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This is the first chapter of a long-form work that I started and abandoned recently because I didn't have a good place to share it. You could call it low fantasy/romance, with multiple pairings between humans and two different anthro species: the Varda (deer) and the Bagi (wolves). This is my first time sharing my work for a furry-specific audience, and really I'm testing the waters to see if readers on this site would be interested in more. So please, whether you like the story or not feel free to share any and all feedback. That being said, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One – The Hunter's Promise

Yana had plenty of time to reflect on her stupidity as she sat at the bottom of a deep pit, rubbing the broken stub of her right antler.

How often did she wander the forest in search of herbs and mushrooms? How many times had her parents warned her to look out for traps set by the Manfolk? How proudly did she scoff, reminding them she was no fawn anymore? Yana knew they would never let her hear the end of this—assuming she made it home again to tell her story.

Fresh pain distracted Yana from her brooding. Losing one side of her antlers from her plunge to the stony floor of the pit was embarrassing, but hardly life-threatening. Antlers grew back, after all. The gash in Yana's thigh was more serious. Her leg had gone numb hours ago. Then, it started to throb, the ache growing sharper by the minute. Just looking at the angry wound brought a host of ugly words to Yana's mind: words like fester, fever, and fatal.

She gazed up through the pit's mouth, trying to distract herself, but the view was hardly encouraging. Just a circle of blue sky split by leafy green branches. One side of that circle was already turning pink. Before long, Yana would be looking up at the stars.

"Help!" she called for what might have been the thousandth time. "I'm stuck down here! Can anyone hear me?"

Her pointed ears twitched as they strained to hear an answer. The only sound beside her anxious breathing was the whistling wind.

"I said I'm stuck down here! Hello?"

Even the birds were silent as Yana glimpsed them darting high above the pit. She imagined they were headed home, to nestle close to their families in cozy knotholes and nests. A cloud drifted overhead, casting the pit in deep shadow, and Yana felt more lonesome than ever.

"Help!"

She was surprised to hear boredom creeping into her voice, but supposed anything could get dull after a full day, even begging for your life.

"Is anyone up there?"

The answer came at last. It was a low, lengthy whistle—so faint that Yana wondered if it was only her mind playing tricks. She stood up on her hooves, bracing herself against the pit's sheer wall to keep the weight off her injured leg. When the same whistled note broke the silence again, Yana's heart skipped a beat.

"Over here!" she shouted giddily. "I'm over here!"

Soon the noise of crunching leaves announced her rescuer's approach.

"Mind your step," Yana called up. "Don't fall in yourself, or else I'll talk your ear off before we both die."

As she listened to the shuffle of footsteps from above, Yana wondered who exactly she had guided to the pit. The stranger had not said a word yet, only whistled, and she knew firsthand that there were more than just friendly Varda and curious animals in the Brightwood. Sometimes, it was better to go unnoticed.

"Not to sound ungrateful, but might I ask who's up there?" Yana tried not to sound too pitiful. A sigh left her lips as she waited in silence. "Or else, if you've only come to collect me from this trap, I hope you'll make my death quick and clean!"

Something brushed the top of Yana's head. She let out a startled yelp and ducked aside, gritting her teeth as she put weight on her wounded leg. Her head jerked back, snagged on something. Yana rolled away instinctively but that only pulled the snare tighter, wrenching her neck to the side. As she landed on her back, cringing, her hands shot up to shield her face.

It was only a rope.

The knotted end swayed before her eyes and as she reached up Yana could feel how her twisting and rolling had made the tangle worse. Although she saw it clear as day, Yana had to tell herself several times, It's only a rope, before the fear that kept her paralyzed on the stony ground released her.

The stranger pulled twice on the rope, tugging Yana's head around like a puppet as they did. With a huff, Yana pushed herself up and gripped the rope with both hands. She pulled sharply and yelled, "I've got it!" The rope drew up immediately. Yana held tight, kicking her good hoof into the pit's sheer wall to help push herself towards daylight. By the time she clambered out of the pit she was laughing ecstatically, the searing pain in her thigh all but forgotten.

