Elder Cultivator

Each great-grandchild that was born increased both Anton’s joy and his worries. He loved every single member of his family- despite the fact that none of them were perfect- and he wanted the best for them. Figuring out what was best and acquiring it was… difficult. Anton knew he couldn’t solve every problem his family faced… but nobody was going to stop him from trying.

Janina wasn’t the sort to give up either… but the last decade had been hard on her. Now she spent most of her time in bed. He knew she hated feeling useless, but just giving up on her… was impossible. He’d known her for most of the century they’d been alive, and loved her as soon as such feelings developed in him. She was his closest friend since the very beginning.

No matter how many herbs he found in the forest, she wasn’t going to get better. In fact, too many and she would decline more quickly. Relieving pain was not without side effects. Anton missed working by her side every day, or seeing her when he entered the house at dinner time, and even just being able to talk without exhausting her. The thing that bothered him most about the situation… was himself.

He knew he was well past his prime, long before. His strength was declining and his eyesight was blurring such that he could barely hunt. Yet if he were to compare his health to most of the others his age… it was quite simple to see the difference. They were dead, and he was not. Compared to Janina, he was quite healthy… and he would likely outlive her by a number of years at least. He was still in better shape than she was a decade prior. If he could only pass on with her… but he also couldn’t just give up on life after that. There were so many others who might need him. Work on the farm mostly was taken care of, but there was always more he could help out with.

Then there were the bandits. While in most cases, bandits lasted a few months at most before disappearing, the particular group of bandits were much more troublesome. Even with The Order of Ninety-Nine Stars looking for them, they’d evaded capture for a whole decade. They weren’t just normal bandits, of course. They were cultivators… and as with anything else related to cultivators their effects were much more than those who weren’t. Regular bandits stole and pillaged what they could, and cultivators could do much more. They ravaged entire towns, taking anything they found of worth, killing those without value and selling the rest as slaves. Even if such events were rare, every few months at most… they ranged throughout all of northeastern Graotan. While they hadn’t yet been seen near Dungannon, the thought that they might have a base in the forest was a concern.

Perhaps Vincent had been incorrect about them hiding in the forest. Anton had trekked across the forest back and forth his whole life, and the last decade he hadn’t found them. But whether or not they made their home in a nearby forest or elsewhere, they were a threat. Yet he’d been all over the forests and never found them. Even if they moved camp, he should have found them. He couldn’t range any further than a few days from Dungannon, both practically and emotionally. His children and grandchildren were already worried when he went out on a hunt. Perhaps they were right to be.

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Thick snow swirled in front of Anton’s face, such that he couldn’t see. Even more than normal, that was. He could barely pick out a deer from a tree at a hundred paces in bright daylight. In a snowstorm, he could barely see the ground in front of him. This was where the priorities of different people came into play. It had been a harsh winter, and the year before that was no good either. At home there were great-grandchildren complaining of hunger. His family told him to not go out into the woods to hunt, that he would die… but they didn’t consider what he wanted.

Janina was gone now. The previous winter had taken her with its bitter cold… though it was not much harsher than most winters. She had just reached her end. She had kept a smile on her face as she lay in her deathbed, but while she might have been content Anton was not.

Maybe he wanted to die. The thought did cross his mind. That was why he was out in the blinding snow in the dead of winter. But that thought… was just a thought. It passed. He had his bow and arrows, though he could barely draw the bow now. If he died in the snow… his family would mourn. He didn’t want that. He instead wanted them to rejoice at his return. For that, and the continued rejoicing afterwards when they had something more to eat… he needed to bring back some game. But first he had to not die.

He could barely recognize the landscape entirely covered in snow, but he saw a familiar tree with peculiar knots. That meant nearby was… yes, there it was. A cave. He could take shelter during the worst part of the storm. He had to. He knew better than to do what he had done, but the mistake was now made.

Anton gathered sticks and brush, whatever he could find. He cleaned it of snow so it wouldn’t be so wet and began to set about making a fire. At least his hunting pack had been properly supplied and still had flint and steel in it from the previous hunt. Honestly, what had he been thinking sneaking out the door like he did? Now he was half a day from home in the worst storm of the year.

