Vol. 15 Ch. 6: What Was Left Behind

Once Sheffield's Festival—the festival in which the wind spirit Sheffield carries the spring breeze—has passed, the Ridill Kingdom usually turns unmistakably springlike and the forests take on the color of fresh greenery, but snow still lingers in the shade of Verange Mountain in the northern Ridill Kingdom.

A young nun in a heavy coat walked along a mountain path where winter's presence still lay thick. The only reason she could be called a nun was the nun's hood on her head; in every other respect, she looked nothing like one.

After all, the nun had a basket woven from wood strapped to her back and was gripping a crossbow in her hands.

As she walked, crunching over frost-covered ground, the nun crouched down. While checking some animal tracks, she plucked spring greens and tossed them into the basket on her back. Her movements were remarkably efficient and fluid.

(I'm finding nothing but mountain greens today. If possible, I'd like some meat for the table, too.)

Depending on the denomination, some regions prohibited the clergy from hunting or eating meat, but the Spirit God she served prohibited neither. In fact, the Spirit God loved hunting so much that some people worshiped it as the god of the hunt.

Above all, in the barren northern lands where food was difficult to obtain, meat acquired through hunting was a precious source of nourishment.

The monastery where she lived housed many elderly women, so the young nun was chiefly responsible for procuring food. She went down to town to shop about twice a month, but fresh meat was not easy to come by.

As she secretly swallowed at the thought of eating some richly marbled meat for the first time in ages, her ears caught the faint sound of footsteps. The footsteps gradually drew closer.

Strange. I'm upwind from here, so why is the prey coming toward me...