"Oh, thank you!" she blurted out. "Thank you, tha—"

The words died in Yana's throat as her gaze followed the rope away from the pit. It wrapped around a stout oak tree some twenty steps away, and on the other side of that tree a figure was untying the rope from their waist. A figure with pink skin and tow-colored hair, dressed in furs.

Manfolk.

One glimpse of their pale, hairless face and bright green eyes was enough to set Yana dashing off, putting the pit and the stranger to her back as she bolted through the woods. She was yanked off her hooves, slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs.

The rope, she thought a moment too late. It was still caught on her antler.

She tried to move, to jump up and flee, but Yana's pained and breathless body refused to obey her. She was still writhing on the ground, wheezing with her hands clutched to her chest, when she heard the scrape of a knife leaving its scabbard. Yana blinked her eyes open to find the pale figure standing over her, his weapon glinting in the sunlight.

"Whoa, whoa!" Yana threw her hands up between them. "Hold on, please! Varda hide isn't good for much, believe me. And I've heard we make for gamey meals, too."

The Manfolk knelt on Yana's shoulder, pinning her to the dirt before she could slide away. No matter how hard she shoved, Yana couldn't shift his weight. A stray thought popped into her mind with sudden, striking clarity: she saw the faces of her young sisters and brothers with tears on their cheeks, asking their parents why she had never come home.

"Please, mercy! Please!" Yana begged, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm no harm to you, and you've already done me a good turn. Just let me go and I'll repay you—somehow. I've had a dreadful day and I would hate to make it even worse by dying!"

When her outpouring of panicked words was done, Yana lay cringing on the ground. The blow she waited for never came. She finally realized the weight was lifted from her shoulder and sprang up, racing away before she could get her bearings. In a heartbeat the pit loomed in front of her again. Yana dug her hooves into ground—to no use. They slid through the bed of loose leaves around the hole. Her body pitched forward with the momentum of her panicked sprint until the mouth of the pit gaped before her eyes again.

The only thing that kept Yana from plunging into the depths for a second time was a firm grip on the collar of her sleeveless tunic. She looked over her shoulder and met the Manfolk's gaze. It wasn't the cold stare of a predator, a hunter. Instead, his eyes were soft and curious. He watched Yana with concern as he dragged her back from the pit, and this time he kept hold of her with one strong hand around her arm.

"T-Thank you," Yana said in an awed whisper. "That's twice you've saved me, now."

The Manfolk watched her warily. He replaced his knife in its sheath, keeping a tight grip on Yana's arm with his free hand. She trembled fearfully and stared back at him, trying to guess what would come next. She had never been so close to a Manfolk before, let alone spoken to one.

He made a grab for her antler and Yana shrank back, trying in vain to wriggle from his grasp. A look of annoyance crossed his face. He pointed to the knife on his belt and Yana took it for a threat before she realized her mistake.

The rope. She kept forgetting about that.

Her hand found the knotted bit of cord dangling beside her ear. She carefully unwound it from her antler and discovered that only a short length of rope was still snagged there, ending in a ragged split. The rest was lying in the grass nearby like a sleeping snake with its nose pointed to the bit of trampled grass where Yana had fallen flat—where the Manfolk had cut her free.

Rescued and set free… Yana tried to make sense of it as she looked the Manfolk up and down.

The Varda raised their children to share the Brightwood with Manfolk, but not in the way that children share their toys. Manfolk, Yana had learned from a young age, were much like the sharp-fanged Bagi. You kept upwind from them, stayed out of sight until they were gone, and then hurried home to warn others.

The difference was that Manfolk were more cunning and cruel than any beastfolk. Bagi might snatch up a young Varda, but they would never set a deadfall trap or dig a pit to catch them.

Predators ate to live, as all creatures did, but Yana had heard grisly stories of what Manfolk came to the forest seeking. Pelts. Antlers. Hooves and tails for making charms. She swept her gaze across the Manfolk's belt and was relieved to see no white tail hanging there. Still, he was imposing enough without one.

Yana's head just reached her rescuer's shoulders, and even beneath his felt cape she could tell those shoulders were broad and strong. His skin was not true pink, but tanned by the sun, and the modest breechcloth he wore gave Yana a good look at the sturdy muscles of his arms and legs. She began to wonder why his shaggy hair grew so long from the top of his head while only whiskers covered his chin. Yana only realized she had been staring at him, lost in thought, when he tugged up the hem of her tunic, craning his head for a look at her thigh.

