Chapter 14: I’m Going To Make You My Wife
The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy above us, casting dappled shadows that danced across the forest floor as we continued our search.
We had spent several more hours combing through the deeper parts of the forest, our party spreading out in practiced formation. Though we managed to snare additional game—several plump rabbits emerged from their burrows at the wrong moment, and Tom’s keen eye spotted a family of pheasants roosting low in a gnarled oak—the elusive deer had vanished like morning mist. Perhaps our earlier success had spooked the rest of the herd, or maybe they had simply moved to better grazing grounds beyond our reach.
I shifted the leather bucket strapped to my back, feeling the weight of five rabbits bouncing against my spine with each step.
These were my kills—my first real contribution to the village’s winter stores and I was quite satisfied with it.
As our hunting party began the long trek back toward the village, I found myself walking alongside Lisa. Her catches far exceeded mine—not just in number, but in variety and size. Two fat grouse dangled from her belt alongside a string of rabbits that made my own haul look meager by comparison.
"I have to admit," I said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us, "hunting is quite nice." The words came out more genuinely than I had expected. There was something deeply satisfying about hunting, it was similar to me hunting women in my past life after all. Getting informations, following, trapping, and shooting.
The moment when my arrow had found its mark—that perfect instant when instinct, skill, and luck aligned—had sent a surge of primal satisfaction through my chest. It felt almost like a game, but one with real stakes and tangible rewards.
Lisa glanced at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "This feels calm, doesn’t it?" she said, nodding in agreement. "You can focus on it without caring about the rest of the world."
Her words carried a weight that suggested deeper meaning. I knew Lisa had been hunting since she could barely hold a bow—her father had started teaching her when she was no older than five or six. But it was only after her parents’ death that hunting had become her daily ritual, her escape from a house filled with their memories.
It was understandable—Martha had confided in me once that she worried about her granddaughter spending so much time alone in the woods. But I couldn’t help feeling that Lisa was limiting herself, using hunting as a shield against life rather than a tool to enhance it. She had such potential—her skill with a bow was already legendary among the village youth, and she possessed an intuitive understanding of animal behavior that impressed even the most experienced hunters. Yet like me, she had steadfastly refused Isadora’s invitations to test for magical aptitude, though Martha suspected she possessed considerable talent.
"Hunting is good but it shouldn’t be your whole life, Lisa," I said.
She turned to look at me fully. I could see the defensive walls going up behind her eyes—she had probably heard similar words from Martha countless times. The well-meaning advice of adults who didn’t understand that sometimes survival meant finding one safe place and clinging to it with both hands.