Rules of Nature

"You have one hour."

Skaelgarr fled through the trees, moving as swift as a knife. Everything was a blur of oak and aspen. He kicked through shrubs, he leaped over saplings, he smashed his way through branches until his arms were lined with cuts, and every obstacle seemed to rush from the darkness, leaving him seconds to react. Soon, his entire world was the cool summer air, the rustle of leaves and snapping wood, the steel-grey bark of a birch as it flew by in the night.

He kept running. His pace was exhausting, and he was only leaving a trail of footprints and snapped branches for his enemy to follow. But Skaelgarr knew the only thing that would save his life was time, and time could only be bought with distance.

He needed time to prepare. His mind was a flurry of traps and defenses. There was bark to strip, there were stones to chip, he would need cords and branches and bushels of leaves. He would need every advantage if he hoped to prevail.

"Run fast, warrior!"

Skaelgarr grit his teeth and ran further into the night.

The forest floor was a spongy carpet of mud, moss and fallen leaves. Soon, the ground began to slope downward, and he found himself slipping through the uneven terrain. Rotten leaves clung to his skin, and several trees were painted with dirt and sweat. More than once, his ankle snagged on a root, sending him tumbling down the hillside. But Skaelgarr always picked himself back up, never slowing his pace for long. He continued to race down the hill, heedless of the trail he was leaving behind.

Without warning, the hillside ended, and he emerged onto the bank of a river. The water was black, glistening in the moonlight, and moving swiftly through the valley floor. It had rained recently--the river had swollen over the shrubs along its shore, leaving only a few battered strands poking through the stream. The water was as loud as a roar.

At the edge of the stream, there was fresh mud. Skaelgarr took a moment to stand above the current, admiring the river as it churned beneath him. Then, he began to take off his clothes. Shirt, jeans, boots and socks were laid carefully on a rock. His phone, wallet and underwear soon joined them, as well as the Walmart-brand machete and waterproof matches. Once he had become as natural as his ancestors, he took large handfuls of the mud and began to spread it over his skin. He was already beginning to shiver in the cool night air, but, more than anything, he needed to smother his scent. His adversary possessed a keen nose. She had used it to best him before.

It would not happen again. He would not lose tonight. Not at any cost.

"Come get me now, bitch."

He ran naked into the forest. Now that he was camouflaged, Skaelgarr was careful not to leave evidence of his passing. He ran back up the hill at a steady pace, treading only on the fallen leaves. Not a single branch was disturbed. He moved with the grace of a hunter, already mapping out his weapons and defenses.

He was fierce. He was strong. Above all else, he was human, and that meant he was the best.

There was no fucking way he was going to lose again.

When he felt he had put enough distance between him and the river, he began to forage for supplies. The forest offered a plentiful bounty--he found small slivers of flint, dry twigs, long branches, pockets of dead aspen that were easily stripped of their bark. Working under the moonlight, he dug a small pit and struck the flint together until the sparks caught on the twigs. He warmed himself by the fire while pressing leaves to the mud on his skin. After a few minutes, he had made a primitive ghillie suit that would keep him both warm and hidden.

The work continued swiftly. He chipped the flint until it was as sharp as an arrowhead. Some dry reeds were used to bind it to a small branch, and then he was using his stone knife to strip his gathered pieces of bark into long segments of rope and cords. From there, he began to make snare traps in a wide perimeter around the fire, tying all the nearby saplings down until they were ready to snap.

He was just beginning to sharpen his spear when a howl split the night.

Her voice rushed through the trees, echoing down the hills and valleys. There was no mistaking its purpose. It was not a high pitched whine, or a low, warbling moan. It was a long, sharp howl that Skaelgarr heard as clearly as a crack of ice on a cold winter morning. He heard it just as his ancestors had--huddling by the fire, turning their fearful eyes towards the dark, if only to glimpse what terrors may be lurking within. The voice of his adversary carried far through the night, and it spoke only of hunger.

The howl stopped. Wind rustled through the leaves. Fire crackled at his back, flicking shadows across the trees. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath.

Skaelgarr bared his teeth. Standing proudly, he retrieved a branch from the fire, and held it like a torch as he marched through the trees. When he reached the rim of a limestone cliff, moonlight fell upon his face. The trees were thin, and anyone who cared to look would see his torch from miles away.

