Of Blood And Fire by Ryan Cahill (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

head scraping the jagged rock ceiling of the cave. It had to be ten feet tall.

A roar erupted from its now open jaws but was cut short by a sharp whoosh, followed by a heavy thunk. The turkey feather fletching of one of Tharn Pimm’s arrows now jutted from the bear’s chest. The roar that the bear had initially intended paled in comparison to the visceral thunder that now crashed forward from its open mouth. With it came a spray of spit and phlegm, accompanied by an abusive waft of rotting flesh.

Slumping its upper body close to the ground, the howling bear swept its hulking shoulders towards Rist. Its thick muscular neck collided with his sternum in a crash, launching him backwards into the darkness.

Whoosh.

Another arrow now protruded from the bear’s right shoulder. Calen didn’t even remember seeing Dann get to his feet. Yet, there he stood, bow raised, the string drawn back to the corner of his mouth, which was a thin line of concentration. He squinted to see in the bleak light.

The bear let out another earth-shattering roar. The natural acoustics of the cave amplified the sound, and Calen and Dann both winced as their ears drummed with pain.

In that moment, the bear charged, its solid, burly legs carrying its gargantuan body at a pace that Calen could not believe. He pulled his knife from its sheath as the creature careened towards him. Another arrow sank into its shoulder. The sound was drowned out by the crashing stones and lumps of clay lifted by the bear’s feverish charge.

Dann threw himself out of the way, crashing into the wall of the cave. Calen wasn’t so lucky. He swung his knife as the top of the bear’s skull caught him in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the hard ground. A searing pain shot through his torso.

As the bear lifted its head, Calen caught sight of his knife, buried to the hilt in the animal’s neck. It lurched to the right as its feet staggered. Both the knife and the arrows had wounded it badly, and the wounds were taking their toll. Its movements were slow; each careful step towards Calen seemed to take all of its energy. Calen’s heart pounded in his chest as the enormous creature got closer. The bear’s now wobbly legs heaved its towering frame by sheer will alone. With little warning, the bear collapsed. The ground shook with the impact, plumes of dust occluding what little light there was.

It took a lifetime for Calen to drag himself to his feet. The aching pain running up the right side of his body distracted from the pain everywhere else. He found Dann standing over the crumpled frame of the bear. Its sheer size still struck fear into Calen. It was still alive, its breathing slow and laboured. Each breath was heavy, rasping, as the bear attempted in vain to drag air into its collapsing lungs.

Dann pulled an arrow from his quiver and wrapped his fist firmly around the shaft. Even in the frail light, Calen saw his fingers turning white from the grip. He lifted the arrow and, with a grimace of regret, drove it straight through the soft tissue at the side of the bear’s head. The breathing stopped.

Dann hunkered down onto his knees and placed a hand on the fur of the bear’s neck. “Better it was quick,” he sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping.

There was a weighted silence in the air. The only sounds were the creaking of branches and the whistling wind, accompanied by the chirping of crickets. His shoulder would hurt in the morning. In fact, it already did.

“Guys,” Rist called, “is it dead?”

Calen couldn’t stop his hands shaking. He heard Dann sigh, and although he couldn’t see through the darkness that had grown stronger as the fire dwindled, he could tell that he had thrown his eyes up to the heavens.

“Yes, Rist, the bear is dead.” Calen frowned as he looked towards Dann’s slumped silhouette.

“Okay, good,” Rist said. His voice was shaking, and Calen could hear the dryness in his throat. Rist must have pushed a log into the fire because it spat embers into the air, and the cave became a little brighter. He was fully visible now as he stood by the fire. Dried blood and dirt were matted into his dark hair. His coat was covered in clay and dust, and a few rips and tears raced down his left sleeve. In his hand was the skull of a deer – young, judging by its size. It was blotched grey with dirt and picked clean of flesh.

“I’m not going back to sleep.”

CHAPTER 6

More Than Bears in the Woods

I still think Anya will dance with you on Feast Night,” Rist said as he pulled his knife up the length of wood that rested across his lap, tapering it into a point at the end.

“Leave it, Rist. We are just friends,” Calen said, his cheeks reddening. Rist and Dann exchanged a look. Dann tilted his head and raised an all-knowing eyebrow, laughing.

Calen tried his best to ignore them as he held the sharpened end of his own makeshift spear just above the flames of the fire that sat in front of them. That was a trick his father had taught him long ago. Baking the tip of a wooden spear made it lighter and stronger. The thick pole of wood was about six and a half feet long, and just under two inches in diameter. He would have felt far more comfortable with a sword in his hands, but given the circumstances, the spear would do just fine.

They all sat just in front of the cave mouth. Even with the bear dead, there was not a chance any of them would sleep in there again. A few feet away, the bear’s pelt hung between two trees, stretched as wide as it could go. Dann had spent most of the morning and early afternoon skinning the bear