They moved upwind for a long time. Gra’sha could smell the pleasant scents of pine needles and moss, laced with the notes of mushrooms that had emerged after the recent rains. She was no expert hunter, but she was almost certain that the tracks the she-wolf was now sniffing weren't old. To her eye, they had been left by a deer, probably. After a moment, Black picked up the trail, but she matched her pace to the girl's unhurried trot. The real hunt had begun.

  After about an hour and two minor changes of direction, the she-wolf first slowed, then stopped altogether and dropped to the ground, giving the girl time to spot the animal. Gra’sha crouched low to look around, and after a long moment, she managed to spot him. It was a young stag; there was no hind nearby. He was alone, currently nibbling on some plump, brown-capped mushrooms growing by a magnificent pine. He kept interrupting his meal to look around, but they had approached him from a good direction.

  She slowly drew an arrow and loosely nocked it on the bowstring. Still crouching, she moved slightly to the side to get a clearer shot, then stood up and, holding the bow straight, aimed for a spot where with a bit of luck the arrowhead might reach the heart. But even if it didn't, it was almost certain to pierce a lung. She was aware that the way she had recently used her gift was different from all previous times. It also hadn't escaped her notice that the effects were more significant than before, and their full scale was still not entirely known to her. She knew her bow well, so she was surprised by the groan the wood let out as she drew it.

  Slightly startled, she released the arrow. The deer heard it too. The arrow whizzed in a way she had never heard before. The stag raised his head and would have surely bolted, but it was already too late for him. He was jerked to the side and fell over. He scrambled up again and ran a few steps before a massive hemorrhage robbed him of his strength. Only the fletching stuck out from the wound. By the time Black reached him, there was no life left in the animal's eyes.

  "Just be careful with the arrow!" she shouted after the she-wolf.

  Even for such a magnificent dire wolf, this was quite a meal. Gra’sha let her enjoy their shared prize, while she herself dry-drew the bowstring a few times to make sure. So that's what was behind the tingling in my muscles and bones, she thought, drawing the bow to a level that, on her last hunt, had been simply unattainable for her. She also felt she had a little more strength left in her arm but was afraid for the bow; that sound had been a bit unsettling, and she didn't want to damage it.

  It became obvious to her that the spiritual energy she had absorbed from her defeated enemies had not only helped heal her wound but had also strengthened her body in some way. Excited by this discovery, she began to wonder intensely about how lasting this effect was and how much she had needed to achieve it. She clearly remembered the first of the defeated gnolls from whom she had drawn greedily, but she wasn't sure about the subsequent ones. The battle had been dynamic, and she had been focused primarily on the fight; now it all blurred together. She thought she had drawn from the other enemies she had defeated, but was it as deeply? As effectively? She had no answers to these questions.

  Black, her muzzle smeared with gore, pulled her from these deliberations, standing beside her, thoroughly pleased.

  "Are you full?" she asked the animal, to which the she-wolf only licked her chops with a loud smack. "I'll take that as a yes," she stated, then pushed the animal's head slightly away from her so it wouldn't drip blood on her.

  "Wait here," she asked Black, and went over to what was left of the stag. This kind of animal didn't have much spiritual energy, and whatever it had was already seeping into the earth and dissolving into the forest. The broken arrow lay nearby. Using her knife, she recovered the arrowhead, glanced at it briefly, and decided that after a little work in the forge, it could be used again. She also salvaged the antlers; the she-wolf hadn't been gentle with the stag corpse, so the hide was useless. She judged that one of the rear haunches could still serve as a source of meat, so she cut it off to take back with her.

  Gra’sha looked around the area and found a large cluster of the brown-capped mushrooms in a hollow, which the stag hadn't managed to get to yet. She plucked them skillfully, deftly twisting their stems, and packed them all into her pouch.