He gazed upon the hills and valleys before him. The carpets of trees shimmered under the light of a crescent moon. In the distance, there were naked patches of earth where a flood had stripped the land, leaving a stream of broken trees down the hillside and a dam of rotting wood in the river below, all of it as pale as bone.

The night was beautiful. Cool and majestic. Skaelgarr took a deep breath, as if to drink it in.

Then, he raised the torch high, and he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

He sounded nothing like her. Her howl had been sharp and dignified. He was as blunt as a club, and he roared all his fury into the night, letting it echo across the land. His yell spoke of all the defeats he had suffered, all the humiliations he had been forced to endure at her hands. It was an insult. A challenge. He was human, and where she was noble, he was savage, brutal beyond compare.

Untamed. Unconquered.

Skaelgarr stopped his yell. He watched it echo through the valleys. The night was quiet again, and nothing came in response. Only the wind whistled through his ears.

That was alright. He knew she heard him.

He lowered the torch, growled in his chest, and entered the forest again, moving towards the fortress he had built. Fire danced between the trees.

There was more work to do. The night was young. She was coming.

The hunt was on.

He was carving notches into the trigger when something snapped.

Skaelgarr froze, the edge of his chipped stone still pressed into the wood. The noise had come from his left, out in the shadowy haze just beyond the edge of the firelight. There was no mistaking what it had been. A fallen branch snapping underfoot. Something heavy treading through the brush.

He didn't dare turn his head to look. Sudden movements would spell his death. His back had been pressed to the edge of a limestone escarpment, next to a scraggly line of honeysuckle growing along the stone. If he remained still, the leaves pressed to his muddy skin would keep him hidden among the foliage.

Only his eyes moved. He looked down at the spear lying to his right--an oak branch hewn into a deadly pole, a chipped stone bound at its head. It was just out of reach. He would have to betray his position to grab it.

His eyes moved again. He looked through the trees, staring into the darkness.

Nothing moved. He had fed his fire generously, and it burned tall in the night, sending shadows flickering across the worn faces of the trees. He saw nothing, save for the slivers of moonlight as the wind gently rustled the leaves.

He had chosen the location of his fortress carefully. It was nestled around a small cleft in a limestone escarpment. The stone cliff was steep and craggy, preventing approach from all directions except directly south. Any intruder would be seen from dozens of feet away, and they would have to contend with a maze of snares, sharpened sticks, and hidden deadfalls.

The night was quiet again. All he heard were the sharp cracks of the fire.

Skaelgarr moved his eyes back to the trigger in his hands. It was a small twig carved with several notches. Slowly, his heart beating in his throat, he wrapped the cords of bark around the wood and firmly placed it in the small crook of an aspen branch. As he let go, the bark began to twist and groan, but nothing broke. The trap had held.

His eyes roamed up through the forest canopy. Hidden between the swaying leaves, he could see the thick cylinder of the log he had raised high into the air. It weighed more than twice his body weight, nearly as much as her, and, when it fell, it would be heavy enough to drag her up by the ankle. From there, she would be easy prey.

Every other trap would only slow her down, or just make her angry. That was by design--they would let her grow confident. As such, there were countless other triggers in a tight perimeter around the inner circle of his fortress, all tied to the log.

He also had a special trap, hidden in the back of the cleft. His one ace in the hole.

Skaelgarr's eyes fell to the dark. Nothing moved. Even the wind seemed to have died.

But he had heard something out there. He was sure of that.

He grabbed the stone spear, clutching it tightly in hand as he emerged from the thickets of honeysuckle. Slowly, always keeping his stance firm on the mossy floor, he walked towards the fire. He had placed it deliberately out past the edge of his shelter. It was a beacon. Something to lure her in.

He took every step carefully, never taking his eyes off the darkness. Fire reflected a dull light off the tip of his chipped stone. Wet moss squirmed through his toes.

There was no sound. There was no movement. When he was standing next to the flames, feeling their warmth through the leaves on his skin, a log cracked open, spitting embers up through the smoke and into the night. For a moment, the light grew brighter, and he saw further into the forest. There was nothing out there.

Skaelgarr's breath turned into a sigh of relief. He was just beginning to throw another branch into the fire when something growled behind him.