"S-sorry," she blurted out, backing away from him. "I'm in your debt but if that's how you expect to be repaid, I'll have to disappoint you. It's not that you're so ugly, mind you. I just have a reputation to protect. If I laid down with every pink-skin who fished me out of his pit—"

Yana grunted and stopped short, clutching her leg as a burning pain coursed through it. The Manfolk was at her side in a heartbeat, first steadying Yana with a hand on her arm and then easing her to the ground.

"Sit?" Yana muttered. "Yes, maybe I should. Just until I get my strength back. But the pain isn't so bad, all things considered." It was hard to sound convincing through clenched teeth.

The Manfolk squeezed Yana's shoulder and gave her a stern look. She took that to mean, Stay put.

"Don't talk much, do you?" Yana had no illusions that he could speak her language, she only babbled to keep her mind off the pain. "Figures. I have loads of questions about Manfolk. Of course the first one I meet would be shy as a dormouse. A proper meeting, that is. I've seen plenty already, of course, and even had a few arrows shot my way. But now that I think of it, I haven't introduced myself." She bowed her head, feeling a twinge of embarrassment to make the greeting with her missing antler. "Yana Silvercloud, yours in grateful admiration."

The Manfolk paid no mind to Yana. He was digging in a leather pouch hung from his belt.

"And your name is?" Yana prompted.

The Manfolk pulled a roll of hide from the pouch then leaned over Yana, tugging up the hem of her tunic to reveal her wound. His touch on the downy fur of her leg was surprisingly gentle. Yana had no doubt that she was safe with him now, but that didn't stop her heart from racing. He unrolled the length of hide, stretched it over the wound, then took Yana by the wrist, trying to get her to hold the bandage in place. She tugged her arm free, afraid that he might feel her pulse quicken at his touch. He looked up at her with his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"I just… We ought to get to know each other first, don't you think?" She pressed a hand to her chest and enunciated, "Yana. Yah-nuh."

Recognition flashed in his eyes. "Yana?"

"Yana, yes! My name is Yana."

The Manfolk grinned, took Yana's hand and pressed it to his own bare chest. Suddenly, she found it very hard to hold his gaze. "Aslak," he said.

"Aslak? Ass-lack? Hrm. Well, he's kind and handsome, in a pinkish sort of way. I suppose it's too much to ask for him to have a strong Varda name, like Donk or Febas."

Aslak stretched her injured leg into his lap, watching Yana's face to be sure he wasn't hurting her. This time she held the bandage down as he wrapped up her wound. His hands moved with the assurance of experience and the tenderness of true concern. When he was finished, and the tight hold of the bandage helped to ease Yana's pain, he stood her up and brushed the dirt from her tunic.

"Thank you again. You must be sick of hearing that, even if you don't know what it means." Yana put weight on her wounded leg and a few cautious steps confirmed that she would be able to limp back home, although the thought of hiking through the woods after dark worried her. Aslak glanced up at the golden sky as if he could read her thoughts. "I should be going now. Sorry if I spoiled your trap by falling into it, but considering the damage done I'd say we're even."

Aslak spoke in his own language for the first time and pointed south, where the towering trees of the Brightwood gradually shrank and thinned toward the Manfolk's territory. Yana smiled and shrugged, which seemed to upset him. He spoke more slowly, stretching out the syllables of each unfamiliar word, but they meant nothing to Yana. Finally, he knelt down and hooked a thumb at the cape on his back. "Yana," he urged.

"You want to carry me?" Yana laughed, then felt a twinge of guilt as she saw Aslak frown. "It's a nice offer, really. But I'm going that way,"—she pointed to the depths of the Brightwood, where her clan lived in their secluded glade—"that way, understand? And my family don't take kindly to strangers. Especially strange Manfolk. Not that I think you're so strange, but—hey!"

Aslak ducked down, pulled Yana's arm over his shoulder then rose to his full height again, lifting her off the ground with surprising ease. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to his shoulders to keep from falling as he set off through the woods at a steady march, leaving his rope coiled around the oak but collecting a spear tipped with jagged stone that had been leaning against the tree. Yana's weight on Aslak's shoulders seemed to pose him no trouble at all, and if he understood her protests and orders to be let go, the Manfolk paid them no mind.

