill that I was able to find them again.”
    “I doubt that very much. I don’t know how you did it this time but you’ll have to teach me that. It’s one of your most extraordinary tricks.”
    “Soon there’ll be nothing left for me to teach you, Son. You learn quickly—very quickly,” Ulis answered with a smile and an expression of pure affection.
    “I’m sure you still have a lot of secrets to tell me,” replied Komir, chuckling.
    “Well, your mother will be very happy today; we’ll be returning with an excellent catch. Now we’ll have meat for quite some time. A good day of hunting, Son. Let’s give thanks to Ikzuge, our Goddess of the Sun and Protectress for her blessing. There’s