He turned, already raising his spear. In the smoke and shadow, all he saw was a wall of dark grey fur rushing through the trees, already close enough to kill. Her snarl cut him to the bone. It took all his courage just to stand his ground.

But there was a rush of leaves and a sharp snap of wood. Her snarl turned to a yelp as his snare wrapped around her ankle. As the log crashed to the ground, she was lifted bodily off the ground, flailing upside down and unable to grab anything but open air.

She struggled against the ankle trap, swinging wildly through the air. Skaelgarr stepped forward, watching his foe over the tip of his spear.

The wolfess was nearly as large as the tree that held her aloft. Her teeth reflected the fire, and her eyes held a dancing mixture of moonlight, holding his shadow in their gaze. Silver grey curls of her mane fell past her snout. Her garments were strange--a grid-like pattern of red and black for her shirt, a rough blue fabric for pants. They did not appear to be the garb of the huntress, but the growl coming from deep in her chest made her intentions clear. Even upside down, she was a fearsome threat, and Skaelgarr was careful to approach with caution.

"Well done, warrior." Her voice was as rough as a saw. "My prey grows more clever with every night."

"Hark!" he shouted. "What is your name, foul beast, so that I may write it on your grave."

The wolfess grinned, swaying back and forth in the air. "My name is Kivela, little rabbit, and before the night is through, I will have you screaming it to the moon."

Skaelgarr took another step forward, spear held tight. "Not again. You will taste defeat this night, Kivela, I swear on my ancestors."

"Bold words, warrior. But you cannot escape--"

She paused when he took another step closer, looking him up and down.

"What is it?" Skaelgarr asked. "Spit it out before I end your life."

"Kyle, are you naked?"

"My name is not Kyle!" Kyle shouted. "I am Skaelgarr! Shield of the night! Warrior of man! And I have shed my clothes so that I may follow your example, foul beast!" He aimed his spear at her chest. "Like you, I will move like an animal, I will prey on your fear, and, once I have bested you in combat, I will feel the kill!"

Morgan cracked up laughing.

"Character!"

"Sorry." She cleared her throat, looked at him, let her snout grow toothy with another snort, and cleared her throat again. "I am impressed, Skaelgarr. Clearly, you are a fearsome opponent."

He bared his teeth, feeling the fire grow tall behind him.

The glint of Kivela's eyes blended with the moonlight. "Oh, I smell a prime hunt tonight." She made a show of licking her chops. "And my victory will taste all the sweeter for it."

Skaelgarr had talked long enough. With a single bound, he rushed forward and thrust his spear at her chest.

He hit nothing but air. In a single motion, she flexed away from his jab, curled herself up into a ball, and used her claws to slice through the corded bark holding her aloft. The tufts of her dark grey mane reflected the moonlight as she completed her flip, landing solidly back on her feet. When Skaelgarr pulled his spear back, ready to thrust again, she snarled, loosing a growl as deep as thunder. He stepped back, and she advanced, bearing teeth and claw.

"Warrior!"

Skaelgarr retreated another step, feeling sweat worm through his armor of mud and leaves.

"Face me, warrior!"

She swiped at his spear, nearly slapping off the stone. He jabbed, she dodged. Wind hissed through the trees.

Skaelgarr felt the fire grow hot at his back. Kivela stopped her advance, hackles bristling like thorns. She had more than a head of height on him, almost as much reach as his spear, and a snarl on her face that could've gutted a bear with a single look. Skaelgarr swallowed a sharp knot of fear and held his ground.

Slowly, her eyes roamed around the floor of his fortress, noting the sharpened palisades, rock walls, and bent saplings. A careful raise of her foot caught the edge of the tripwire just in front of her--when she tugged on it, the net lying beneath the leaves was pulled from hiding. Skaelgarr didn't hide his look of disappointment.

"Clever." She stepped backwards from his net, her snarl slicing its way into a grin. "I see your challenge, Skaelgarr. I will grant you the honor of matching it."

She ripped open the buttons on her flannel shirt, tossing it to the mossy floor. Her jeans soon followed, followed by a digitigrade set of boots, socks, iPhone, wallet, and car keys. With a sharp glint in her eyes, she unclasped her bra and tossed it at Skaelgarr. He swatted it with the haft of his spear, as well as the set of panties that followed.

