DAY 982Toil, toil, toil. For one to survive, one must continually work hard. During the last three months Fоara has done a lot: built separate pens for animals, felled trees enough to build a sauna, placed a hundred loop snares and made half a dozen trap fences in a small wood nearby. Six elks and two reindeers have been caught in the first ten days, yet there was no more prey since then.
Next time Fjara checks the fences, she makes offerings and whispers quietly. Be kind, oh spirits. Lead the animals into my traps. I shall give you hot blood and praise...
Winter month is almost over. Snow crunches underfoot satisfactorily. Six birds got caught in the snares today. She can make two dozens more arrows for exchange. Over the past year, Fiara has become noticeably more skilled in carpentry. Arrows in the Unreal World are great for trading. Even peaceful toilers, like Sartolaiset, willingly accept them: robbers occur even in their land, and an arrow makes them hesitate better than a word.
She' s got a fair food supply, yet keeping six dogs requires a lot of meat. Fjara loves her dogs. True friends, strong protectors, menacing fighters they are. Numerous njerpezit have been torn to pieces by them. Sometimes, when she feels sad, she tells them her sorrows and fears, and their understanding eyes bring her relief.
Another day is over, and Fjara goes to sleep. Cosily wrapped helself in furs, she whispers as always, “Greetings earth, and the dwellers underground. Allow me to lay here in good health.” Her eyes close, and the real gives way to the imageries of the past.
***
She managed to track down one of the murderers. For three days, she followed the tracks that eventually split up. There were three or four njerpez, they apparently marched rapidly to their lands, but one of them remained behind for some reason.
Fjara sneaks up to the njerp while he is pissing against a tree, and knocks him out hitting the back of his head with an axe handle. When the slaver regains consciousness, his hands and feet are tightly bound by his clothes.
She squats down beside him and pulls out a knife from a sheath. “Answer me, and I will spare your life,” she says. The njerp grins crookedly, catching her eye. His face is mottled with pockmarks and ritual scars, and in his eyes cruelty and cold mind can be seen distinctly.
“You have captured the woman. Brown hair, blue-eyed, a head taller than me.”
He answers, laughing quietly, “We'd enjoyed her, little huntress. Her screams have delighted our ear, and her flesh has satisfied our lust.”
Fjara feels her fear and anger overflow, and barely restrains herself from stabbing the defenseless neck.
“Is she alive? Where exactly are they taking her?”
“Her body fell to the lot of fish.”
“You lie!” She leaps up and turns away, clenching her fists until it hurts.
“No.” His voice is cold and calm. “No, and you do know that.”
Sobs swell inside her. Fjara kneels down and slits njerp's throat. When slaver's body lay motionless, she spits in his face and wails, “Curse thee! May the spirits never let you rest! May they make you suffer till the end of the world! May —” Words turn into tears, and she, barely rising and taking a few steps, falls prone.
Only late at night she regains strength enough to stand up, and plods away, completely lost amongst the crowding trees.
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