Finally, when the sun sank beneath the forest canopy and painted the Brightwood in rays of brilliant crimson, Yana set her chin on Aslak's shoulder and sighed.

"Oh well… What's the worst that can happen? Suppose you take me back to your village, skin me, and boil me in a cauldron. That's not much worse than sitting in some hole until I starve."

Yana's stomach rumbled and she scolded herself. Her basket full of perfectly good mushrooms was still lying at the bottom of the pit.

"Maybe that's for the best, eh Aslak?" The Manfolk cocked his head as he recognized his name. "If I was the first Varda cooked in a stew with seasonings they gathered themselves, the shame would be too much to bear."

***

The stars were out long before Aslak and Yana left the Brightwood, following the gently sloping path of the Little River. The Beastkin made good company for the solitary hunter, who was used to trekking between his village and the forest in silence. Yana gabbled on and on, but Aslak found the patter of her soft and squeaky voice comforting, although the only word he recognized was his own name.

Each time their one-sided conversation tapered off he would ask, "Yana?" and she answered with more chatter. Soon the silence between her monologues began to stretch. Aslak could tell from Yana's voice that she was losing strength quickly.

"You took a nasty wound," he said, leaning on his spear as they climbed a small hill. Shadows from the tall trees hid their path, but Aslak had hiked this way countless times since he was a boy and his footing was sure. Yana clung to him in silence. He could feel each of her shallow breaths through the cape across his back. "It's my fault. I dug that trap to catch animals, not Beastkin, but I hurt you all the same. That makes you my responsibility. I know you won't understand what I'm telling you… but please, Yana, just hold on a little longer."

Yana's slender arms squeezed Aslak and she muttered something in his ear.

"Won't be long, now. You may hear some arguing when we arrive but don't fear, I made a promise to help you and I intend to see it through."

The stockade around the village looked sheer black against the moonlit sky. A sentry fire was burning outside the gate. Aslak shouted a greeting and picked up his pace, ignoring the ache of his tired legs.

"Who goes there?" called the man on guard. Aslak saw him in silhouette as he stepped in front of the fire, leveling his spear at the darkness.

"Aslak the hunter, and another."

"Welcome, Aslak." The guard relaxed his posture as a second man ambled into the firelight.

"What have you got there, lad?" he asked Aslak with a chuckle. "A buck?"

"A Beastkin."

Aslak darted for the gate but its heavy door was shut. The guards' shock had passed before he could force them open and both men rounded on him, aiming their weapons at the dead weight on his back.

"Have you gone out of your head, lad?"

"Drop that thing and leave it be!"

"Look, it's still breathing—"

Aslak turned on his heel. Even in the flickering light of their fire, both guards recognized the challenge in his smoldering gaze. "This creature's name is Yana. She fell into one of my pitfalls and I've promised to help her."

"Don't talk nonsense, lad. Who knows what mischief she'll get up to once you've helped her."

"You can't trust a Beastkin," the second man agreed. "She could cast hexes on every one of us."

Aslak glanced from guard to guard. Yana's antlered head was slumped against his shoulder but both men kept their eyes on her as if she was a rabid dog. Aslak's voice was low and icy when he spoke again. "I've promised to help her and that's what I'll do. I'll take responsibility for her, and I'll send her on her way once her wound is healed. But any man who tries to keep us out of this village in the meantime will have a fight on their hands."

"Don't be simple, Aslak. There's two of us and only one of you."

With great care, Aslak stooped down and set Yana on the ground, leaning her head back gently until it was resting against the gate. She twitched and mumbled like a restless sleeper, then wrapped her arms around herself and shivered from the night's chill.

"I'll say it again." Aslak rose to his full height, his spear resting on his shoulder. The guards both retreated a step with their own weapons pointed at Aslak's bare chest. "You'll have a fight on your hands, the both of you, unless you open those doors right now."

The guards led Aslak through a maze of narrow buildings with thatched roofs to the heart of the village, holding burning brands ahead of them to light the way. Aslak urged them to move faster. Yana had been trembling since he scooped her back up in his arms.

