Peter Mercier and the Hunters of Artemis

Chapter 14

Hiccup had his hands on his hips, a sour look on his face as he stood over the downed animal. "Well," he cleared his throat, looking at the red-stained bolt lodged in the middle of its abdomen, the fur dripping with blood. Its eyes were closed and it laid still on the grass, ripening berry bushes surrounding it. "It's definitely dead. Good shot, too, I think."

"Thanks, chief," Peter said, trying to keep his already-ripped shirt out of the thorns and brambles. Amber stood next to him, watching Hiccup awkwardly study the carcass. It was a relatively small yak, a male with short horns and speckled grayish-brown fur, but the way Hiccup was worriedly eyeing it made it seem like a dying dragon. "Do you know how to butcher it?"

"Do I?" the chief repeated. "No. But, does Eret?" he took a few steps back, turning around to look at them. "I'll go ask."

"The chief of New Berk is squeamish," Amber snickered, crossing her arms. "I'm not," Hiccup argued, walking away back to the house. "I just don't know how to do it."

"Because you're squeamish," Peter agreed, tailing him. Amber stayed behind. "And," she added. "To be fair, we don't know how either, but at least we have excuses."

The chief grumbled something under his breath Peter couldn't hear over their footsteps, keeping silent the rest of the way. The walk to find the captain wasn't far, though, as Eret obliviously peeked out from around a tree, carrying an ax. "There you are," he furrowed his brow, waving his arms in relief as he noticed them. "Leaving me alone to start the fire by myself?"

"Peter killed a yak," Hiccup shrugged, patting the boy's shoulder. The captain's expression softened. "You want to come take a look? Help us clean it?"

"Was it a decent shot?" Eret asked, jogging forwards and quickly going past them, eager to see what happened. "Are you sure it's dead?"

Hiccup took off after him, leaving Peter behind. "Looks like it," Peter answered as the two raced off. "Don't do anything until I get there!"

Passing the tree-shrouded pond to find Amber still there, startling her as they quickly approached. "For gods' sake," she jumped, standing next to the yak. "I thought you were some of his friends coming for revenge."

"Oh boy," Eret gawked, walking up to the body, putting his hands on his hips. He dropped the ax next to it, absorbed by the sight. "Not a bad prize, Peter. Looks alright..."

He absentmindedly shoved Amber out of the way, deep in thought. Kneeling, he fiddled with the arrow. "Speaking of which, actually," Hiccup looked at Peter, referring to Amber's comment. "Are there many more of these?"

"My parents kept most of them penned up on the other side of the island so they didn't hurt me by accident," he answered. "I know the way, but it's probably a decent trek. Might be pretty overgrown, and the pen's definitely broken by now."

"If we need to we can make some new bolts out of whatever we can, go over there and see if we can't get another," Amber suggested. Peter hesitated, scratching at some stubble on his chin. "I think this'll be plenty for now."

"Um, about that," Eret interjected, grasping the bolt with his hands, making a very distressing face of nearly-apathetic disgust. "Cover your noses."

The bolt had been buried inside the yak's chest, feather-deep, the tip lining up with the rest of the body. Blood and other various dark-colored bodily fluids poured from the wound as Eret ripped it out, and everyone collectively gagged at the smell, even with their noses pinched shut. "I warned you," he reminded, his face turning green and sweat beading on his forehead. His tone was unwavering as if he'd done this a hundred times. "The arrow entered it in the intestines, but it pierced the heart and stomach too. Which sucks, because it means we can't eat the meat. It'll taste like, well..."