"You know. I never even considered how to build a shelter around here until now." I muse to myself. Looking up at the mountain before me. I was at its foot now. Or well. The trees stopped growing around here.
Probably replaced by some hardy plants that cling to the cracks in the rocks. Not that I could see them with all the snow on the ground. But I assumed they were there.
The soil was replaced by rocky ground underneath my feet. The incline of the next few kilometers was steeper than anything I had walked in this world before.
Sure, it was only about five or six degrees for now, but I could see it getting rougher and rougher in the distance already. So I take a quick break.
Even though I haven't really walked very far today. Yesterday in the evening, I had doubled back a bit to find a suitable place for shelter. Building one more forest, a tarp tent to sleep in.
So now it was the early morning of the next day. The sun is just rising in the distance. Illuminating my next challenge. The Mountain.
A challenge I wasn't ready for. Not with my whole body still hurting from what happened two days ago. But I was getting better. And I couldn't afford to dick around.
All my hunting attempts so far have failed miserably. So I only had about seven days worth of food at this point. At most ten if I'm really conservative.
But knowing that the more energy I use, the more I need to eat, it was probably closer to seven or eight days in all. Seven days that I will probably need to just cross this mountain.
`Which in turn means that if Eidralore isn't just past this mountain, I'm cooked.` Without food, I will at most be able to walk for three days before I will start falling apart.
Sure. People can survive weeks without food. Especially if they have fat reserves like this body does. But walking ten kilometers in the snow every day, or even worse, climbing more mountains, is just not feasible without food to keep me going.
So, with more prayers than actual plans, I start walking up the slope before me. Just putting one foot in front of the other to begin to make my way up the mountain.
Still using the spear in my left hand as a walking stick. Since my right still hurts. It's gotten better by now. I can move it fairly freely. But it's far from being as strong as my left hand at this point.
But at least the rest of my body is feeling fine. My back no longer hurts. Nor does my left side. And my legs are full of energy after resting yesterday.
So I cover the first kilometer or so in record time. Slowing down only once the ground underneath my feet forces me to.
The incline of the ground, being at an angle, makes it so less snow can clings to it. Which theoretically should make my ascent quicker. But instead, it just makes things slippery. Forcing me to slow down and watch my steps carefully.
My attention is mostly focused on my feet as I walk. That is, until I notice something. Next to my own footsteps. Hoofprints.
They weren't large. Most likely belonging to another Skjálfhirta (Skal-fitra). But I wasn't nearly good enough to be able to tell if it was a male or female. Not that it really mattered.
My eyes snapped up instantly once my brain had recognized what was going on. My gaze darted around quickly to scan my surroundings. But there was nothing. At least nothing I could see.
So eventually my gaze fell back onto the tracks left behind by the Skjálfhirta (Skal-fitra). They were definitely heading up the slope. But at an angle different from my path. It was highly likely that I wouldn't encounter the Skjálfhirta (Skal-fitra) if I just kept going straight.
Yet even so, I was on alert. Back to holding my spear with both hands. At the ready. As I stalk towards the mountain. Not a thought interrupts my focus this time.
The only noise breaking the surrounding silence was my breath. And the wind occasionally whistled through the cracks in the rocks. Whistling, I always jumped a little. But of course it was inconsequential.
I was just jumpy. But it was good that I was focused. Otherwise, I might have missed the sound blowing past my ears right now.
A sound like bells tinkling in the wind reaches my ears. Causing me to tense up. Because it meant that it was a male Skjálfhirta. Their antlers make this sound when the wind blows through them.
And while the sound came from far away. Barely registering in my ears. I remain tense. My attention focused on the direction the sound came from.
So much so that I almost slip a few times on icy rocks. But I keep on guard.
That is, until I can't anymore. Partially because I'm getting tired from being tense. And partially because of what is in front of me.
The first real obstacle this mountain throws at me. And right away, it's an obstacle I can't overcome. A big boulder was blocking my path up the mountain. Flanked by two walls of rock.