"Risten!" he shouted, ignoring shushes from the other men. "Wake up, Risten! I need you."

Dogs throughout the village set to barking at the noise. A moment later, firelight filled the doorway to the chieftain's longhouse and curious villagers roused from their sleep began to poke their heads out of their huts and cabins. When Aslak reached the longhouse Risten was waiting at the entrance. A thin sleeping shift clung to the curves of her body and her long red hair was loose across her shoulders.

"We wondered where you were," she said calmly. "Have you brought home a stray, Aslak? That's not like you."

"Maybe your bad habits are rubbing off on me."

She stepped aside and motioned to the fire pit at the center of the long, open building. Her father, Isak, was stoking the flames. His flinty eyes swept over Aslak and the Beastkin on his back but there was no hint of surprise on his bearded face. "Hurt badly?" he asked.

"She fell into a pitfall at the edge of the forest."

Aslak laid Yana on Risten's bedroll beside the fire, cradling her head until it touched the soft blanket. Risten was already leaning over his shoulder, reaching down to inspect the bandage on Yana's thigh. It was stained red with fresh blood.

"She must have been a long way from home," Aslak mused. He stroked the tufts of soft, dark hair between her antlers. Yana shivered despite the heat of the fire. "She told me her name is Yana."

"Yana," Risten repeated. "Pretty name. Pretty young thing, too." Aslak hadn't noticed.

There were countless folk tales about men charmed by Beastkin—lured away from home by the waggle of a fluffy tail, only to meet some grisly fate in the dark of the forest. Aslak had never given those stories much credence before, but as Risten unraveled Yana's bandage his eyes wandered to the fine features of the Beastkin's furry face. Her button nose and pointed ears. Even with a hunter's sense for trouble, Aslak had no doubt that face could lead him astray.

She was short for a human, with a lithe body and slender limbs covered in fine, chestnut-colored fur dappled with white spots. The branching points of her antlers were impressive, but they had snapped off on one side. Aslak realized that was probably his fault, one more thing for Yana to hold against him, at least until they grew back.

"Wake up!" Risten snapped her fingers in front of Aslak's face. "I told you to fetch my satchel. If you're not fit to help me then go get someone else."

"Here." Isak dropped the satchel beside Risten then laid his hand on her shoulder. "I have to go and settle down everyone Aslak woke up. Can you two manage without me?"

"We'll manage," Risten said curtly, flashing her icy blue eyes at Aslak. "It's just a flesh wound, if Aslak can stop leering at her we'll have it stitched up soon."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't you two ever get tired of bickering?" Isak shook his head as he stared down at Yana. "The others won't like it, Aslak. Her being here, I mean. She can stay one night at most and then you'll have to take her back."

Aslak reached up and clasped the chieftain's calloused hand. Isak left the longhouse without another word.

"He spoils you, you know." Risten had already finished cleaning Yana's wound and began to stitch it closed with a curved fishbone needle. "If you brought home a bear as tall as him with a thorn in its paw he would say, 'One night and then it's back to the forest.'"

"You sound jealous."

"Of course I'm jealous. Every summer I beg him to let me go south to learn from the shamans in the valley and each year he says the same thing—"

"'When you're older,'" Aslak put on Isak's gruff voice and Risten smiled in recognition.

Yana shuddered as Risten's needle passed through her flesh. Aslak took her clammy hand in his and stroked her forehead. When he looked up again, Risten was breaking the thread between her teeth, but her eyes were fixed on him. "Don't get attached."

"I feel guilty, that's all. I didn't mean to hurt her."

"You're a hunter, Aslak. She's a beast. One with a mind, maybe even a family like ours, but you know better than most that man and beast can't set aside their differences any more than a Varda and a Bagi could."

Aslak kept his thoughts to himself as Risten bandaged Yana's wound. The Beastkin's eyes fluttered, but she didn't speak or stir before Risten finished her work and started to pack up her things.

"You said it yourself," Aslak finally spoke up. "The Beastkin are more like us than any creature of the forest. Maybe you can't change a bear's nature, or a rabbit's, but that's only because you can't speak to it and make yourself understood. You can't teach it your name."

Risten pursed her lips and brushed a strand of flame red hair behind her ear. "Don't fool yourself, Aslak. If you were the one at the bottom of that pit she would have walked right by you without a second thought."

