Argo eyed the mountain of Giant Veydrak Fish, stunned by the amount of food the Cave Bear gathered for them all. Seconds later, he was brought back to reality as Bjorn shook water from his pelt, droplets hissing into the fire. ''Show-off.''
The Giant Cave Bear snorted steam and lumbered to the carcass. Sand jumped beneath his large paws. 'Winter comes. We need to feast to survive.'
''Yes, and this'll keep the cold at bay.'' Argo sliced through the flesh of one of the fish and then stepped aside. ''Dig in.''
'Take what you need, master. Too much for one night,' Bjorn offered.
Argo nodded and summoned the big cats, who stepped out of the Beast Realm and fell on the prize. Blood painted the tide-line crimson as they started eating. When the beasts lay panting, he carved thick slabs from the fish and set them over the roaring fire. He ripped off a strip, ate until his gut ached.
Some time later, Argo drifted into sleep, lulled by the quiet certainty that the beasts stood sentinel through the night. They held the darkness at bay until dawn, when he stirred awake to find Bjorn devouring the last of the fish under the others' watchful eyes. The Grey Owl swiveled toward him, blue gaze sharp.
'That bear's a glutton, polished it off in under an hour.'
''Let him eat,'' Argo said, rolling his shoulders until joints cracked like distant thunder. ''Muscle like his doesn't run on air.''
Aslan rumbled low, turned toward the nearby trail they took to get here. Argo vaulted onto the lion's broad back. With a thought, he dismissed Bjorn and Artemis back to the Beast Realm, leaving him, the big cat, and Athena, who was flying high above, she was already scouting ahead.
The American Lion launched into a sprint, black mane streaming, bound for the Death Woods and home. Caravans scattered as the lion thundered across roads and fields. Three days later, the Dead Woods appeared in the distance, and the treeline was a comfort for him as they rushed inside.
By the time they reached the hut, Aslan was tired and slumped down when Argo jumped off his back. Bjorn and Artemis appeared as the Cave Bear spoke. 'I'll guard the entrance; no one will come near here without me knowing.'
''Thank you, Bjorn,'' he responded as he dropped the pelts he harvested.
Argo began hanging them up while checking on the ones he had hung up previously, realizing they were done. ''Thank the goddess, now we can start on the new gear before heading to Northwatch. I need a metal blade.''
Just then, Athena landed beside him, her feathers looking bluer than usual as she commented. 'What do you plan on doing for the winter? Could camp on the Southern Shore, or do you want to travel past the Northern Pass?'
''Why would I travel to those nightmare lands? Mother said it was full of unusual beasts and things the size of those old Wareward Trees to the west,'' he answered as he began cutting one of the dry pelts.
'To explore the world, tame new beasts and cause chaos for the Urvak.'
''I mean, I could attack the camp they have in the mountains? The Varna have been panicking about it, and now we have Bjorn, can we take it?'' Argo suggested, excitement welling up inside him.
'What about the Southern Swamps?' Artemis added, plopping down by his feet. ''There are human ruins deep inside it?'
Argo's head snapped toward the Nightclaw, questioning. ''Anything in there?''
'I don't know, I've seen them but never bothered going near them,' she replied, cleaning herself. 'Those horrible creatures chase anything away when getting near.''
''Can you believe they throw their shit at you!' she raged.
''What are they?'' he asked.
'Human-like beasts,' Athena was the one to answer. 'They live in the swamps.''
She moved toward the edge, continuing. ''I encountered them when I was returning to you, Arg.'
Argo grew curious but shook his head. ''Winter is near, and I'm not going south. River Tyrants or King of the Plains start coming out. I'd rather not run into those nightmares.''
A chill crawled up his spine at the thought of the two beasts he'd never laid eyes on, only heard whispered in tales. The River Tyrant, a Quinkana, a giant crocodile built for sprinting on land, had left him speechless when his mother first painted its picture.
Then there was the King of the Plains: a Megalania, lizard enough to swallow a horse whole. 'I still can't believe such monsters walk Arda,' he thought, fingers working the last strip of pelt free. 'But if Ginshu Sharks prowl the coasts, what else is waiting out there?'