Forcing me to take another path. Either going left, where I had heard the sound of the Skjálfhirta from. Or right. Which is, of course, the choice I pick.
Yet choosing to go right soon proves to be pointless. I circle right around the mountain for a while. An hour or two. Searching to see if I can't get up the mountain from here. But try as I might, I only gain a little elevation before hitting yet another dead end.
Forcing me to choose another direction. But going right is no longer an option, as there is a steep drop on my right side now.
So I went left. Doubling back. But I'm above the previously seemingly impassable boulder now. This allows me to go further up while still avoiding going left.
Until I hit another dead end. "Tss." I click my tongue at the impossibility of this task. I've already climbed over multiple rocks, and my body was hurting all over from the exertion and the lingering pain from my bruises.
It seemed easier to go left and then up. I wanted to avoid doing that as much as possible, of course. But every rock I struggle to climb over and every dead end I hit make me more frustrated.
It's already been like six hours, and I've gained maybe like two hundred meters of elevation so far because I constantly have to stop and consider where to go next. Climb rocks. And double back after hitting another dead end.
"Man fuck this shit." I sigh as I eye my left for what seems like the hundredth time. I wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand before I shake my head and just decide to go left.
Hoping that I've reached a point of elevation where the Skjálfhirta won't bother me. Hoping and praying that I'm outside his territory by now.
However. I was quickly proven wrong. I haven't even really walked left very far before I hear the telltale tinkling of bells again. And this time I see him too.
A male Skjálfhirta (Skal-fitra). With a shoulder height of about one meter. A majestic buck. His antlers are definitely making him look even bigger. Shimmering in the sunlight like kaleidoscopes.
At the moment, he is about two hundred meters away from me. A bit further down the mountain than I am. And doesn't seem to have noticed me yet. Facing away from me at the moment.
So there was a real possibility I could sneak past him without being noticed. Maybe I could even wait for him to go down to the forest for food or something. Which would allow me to ascend the mountain far enough to be out of sight while he is gone.
But just to be safe, I decide to prepare for a fight. Not just mentally. But also physically. By reinforcing my spear. After all, a male Skjálfhirta was a two-star threat. Nothing to sneeze at.
And how do I do that, you might ask? Well. It's simple. First, I retreat a bit from where I saw him. And then I put down my backpack and get to work.
Pulling out the shovel and pocketknife to modify my spear. I cut off the tip of it and split the wood carefully using the knife and shovel. And while that might seem counterproductive, I know what I was doing.
I wanted my spear to have a metal tip for more piercing potential. And over the last few days, I figured the pocketknife can fulfill that purpose. At least for one or two good stabs. Which would be all I need to at least fight off a male Skjálfhirta (Skal-fitra).
So after splitting and hollowing out the wood a bit, I jam the knife into the opening I created. Then I use some rope to tie it tightly. Reinforcing the connection point.
But I wasn't satisfied. I wasn't sure if the knife would stay in place with just this. So I do something that uses the climate I'm in to my advantage.
`If it's already cold as balls, I might as well make use of it.` I flatten out some snow. Then, I dig a small groove into it with my hands. Before placing the spear tip in the groove.
Then I grab some snow and start melting it in whatever way I can. Melting it in my mouth or hands to create water, I fill the groove with. The packed snow not letting the water run through it.
Instead, the water is forced to freeze around the spear shaft. Further reinforcing the point where the knife connected with the wood.
My previously wooden spear now has a twice-reinforced metal spear tip in the form of a pocketknife proudly sticking out of the tip.
And while it looked goofy as hell, it most likely still wouldn't survive more than one fight. I felt at least somewhat safer with an actual metal-tipped spear.
Though I still plan to avoid an actual fight. But for some reason, I don't believe that that would be how things go.
There is just that small voice of doubt scratching at the back of my head that tells me I'm not that lucky. I'm not that blessed. I'd survive. But not without a fight.
So, staying low, I creep back towards the place where I had seen him before. Hoping and praying that he is gone. But the steady tinkling in the distance already tells me that that is not the case.