"And if your only daughter wanted to leave the village, you would keep her home, too. Does that mean Isak's always right?"

"Of course I am, boy."

Aslak and Risten's heads snapped round as they heard Isak's voice booming from the doorway.

"Are you questioning my wisdom?"

"No, sir," Aslak answered swiftly.

"Think you know what's best for my family?"

"No, sir."

Isak strode beside them, looking down from beneath his bushy brows with his fists on his hips.

"I'll tell you this much: when I adopted a blond whelp 18 years ago, plenty of men questioned that decision. With Risten's mother dead and only me to look after the pair of you, they all said their chieftain had gone soft. But I thought I could make a hunter and a warrior out of you, like the son I never had. Was I wrong then, boy?"

Aslak hung his head. He couldn't find the strength to speak until Risten squeezed his arm. "No, sir."

"Don't sulk, either," Isak scolded him. "You might be right, after all. The Gods know my own father wasn't half as clever as he thought he was. Maybe that's just how things are." He knelt between Risten and Aslak, appraising Yana while he stroked his beard. "Everyone goes around thinking they know best until someone younger, smarter, bolder, or just damn foolish manages to prove them wrong. There was a crowd gathering outside, all in a panic that this 'monster' would hex the village… what drivel. Half of them had never seen a living Beastkin before tonight."

The three of them sat in silence for a long while, listening to the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of Yana's breathing. The long hike with Yana's weight on his shoulders was finally catching up with Aslak, and as he stretched out his stiff legs on the floor of the longhouse his eyelids felt very heavy.

"So…" Risten linked arms with her father. "If you admit that even you can make mistakes, does that mean—"

"No," Isak interrupted. "You're staying here, and that's that. Now off to bed with both of you. Aslak's pet won't be fit to do tricks until morning, so there's no point staying up any longer."

Both Risten and Aslak saw the wisdom in that. She unrolled a clean bedroll for herself and laid out another across the fire pit, in Aslak's usual place.

"I'll stay here," he said, dragging the blanket beside Yana. "If Yana wakes up before morning, she should see a familiar face."

"Yours?" Risten scoffed. "If she sees that mug in the dark it will set her running back to the Brightwood." She doused the flames and Aslak's whispered insults were drowned out in the chorus of hisses and pops from the firepit.

Risten and Isak must have fallen back to sleep as quickly as Aslak's arrival woke them. Before the glowing embers of the fire pit died out, the sounds of Risten shifting on her bedroll ceased and Isak's snores filled the longhouse, echoing off the finely hewn log walls. Any other night, Aslak would have shut his eyes and nodded off in mere moments, content and comfortable. It was his restless mind that kept him up, staring into the shadows above the roof timbers.

He thought back to the first time he had ventured into the woods at Isak's side. Aslak had been exhilarated and frightened, curious and tense. Every sight and sound in the woods was new to him, and he hung on Isak's every word, eager to understand what he saw and heard. He had been just seven years old that day. Now Aslak was 18, and he had begun to think that there was nothing new the world could teach him.

He didn't believe that anymore. Meeting Yana had shown him just how little he knew.

If the Beastkin were not the monsters his people made them out to be—if humans could learn to accept them, and live alongside them, what could they accomplish together?

The more he thought of it, the more Aslak came to doubt his own dream. His tribe had hunted the Beastkin almost to extinction in their lands. In the oldest songs of his people, the saga of their long migration north, they celebrated driving the Beastkin from their path with fire, arrows and spears.

How could you learn to forget so many lifetimes of pain and hatred? What reason would the Beastkin have to trust their hunters, to forgive humans for the pain and fear they had inflicted?

No answers came to Aslak while he stared into the dark. Not until he heard Yana take a sharp breath, the very slightest gasp of pain.

"I'm here," he whispered.

He stretched his arm out, threading his fingers with Yana, and she squeezed his hand gently.

"Aslak," she muttered drowsily.

"Yana," he answered.

Yana held on to his hand while she drifted back to sleep, nuzzling her cheek against the rough wool of the bedroll, and at last Aslak could shut his eyes in peace. He had no idea how to bring his people and Yana's together, he only knew for certain that he must.