Following that, Argo shook his head and set the finished pelt aside, its hide supple and clean, then turned to the second. The knife moved in steady arcs, scraping away the last clinging fat until the skin lay pale and ready. Two pelts now, thick enough for the soles, soft enough for the uppers.
He rolled them tight, bound them with a strip of sinew, and tucked them under a flat stone to keep the curl. Next came the stitching. He selected a length of sinew thread from his pouch, strong, flexible, and already softened by chewing. With a sharpened bone, he punched neat holes along the edges, spacing them like the beats of a drum.
The sinew slid through, pulled taut, doubled back. Each stitch locked the last, building a seam that would outlast the season. For the soles, he chose the tougher hide of a river boar, cured stiff and thick. He traced his foot onto it, cut wide, then layered it beneath the softer pelt.
A second row of holes, a second thread of sinew. The boots took shape: high above the ankle, laced with braided grass cord, padded inside with tufts of wool he'd saved from shearing the mountain goats years ago. He worked by the afternoon light, fingers sure, until the last knot was tied and the boots stood finished, ready for the miles ahead.
Following that, Argo flexed his hands, the ache in his fingers dulled by the small satisfaction of creating his first piece of clothing. The boots stood by the fire, their seams dark with oil. Smoke curled lazily upward, carrying the scent of tanned hide and burnt fat. He wiped the knife on a strip of bark and looked at the rest of his stock.
A few pelts, half a roll of sinew, a clutch of grass cord, and a single patch of river-boar hide too stiff for comfort. Not nearly enough. From the remaining ones, he cut wide panels, rough shapes that might pass for trousers once stitched together. He worked slowly, mindful of waste.
The blade whispered through the hides, leaving pale lines that glimmered in the firelight. Bjorn's deep rumble drifted from the entrance. 'You work too much, master. Rest.'
''Winter won't wait,'' Argo muttered, threading another length of sinew. ''And I won't freeze because I slept too long.''
The bear snorted, but said nothing more. By the time the moon had risen high, he had one leg sewn and the other half-measured. The sinew thread frayed, threatening to snap. He chewed the end, softened it, and tied another knot. It held, barely. Athena swooped down from her perch above the rafters, landing near the fire.
Her feathers flashed silver in the light. 'You'll run out before the shirt,' she said matter-of-factly.'
'I already have.'
He lifted the last pelt, thin, worn, almost brittle. It wouldn't hold a stitch. He rubbed the edge between his fingers, sighed, and set it aside. ''I can patch what's left with the grass cord,'' he said, half to himself. ''Maybe twist it with wool.''
'You'd do better weaving smoke,' the owl replied, amused.
Argo grunted, but kept working. He sewed until the sinew gave way, splitting with a sharp sound. The thread dangled loose from the half-made trousers, mocking him. ''That's it, then.'' He dropped the needle and leaned back, stretching until his spine cracked. ''Pants for one leg, shirt for none.''
Bjorn shifted, the earth trembling faintly. 'You have claws and teeth among us. We'll find what you need.'
''Not before the frost hits.'' Argo stared into the fire. Sparks leapt up, bright against the dark. ''Still, maybe the plains will give something.''
Athena turned her gaze toward the window slit, where snow whispered against the wood. 'The first flake has already fallen.'
Argo rose, shaking stiffness from his arms. ''Then I'd better hunt tomorrow.''
He gathered what scraps he had left, a few scraps of hide, strands of sinew, and a broken needle, and tucked them into a pouch alongside the unfinished clothing. ''They'll do for now,'' he muttered. ''Until I can complete them, that is.''
Outside, Bjorn's breath steamed like smoke in the cold air. The bear's blue eyes gleamed faintly as Argo stepped outside and joined his newest bond. ''Tomorrow,'' he said. "We hunt to finish my new clothes.''
The Giant Cave Bear huffed, a sound between laughter and promise. 'For cloth, or something that wears it.'