CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER 33 - THE TALLY OF FANGS AND ANTLERS

As she was making her way to the nearest patrol with the three boys, another sound erupted in the forest; this time it was a horn.

The horn to conclude the hunt.

’That much time has passed already?’

The four decided to shift directions slightly; instead of heading to the patrol, they would head directly to the estate.

The clearing behind the Earl’s estate spread before her, banners lifting in the morning wind. Already, figures stumbled or strode from the forest’s edge: nobles bruised and battered, some grinning, some limping, some carried by companions.

The attendants had prepared for this—rows of benches lined the yard, healers and servants already tending wounds with clean cloth and bitter-smelling poultices. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the iron tang of blood.

She walked through it and parted with the other three. She kept her head high; she was injured, but she could still stand. Let them see what she carried when it was time.

A commotion rose near the northern edge of the grounds. Two familiar figures emerged there—Alina, her braid loose and streaked with dirt, one arm slung around the neck of the lanky boy named Ren.

Both looked worse for wear. Ren’s tunic was ripped along the ribs, blood soaking through; Alina’s leg carried a fresh bandage tied too hastily to be neat.

Morena moved to them without hesitation.

"What happened?"

Alina looked up, surprised by the sharpness of her tone.

"We were fine. Deer, two of them, maybe three if you count the smaller one. Then a boar caught us off guard. Ren pushed me clear, but it clipped him."

Ren wheezed a laugh, pale but grinning.

"Boar tusks. Worse than nobles at a banquet."

Morena frowned at him, then glanced back at Alina, whose smile was tight.

"You should have been more careful."

Alina bristled but didn’t argue. She knew the truth of it. Morena let the words end there and helped the two of them.

"Sit. Get treated."

She guided them to one of the benches. Alina tried to wave her off with her usual fire, but Morena’s expression silenced her, so she obeyed.

The yard filled steadily as more groups trickled back. Some carried pelts strung on poles, others dragged carcasses by ropes, straining under the weight. Two boys returned carrying nothing but bruises and shame, their expressions dark as they slipped into the crowd.

Then Cedric appeared with his group.

The Earl’s son strode from the treeline with five companions, his fine coat torn, one arm hanging limp. But they dragged between them something larger than most had dared. Two direwolves, their pelts black and silver, muzzles slack with death. A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles, admiration and envy alike. Cedric basked in it, grinning despite the blood smeared across his cheek.

"Two direwolves! Together!"

Someone exclaimed.

"But six of them, the points will be cut thin."

Another murmured, quieter.

The talk swirled, growing louder as attendants moved to gather proof from each group. Antlers were counted, tusks tallied, fangs and pelts sorted into neat piles. Servants with tablets of parchment scribbled tallies beside names, voices calling out numbers that made the younger nobles’ faces brighten or pale.

"House Veynar: two boars, one deer—score, 16."

"House Talven: no proof returned—score, 0."

"Ren of House Arvel and Alina of House Ravenscroft: three deer, one boar—score, 22."

Alina’s chin lifted slightly at the count, though she winced as the bandage on her leg tugged. Ren groaned but smiled when others clapped him on the shoulder.

"Lord Cedric Duran, with companions: two boars, one deer, two direwolves—score, 45. Divided six ways."

Gasps and murmurs rippled at the announcement. Cedric’s grin faltered for half a heartbeat before he smoothed it back into place. His companions laughed loudly, trying to drown the sting.

Then silence fell as one of the attendants lifted a pouch slick with blood.

"Lady Morena Ravenscroft. Proof submitted: two-horned deer, one boar, two direwolves, and three wolves."

The servant opened the pouch as they counted it. Antlers, tusks, pelts folded tight, and direwolf fangs that gleamed wet in the morning light.

The yard hushed.

The numbers were called.

"Total score: 46."

The silence broke like glass.

Murmurs swept through the nobles, sharp with disbelief.

"Forty-six? Alone?"

"Impossible—"

"She hunted alone?"

"Two direwolves, by herself—"

Even Cedric turned, his confident smile cracking into something tighter. His eyes searched her face as though trying to pierce her calm.

Morena stood still, her expression unshaken.

Her sister gaped openly, mouth half open as though she had forgotten how to breathe.

"You... forty-six? Alone?"

Alina’s voice carried across the murmuring yard, disbelief painted in every syllable.

Morena met her gaze, steady and calm.

"Didn’t I say I would win?"

It silenced her younger sister more effectively than any scolding could have. Alina’s lips pressed tight, torn between pride and shock.

She was proud of her sister, proud that she was able to hunt so much alone; that alone was proof of her strength. But deep down, she felt a bit of envy, wishing she could’ve done that as well.

But she didn’t let that cloud her mind; instead, she congratulated her sister with a smile.

The Earl rose from his platform, his heavy fur cloak settling like a mantle. He surveyed the yard, then let out a booming laugh that silenced all else.

"So! The stories write themselves! The hunt is done, and blood tells its tale. Antlers, tusks, fangs—you have all fought well. Some with triumph, some with scars, but all with courage."

His gaze swept the yard, then paused, heavy on Morena.

"Yet among us, one has shown more than courage. Lady Morena Ravenscroft. Alone, she brought back not deer nor boar only, but wolves, direwolves, the very teeth of the forest. Such strength cannot be ignored."

The murmurs rose again, now mixed with admiration, jealousy, and calculation. Nobles glanced at one another, weighing the meaning of her score, her name, for alliances, for rivalries, and for the future.

Morena lowered her head slightly at the Earl’s words, enough to acknowledge but not bow.

"This hunt is no coronation."

He continued.

"But it is proof. Proof of who you are, and who you may become."

Cedric raised his cup in a mock salute, his smile sharper now.

"To Lady Morena, then. First among us."

The yard echoed with lifted cups, though not all voices were warm.

Alina leaned close, whispering with disbelief still lacing her words.

"I thought... I thought I knew your limits."

Morena turned her head just enough to meet her eyes.

"You never did."

The servants finished their tallies, parchment rolled and sealed. The hunt was declared ended, and the nobles drifted back toward the estate with chatter rising behind them—admiration, envy, speculation.

The hunt was over, but the night was still young. Many wanted to stay a while longer to drink, talk, and enjoy themselves; afterwards, the journey home would begin.