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Jack of Tundra
Chapter 1
The blistering cold wind swept across the frozen hills creating a constant spray of snow over the
desolate landscape. The weather only grew more vicious as the orange pigments of the sun’s rays faded
to violet. Three hunters hunkered down behind a massive snow bank. Their fur clothing and coats were
matted down with ice. The eldest of them, and giant of a man with a grey beard that hung past his neck
grabbed a leather pouch and put it to his lips then tossed it away in disgust.
“Frozen solid.” he muttered.
“Quiet.” snapped the second oldest who wore a black fur coat with a fox’s head as a hat. “The
Cleaver is coming out now.”
A dull roar reverberated through the landscape followed by a hair raising snarl. The youngest
of the hunters shifted slightly and gripped his spear tighter. His face was red with frostbite and snow
clung to his clean face and blond locks that fell past his eyebrows. He shuddered and his breathing
grew rapid. The old bearded man placed a firm hand on the younger one’s shoulder.
“Now’s not the time to panic Jack.”
Jack nodded and tried to stop but his breath came out even more ragged. The hunter in the
black coat peered over the crest of the bank and silently slid back down to where the other two hunters
huddled.
“It’s out of the cave now.” said the black clad man. He wiped snow from his dark goatee. “Time
to shed the deer skins boy.”
Jack stared at him wide eyed. “I thought you were helping me on this!”
“We did,” grunted the leader, “we found you a cleaver. Now go before I push you up the hill
myself.”
Jack gulped in fear and turned to the older man who merely shrugged as he sucked on a bit
of ice. Then he slowly stood and made his way to the crest of the snow mound. A few meters in front
of him lay a gigantic beast. It’s white fur almost blended in with its surroundings. The only thing that
stood out was the red that covered it’s muzzle and claws as it gnawed on a fresh kill. Jacks took a deep
breath and slid over the snow crest. He pressed himself flat against the ground and kept repeating the
advice he was given before he left the village.
They don’t see very well, but they can hear you coming from a mile away. Make no noise.
“Make no noise.” whispered Jack to himself.
His crawl started of slow. The snow seemed to pile up on him in thick layers. Soon it felt like he
was carrying a small animal on his back. He was only a few feet from the cleaver now. The claws looked
even larger up close. Jacks had never seen one alive before, he knew they looked like the stripped
beasts the southern traders always spoke of but he never thought they were this big. It was like four of
him. The Cleaver snorted and snarled then lifted it’s head. Jacks caught his breath and held it.
Make no noise
The Cleaver peered towards his direction. Then rumbled and continued eating its meal. That is
when Jack struck. With the shrill hunting cry traditional to his village he lept at the Cleaver and buried
his spear into the beast’s back. The roar that accompanied it made Jack’s bones shake. Then he felt a
massive paw smack him off of the creature. He didn’t hit the right spot.