Eventually he started a fire, and the warmth it created was… sufficient. The cave blocked the cold winds and snow from outside, his warm clothing did well enough to keep him alive until that point… and as he brushed off the snow so he wasn’t wet from it melting in the fire, he was at least not cold as the time passed. He leaned back where he sat against the wall, drifting off into unconsciousness.

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When he woke, Anton was pleased to see that he wasn’t dead, and that the storm was over. The second was ultimately more important as it meant his family would not be needing quite as much firewood, so his grandchildren didn’t have to go out into the snow to cut more. Plus, it meant he might get back home… or successfully hunt something.

Every member of his family could attest that he was stubborn about some things. Even if he hadn’t been thinking quite right, he was out in the forest to hunt. His family was hungry, surviving only on food they had to ration over the remaining winter. If things went on, they might have to dig into their seed for the next year… and all the hard work expanding the farm would slowly decline. Perhaps they might borrow money in the city, but if there was another bad year… they could lose everything.

He wanted a deer. So he trudged off deeper into the woods. It seemed fate, if it existed, had no intention to kill him just yet. He found some berries in the hollow of a hill that weren’t quite frozen, providing him some energy to continue forward. He knew of another cave to spend the next night, and somehow found it.

The next morning luck seemed to be on his side as he found tracks. They were fresh, too, a light snowfall having come during the night. Deer. It didn’t matter how big it was, any deer would be a godsend. He followed the tracks, happy that he had stumbled across them. He couldn’t have spotted them from far on the blank white landscape with the sun glaring off of it… not with his eyes as they were.

He squinted his eyes, crouching down. Just a few hours of tracking and he’d actually found it. Somehow he’d avoided spooking it off. He couldn’t quite see what was its flank, a nearby tree, its head… but there was certainly a deer. Or a log strangely floating off the ground. It had to be a deer.

Anton nocked an arrow in his bow, the string trembling as he pulled it back. Weakness from hunger and age compounded, but he grit his teeth and pulled with all his might. When he released the arrow, only years of experience kept it on track as it nearly flew off target… but he hit the deer straight in the side. Red blood spurted onto the white snow and the creature took off running.

Step by step he followed after it. It wasn’t hard to spot the red blood, even with his eyesight. Perhaps his aim hadn’t been quite right, or he was tired… because it felt like it was hours before he spotted the deer again. However, he finally did… seeing it collapsed on its side. He was lucky no scavengers had gotten to it before him.

He unloaded the canvas from his pack, using it as a sled under the deer. It was thin… but still heavier than he could lift. Once when he was young and strong he could have slung it over his shoulder and walked all day, but now he could barely drag it on the canvas sled. But he had done it. He certainly wasn’t going to leave his prize behind. If it was the last thing he ever did… he had to at least get it back to his family. Then they could make it through the winter, even if he didn’t.

Step by step he trudged along. It would likely take him two days to get back, because while he hadn’t gone straight away from home he was also even slower with his catch. He had to pace himself so he wouldn’t collapse along the way. That wouldn’t benefit anyone but the wolves.

Then he spotted something. Strange blobs in the distance, not trees. He couldn’t figure out what they were, but he detached the sled and crept closer. He had a feeling what it might be… and once he was within ten paces he found he was right. Tents. Not just one or two, but a full dozen. A camp… used recently, and one that would likely be returned to. It was in a place he was certain he had passed before many times. Perhaps it was new… even his old eyes wouldn’t have missed it.

If it was what he thought, he would need to head to Graotan after he returned home. He couldn’t go directly there regardless- he would certainly die of exhaustion on the trip, and he wasn’t going to just eat the deer on his own. It would likely take about the same amount of time regardless, since the only roads left from Dungannon. He could be slightly faster without the deer… but if he didn’t return with it, there was no point in killing it to begin with. And on the rations the Krantz family could afford to give to an old nearly decrepit man, he wouldn’t make it. He was the only one who knew where Vincent would be, and where the camp was. So he walked, steadily, towards his home. Perhaps he might still accomplish one more thing before he died.