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  With the haunch and mushrooms, she set off at a leisurely pace back to the hunters' camp, telling Black in a much quieter voice about her first battle, the newly discovered aspect of her gift, and the brief run-in with the Gar’zak. Both she and her brother, White, always gave the impression that they understood what she was saying to them, and since they couldn't repeat it to anyone, she liked to confide in them about things she couldn't or didn't want to discuss with her own kind.

  At the camp, the handler assigned to Black for the day was already waiting. At the sight of her blood-smeared fur, he sighed heavily, tugging at his long ears, then took hold of the she-wolf and led her up the stream to get her coat in order. The local goblins took the antlers from Gra’sha for processing into accessories, and it was decided that the rest of the meat would be made into a stew. One of the perks of working with the hunters was that you could take your meals there; only the surplus went to supply the cookhouse in the stronghold. So she stayed with them after they offered to prepare the meal. She sat nearby on a stool and watched as an older, already somewhat wrinkled goblin woman prepared the ingredients and tools, and assigned tasks to others—one to pour water into the cauldron, another to build a fire in the hearth—only then getting to work cutting the meat.

  "You probably want the recipe? Come here, I'll teach you," the cook said without even looking up from her cutting board. Gra’sha was basically just watching out of curiosity, but not enough to learn how to cook right away; that was goblin work. She was about to protest when the woman, sensing her hesitation, turned and glanced at her bracelet, where the cube signifying her membership in the standing volunteer corps hung. Then she added innocently, "It will come in handy on an expedition, if there isn't a proper goblin around."

  That sparked the warrior's imagination. In the stronghold, she ate at the cookhouse like most people, but on an expedition? The girl thought for a moment. It's not such a bad idea. Goblins may stay away from the fighting on expeditions, but you never know...

  "Alright," she said, then stood up from the stool and approached the table where the cook was preparing the ingredients. "So how does it go?"

  The older woman not only persuaded her to listen attentively as she explained, step by step, how to prepare such a stew in different variations and with other additions depending on what was available, but she also explained the basic principles of processing game. It turned into a long lecture during which — she wasn't sure when — she also agreed to help, so in the end, she did most of the work. She had many questions, but the woman answered patiently and without judgment, factually and very practically, while Gra’sha chopped wild carrots or stirred the cauldron to keep the meat from sticking.

  Nearly three hours later, her head full of new knowledge, Gra’sha sat down at the table with everyone else. A young goblin, clearly related to the cook as they had very similar face features, politely served her the largest portion and handed it to her first, saying, "My grandmother made a delicious stew, I can tell just from the smell. Enjoy!"

  The girl quickly understood that he said this to emphasize that no one thought Gra’sha had cooked for them. It almost only ever happened the other way around. So she cleared her throat and confirmed with the words, "It smells wonderful," and began to eat. She was served rolls wrapped around a stick, for which she had kneaded the dough herself—for the first time in her life, in fact—and she admitted to herself that it was one of the best meals she had ever eaten. She had learned the names of many of the herbs the cook had told her about for the first time too, and apparently, they made all the difference, or perhaps it was the fact that she had had a hand in making the dish herself. One of the two, she thought, wiping the sauce from her wooden bowl with a piece of the roll so as not to waste a single drop.

  After such a hearty meal and a pleasant trip to the forest, she said goodbye to the goblins of the hunter's camp and set off on the way back to the stronghold at a walking pace. For the first time in a long while, she felt as if she had managed to pause in her race. She was relaxed, and her thoughts weren't chasing after the next task, tokens, or training session. She knew this wasn't the end of the road, but she had finally, truly moved forward, and the little bit of distance she had gained from the daily grind allowed her to appreciate this progress and be satisfied with herself for a moment. The thought that she had practically no one to share this joy with pricked at her slightly, but she skillfully pushed it deep down, focusing on the pleasant, cooling wind that caressed her figure. She walked a few steps with her arms outstretched, letting it flow through her hands, and let out a deep sigh.

  Soon, she reached the entry gate, which at this hour was still open. After spending more than half a day in the forest, the din of the stronghold struck her, but the impression quickly passed. She returned to her quarters and napped until the evening training.