The Wolf and the Unicorn

Author’s foreword:  I’m using a journal format for most of the travel time until we get back to the main story.  (next chapter probably)  Any significant events will be told the way I always do, don’t worry guys.

Three weeks.  Twenty one days.  That’s how long I’ve been walking through this tundra wasteland.  The sound of crunching snow is just grating on my ears after this long, and it is only broken by the noises of my breathing or the occasional times I mutter to myself.  I haven’t even seen a sentient creature in nearly 16 days, and that was a griffin patrol in the distance.  They didn’t have the heart to chase me further into the tundra.

                I’ve been trying to supplement the meager amounts of food I have left with anything that I can scavenge or hunt, but besides the occasional rabbit or small game, the odds of finding serious food under feet of snow are pretty grim.  The temperatures have been crisp but not harshly cold.  That will change soon though, as I am nearing a mountain range.  That will be a challenge to traverse, but if I’m going to do this, it has to be done.

Day thirty seven.  The climb through the mountains has been hard.  The temperatures are dropping fast, and I’m not sure how I can get out of here.  I’ll keep pushing on, as the only choice is to freeze.  Thankfully, the warm weather gear that I carried with me has fared well through all the jostling and climbing.  The wool cloak over my snow gear helps to hold what little heat I have left.  I can’t wait to get off this damn mountain.

                Day forty.   My pack ripped on an outcropping yesterday.  I had no idea that I was losing the last of my food over the past few miles.   After finding a crevice to shelter myself from the wind, I tore through the remains of my main pack to take stock of what was left.   If I ration carefully, there is enough to last me a wonderful two days before I have to eat snow.  There really isn’t any nutrition in that though.  Hollow calories and all that.  I’ll keep a sharp eye out for some kind of food.  Any kind would do really.  At the rate I burn energy, I don’t think the rule of 3 will apply for survival here.  Normally, it is 3 minutes without air, 3 days without water, and 3 weeks without food.  In these temperatures, I doubt I could last a week.  If someone finds me or this journal, tell Luna that I’m sorry.

                Fucking day forty two.  I am cold and hungry.

Small puffs of steam swirled around my head in the frozen air, whipped into a miniature tornado from the icy wind that was buffeting my battered frame.  Small icicles hung from the fur around my muzzle, flash frozen moisture from my breath.  Thankfully, with the woolen cloak pulled over my head, along with the heavily padded cold weather gear, I was somewhat warm, albeit hungry.  Of course, that brings me to what I am looking at now.

                In the distance, there was a nearly pony sized blob of white moving against the swirling snow.  Unless this crazy world had yetis, there was only one thing that it could be at this altitude.  Dinner.   Gingerly, I kneeled down behind an outcropping, the crisp snow crunching as I sunk into it slightly.  Slow, gentle movements were the order of the day as I slipped a fabric wrapped bundle off my shoulders.  A few twisting motions and the muzzle of my rifle slid out of the material.  Two soft popping noises soon followed as the caps sealing the scope from the weather were pushed open.

                Finally, I could settle the rifle into my shoulder, enjoying the sensation of familiarity that I had missed for the last several weeks.  After an incident with a griffin patrol, I kept the rifle ready, just in case.  With a round in the chamber, all I needed to do was find my dinner…er… target.  The twisting winds would be a challenge for this shot, but it was do or die.  My fingers quickly found the bulge on top of the scope, and slowly twisted the cat tail to make the image I saw get clearer.  Closer.  The blur of moving snow quickly resolved itself into a male dall sheep with a full curl pair of horns.  Beautiful creature, but soon to be in my stomach.

                With no real way to precisely gauge the wind, I was left with little option but to guess.  The snow was falling at a decent angle, so my thought was about seven miles an hour crosswind.  Distance was about two hundred and fifty yards, so an easy shot compared to other hunts.  Two hold over, three to the left.  And just like the damn deer, the sheep just paused and stared at me as my finger slid over the trigger.

                You never hear the shot when you are hunting, but you can always see the impact.  A fraction of a second after I felt the rifle buck in my arms, a crimson flower erupted on the chest of the pristine white creature.  Far forward of where I wanted it to land, but still a lethal shot, judging by the shower of blood spurting from its ruined chest.   I sat there in the freezing snow as I watched the sheep kneel after a few seconds.  A heartbeat longer and it fell to the side.  The painful part remained, as the last of instinct took over, spasms shaking it’s whole being as it tried to run, tried to flee from what was coming.

Finally, after too long, the sheep was still.  I readied my knives, and took off across the frozen expanse toward what I hoped would keep me going until I got off this forsaken rock.   My voice swallowed by the cold unforgiving wind.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, that I may live.”

Day forty nine.  I finally made it off the damn mountain.  I nearly fell into a fissure on the glacier, but my reflexes saved me.   Barely.  I’ve lost track of how many times this place has nearly killed me.  I see what looks like a snow covered forest in the distance.  It is about three days away by my guess.  Could be an extra two depending on the conditions as I get closer.  Either way, I am happy that I got that sheep the other day.  The first day, the only thing I could do was eat the meat raw.  Not too bad if I don’t say so myself.  Still, I miss the taste of properly cooked meat.

I’m going to try to find a place to shelter for the night, and maybe get a fire going to cook a bit.  Don’t have to worry about the meat spoiling as it has frozen solid from the chill.  If the memories from home are accurate, I’m guessing the temperature must have kept dropping as I descended the mountain.  It feels similar to -30f or so.  The air bites your nose and lungs as you breathe, small bursts of pain if you inhale too deep.  Exposed skin going painful and eventually numb after a few minutes.  Thank the gods for a decent coat of fur.