Chapter 9: Hunting in the Forest

"Let me borrow the knife for a moment." Conti shook the hatchet and turned toward a tree, swinging the blade to cut off a branch and skillfully whittling it into a wooden stick.

Joan could tell she was crafting a weapon, but he doubted a mere thumb-thick stick would be of much use against wild beasts.

"Done!" Conti smoothed the slender wooden rod as much as possible, nodded in satisfaction, and handed the hatchet back to Joan.

"Are you really planning to use that thin stick against wild animals?" Joan couldn't help but ask.

Conti noticed the worry in his eyes and smiled calmly. Holding the stick in her right hand, she deftly cast a series of gestures with her left, and a mysterious, melodious incantation flowed from her lips.

Joan gazed at Conti in astonishment, realizing she was casting a spell. The girl used the elven tongue, but her chant was unlike any arcane spell he knew—it sounded more like a song. Joan listened closely, trying to translate Conti's chant into the common human language, and soon realized it was an ancient, beautifully phrased prayer extolling the power of nature.

Only then did Joan understand that Conti was not wielding arcane magic, but communing with the essence of nature, serving as a conduit to channel its divine power into the wooden rod she held.

As nature's might infused the stick, its grain shimmered with a faint green glow. Even standing two paces away, Joan could sense that the crude, slender rod had transformed into a formidable magical weapon.

Conti finished her spell and swung the stick at a roadside boulder. With a whistling rush of wind, the rod struck the stone with a thunderous crack, splitting a two-foot-high rock in half and scattering shards in all directions.

Joan watched in awe. The stick Conti had carved from a tree branch had undergone a complete metamorphosis under the blessing of divine power. Judging by how effortlessly she shattered the rock, its strength rivaled that of a steel warhammer, and Conti herself seemed no less powerful than the burly dwarf blacksmith in Derlin Town.

Conti hefted the rod and smiled at Joan. "We need to hurry—the magic of 'Oak Rod' won't last long."

"'Oak Rod'?"

"A simple nature spell, one every druid can cast," Conti replied nonchalantly.

Joan had heard of druids—hermits who revered the impersonal essence of nature rather than personified gods, and who were skilled in natural magic and respected by native tribes. Yet he never imagined that Conti, a girl his own age, was a druid and apparently a rather accomplished one. People truly are not what they seem. Though Joan's curiosity about Conti's origins grew, he restrained the urge to inquire and followed her advice, hastening into the depths of the forest.

...

Fourteen years ago, old Guillaume Tyre ended his adventuring days and settled in his hometown of Derlin Town. He planted apple trees on the wild hills near his ancestral home, interspersed with oaks and pines. Now, those trees had matured, but Tyre's failing legs kept him from tending to the woods himself; the task of watching over them fell to his grandson Joan.

Among all the trees in the woods, the one Joan valued most was a rare black oak. The "blackwood" it yielded was as hard as steel yet remarkably light, and highly prized. Because blackwood was so much lighter than other timber, the entire tree would yield only about 150 pounds of wood. Mr. Jason Tindall, the mayor of Derlin Town who ran a lumber mill, had once offered a thousand gold ducats for the black oak, but neither Tyre nor Joan could bear to part with their forest's finest tree.

The woods were silent and blanketed in snow. In this frigid season, the deer had long since migrated south to warmer forests, and the black bears were hibernating deep in their dens. Joan led Conti and Jamie through the snow-laden woods in search of prey, not expecting large game; a couple of grouse or snow hares would suffice.

Luck was with them today. Jamie soon found a faint trail in the snow and barked excitedly, urging his master to come.

Joan and Conti caught up to examine the tracks, guessing they belonged to a wild hare. At this time of year, hares had donned snowy white coats, blending perfectly among the snow-covered shrubs. Even the sharpest eyes would struggle to spot them, but Jamie had not only keen eyesight but an extraordinarily sensitive nose. He pressed his snout to the snow, followed the hare's trail, and soon found its burrow.

"Jamie, flush it out!" Joan whispered, his voice tinged with excitement.

Jamie nosed the entrance, realized his own size wouldn't allow him to squeeze into the narrow burrow, and exhaled a blast of icy breath into the hole.

The half-winter wolf's supernatural breath seeped like a chill wind deep into the warm burrow, and the hares hidden within felt the threat that lingered in the cold, instinctively bolting in fright.

The burrow beneath the snow was far more complex than Joan and Jamie had anticipated; the hole they found was just one of a dozen exits. A group of startled hares dashed out from other, more concealed holes, sprinting across the snow like rolling snowballs, dazzling Joan so he scarcely knew which one to chase.

Jamie reacted swiftly, pouncing on the nearest hare, snapping its neck and tossing it aside, then glared around with emerald eyes, seeking his next quarry.

Conti watched the hares scatter in all directions, some darting right past her feet. She planted her rod in the snow, freed her hands, and cast spell gestures, softly chanting a prayer in praise of nature's essence.

The moment her spell was complete, the withered shrubs rooted in the snow at her feet seemed to surge with life. Their branches swiftly stretched and crawled along the ground, twining around the fleeing hares and binding them tightly.

"That's it—they can't get away now!" Conti finished her spell and wiped her brow with a radiant smile.

Joan carefully avoided the green, serpentine vines at his feet, counted the catch, and told Conti they had trapped nine hares—an unprecedented bounty!

"We don't need to take all these poor creatures," Conti said, looking Joan in the eye with a tone of negotiation. "Let's let the mothers and young go, and just take the fattest bucks. If we catch them all today, there'll be no hares left in the future."

Joan knew Conti spoke not only out of compassion but also in adherence to the druid creed of maintaining nature's balance. He nodded silently, led Jamie to the vines, and selected the three fattest male hares.

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