Kivela bared her naked form with a look of pride. Her breasts swung free in the firelight, and Skaelgarr's eyes roamed over the soft white fur of her belly, falling down to....

"Is that a look of surrender?"

His grip tightened on his spear. "Never! I shall not be tempted by your tits, foul beast!"

"Character!"

"W-what?"

"Don't say tits," Morgan said. "A caveman wouldn't use that word."

"Wouldn't they? I mean, like--"

"Character!"

"Fine!" Skaelgarr shouted. "Your form is hideous to me, demon! I curse your attempts at seduction! You and your--your--" He struggled to focus on her face. "Your foul orbs! Let us battle now, or begone from my sight!"

Her grin held a sharp line of teeth. Slowly, without taking her gaze from him, she paced backwards, shadows growing deeper on her face. "I see my conquest will not be as easy as the others. You have grown strong and brave."

Skaelgarr took a step forward, cracking the dry mud on his skin.

Kivela retreated back into the darkness between the trees. After a moment, all he could see was the reflective glimmer of her eyes. Her gaze was an amber glow in the night, one that spoke of focus and hunger. "I meant what I told you, little rabbit."

"And what was that, demon?"

Her eyes never left his face. "Before the dawn comes, I will have you screaming my name."

She vanished in the smoke and wind. Behind him, the fire gave a sharp crack. Skaelgarr realized that his hands were painfully tight around his spear. He took them off one at a time, flexing the fingers and peering out into the forest.

Out there, beyond the fire, he saw nothing. Trees, moss, and moonlight. The night was calm and silent. He might've been alone.

He had no doubt of the truth.

After applying more mud and leaves to his skin, Skaelgarr set to work again, using the sharp edge of his flint to strip bark and branch alike.

He would need more traps. Many more traps.

The night was going to be long.

Skaelgarr waited in the trees, ready to strike.

He was perched along the branches between two large oaks. His heels rested on the rough bark, his leaf-covered body blended into the foliage, and his spear was held like a bolt of lightning above the ground. From this angle, he had a perfect position to attack if she climbed up the hill to the southwest, and a shrouded enough position with which to flank her if she approached from the thickets to the southeast.

The fire was a distant glow off to his side. It had been waning for some time, and, from what he could see, was now more cinder than open flame. He would have to let it die. A single movement might betray his position. His adversary was certainly keen enough to spot it. Kivela could see much better than him in the dark, which was a fact he had learned the hard way. Several times.

It must've been over an hour since their first confrontation. Since then, he had seen no sign of her. Even the wind seemed to have vanished. The night was so quiet that, aside from the fire, the only thing Skaelgarr could hear was the distant roar of the river at the bottom of the valley. He was thirsty enough to consider trying to return to it, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Letting her know his position was one thing, but leaving the safety of his fire and traps would be certain death.

He swallowed into a dry throat, watched the forest below through the gaps of the leaves, and waited.

His position had been chosen carefully. It was on the outer edge of his fortress perimeter, just about parallel to the fire he had built at the entrance to the limestone escarpment. After Kivela had stalked back into the shadows, he had placed down new snares through the mossy floor, reinforced the sharpened palisades with rocks, and strengthened any cords of bark that had begun to tear. He had even moved several of the hidden triggers to new positions, just in case she had seen them during their conversation. Once that was done, he had promptly walked over most of his defenses, chosen a spot halfway between the firelight and the darkness beyond, and climbed into the trees to wait.

His hope was that she would think he was deep in the recesses of the rocky cleft, sheltered from sight. Once she decided to attack again, she would rush past him, ensnare herself on the multitude of traps he had hidden around the cliff edge, and he would rush in to flank her from behind. If that failed, he would have to lure her into the cleft itself, hoping she would blunder over his ace in the hole.

It was the best he could do. Fighting her head-on would be pointless. With just his spear, all he would accomplish was leaving her bloody while she ravaged him. This way, he stood a chance.

Nothing moved. The night was still.

His saliva was growing thick. Skaelgarr listened to the distant sound of the river and imagined tasting the water. It had been swollen and brown from the recent flooding, but his ancestors had survived on worse. He was strong like them. At the very least, some dysentery would be worth the effort.