As the eyes vanished, Blanc took an arrow with his wounded hand and nocked it as fast as he could.
The arrow, now ready to be loosed at any moment.
The branches where the beast was now stood still, the lynx gone.
But Blanc knew the beast's eyes were still on him.
So, they began their dance of hunter and hunted, neither one of them unsure of which was which.
I can't stay here for too long, I need to move, thought Blanc, as he kept on turning around, trying to see the beast.
He began walking, slowly, deliberately, silently.
As all the Marks he ever gathered, all the strength, senses, and instincts of the wild, were now a part of him. And he planned to use them to his advantage.
A twig suddenly snapped behind him.
With a spin, he drew the arrow and was about to lose it, when… nothing.
There was nothing there.
So he kept walking backwards, trying to climb the hill he had earlier moved around, to get a better sense of his surroundings, and take advantage of the terrain.
There was movement in the corner of his eye just for the slightest moment, yet, once more, when there should have been something, as dictated by Blanc's instincts and Marks, there was nothing.
He was being played with.
But that distraction made him trip on a root and fall backward, hitting the ground hard; however, with a roll to the side and a push of his hands, he recovered quickly and was back on his feet, nocking the arrow again and watching his surroundings.
With a grunt, not from any new wound, but from frustration, Blanc began walking uphill, yet there were no signs of the lynx.
Earlier, scratches on the bark of a few trees told him everything he needed to know. He was standing in its territory. So he knew he wouldn't be leaving here today without an additional Mark and a beautiful pelt, or without his life.
The adrenaline that was building in him gave him awareness he never knew he had. Combined with the Marks, he felt like a predator of his own, every sound echoing louder in his ears, giving him just the courage he needed.
He stood on top of the small hill, overlooking everything below. But he still did not manage to find sight of the lynx at all.
The rustling of a leaf resounded like thunder when it fell to the ground.
The snap of a young twig above sounded like a threat to his overly sensitive ears. And a threat it was.
As he locked eyes with the lynx, he saw it jumping towards him from a branch above, aiming straight at his neck, going for the kill.
But Blanc did not allow it, in a rush placing the bow and nocked arrow between them, not having enough time to lose it properly, hoping that it would at least wound the beast.
But the lynx did no such thing.
With a swift swipe of its paw, it knocked the arrow clean from the bow, sending it skittering off to their right. In the same instant, its leap arrived at its destination.
Crashing straight into Blanc.
Blanc hadn't even grasped the creature's size until it was too late to stop a full thirty kilograms of instinct and muscle crashing into him.
In a blur of fur and force, the two of them tumbled to the ground, the forest spinning before leaves and mud stopped their movement, clinging to them.
The lynx growled low, its voice a deep, rolling thunder that filled the clearing as they skidded to a stop near the carcass Blanc had spotted earlier.
It recovered first, faster, sharper, padding around him in a silent circle, its golden eyes locked on his every move, waiting for the smallest opening to end the hunt.
But Blanc didn't remain still either. With a grunt, he forced himself up through the frustration and pain, his breath steady as he searched desperately for a way to outsmart the beast before it struck again.
Both he and the lynx were having the same singular thought in mind, to kill the other.
The next moment, the lynx pounced.
Once. Twice. Trying to close the gap between them.
But Blanc did not yield. He swung his bow wide, shouting with all his might as he realized there was no time to nock another arrow, a desperate hope of keeping the beast from tearing him apart.
Then, without warning, the lynx did something he could never have expected.
Instead of pouncing, it darted aside, circling him with fluid, deadly grace before leaping up the trunk of a nearby tree. In an instant, it sprang off the bark, hurtling toward him from above.
Blanc moved on instinct, bow raised, arms braced. The impact rattled his bones as he forced the beast's snapping jaws aside, twisting its momentum to send it crashing into the dirt.
The lynx slammed into the ground with a heavy thud, but it wasn't down for long.
In the blink of an eye, it was back on its feet, faster than Blanc could draw a breath.
And now, he was without his bow.
His only means of keeping it at bay was now on the ground, feet away from them.
The lynx hissed at him as it walked, looking for an opening in a weaponless, roughly breathing Blanc. It knew this could be it.
So it didn't waste any time. It charged. Another jump, aimed straight for his throat, an attack blocked by Blanc's left hand, putting his forearm in the beast's mouth.
Its fangs dug deep, through tunic, skin, and flesh alike, almost arriving at the bones, trying to pry away, the taste of fresh blood filling the lynx with vigor once more.
But the vigor did not last for long, as the butcher's knife Blanc had held sheathed in the back of his pants had found a new host for the blade. The lynx's throat.
The beast fought, as it gurgled on its own blood, still trying to pry away from Blanc's hand, but its strength was wavering, its end drawing close.
With a scream so raw, so full of instinct, Blanc drove the blade deeper and deeper into the lynx's throat until the light faded from its eyes and its body went limp.
Yet his scream didn't stop.
It tore from his lungs, wild and mad, echoing through the trees until his voice finally broke and the silence swallowed him whole.
Only then did he pull his arm free from the beast's jaws, breath ragged.
The pain hadn't arrived yet; his body was still locked in survival, overflowing in adrenaline, too consumed by instinct to feel how bad the wound really was.
There were no thoughts. No thrill. No relief. He was a beast, a predator that killed another predator. And now, his reward came.
He kneeled beside the now dead lynx, placing his hand on its chest, and started absorbing its Raw Vita.
If before, he would have thought about mundane things during the beginning of the harvest, this time, he was focused on it from the very beginning.
The deafening silence took over, taking his mind beneath the surface of the normal world. The harvest for the Lynx's Raw Vita had begun.
The usual stiffness returned to his body, steadying his breath, the chaos in his mind settling into a slow rhythm. Every muscle stilled, locking him in place.
If before the Raw Vita had been the prize, this time it was merely an addition.
The greatest prize Blanc had received from this hunt, or more likely kept, was his survival.
And once more, the air began shimmering as the faint mist-shaped serpents of crimson and amber rose from the lynx's chest, flowing in the same beautiful dance as before, towards Blanc's chest.
The serpents began to pulse once they made their way towards his chest, taking after the beating of his heart.
The harvest had been completed successfully.
But there was something new this time, as red mist rose from his forearm, from the final wound he had received earlier.
Suddenly, the mist stopped.
He did not feel the wound anymore, nor the blood flowing from it, but he couldn't check either, as the new Mark showed its presence in him.
He felt his mind getting sharper, thoughts coming in more clearly, pictures of events that had happened before, more clearly in his mind.
He felt his eyes getting steadier behind his eyelids, way better than before.
Then, he felt as if he was the lynx itself, a hunger deep in the pit of his empty stomach, the desire to protect something of his, that it was rightfully his, and then… anger as his eyes settled on an unwanted guest. The hunt began anew.
He returned to the surface of the normal world, the sounds of nature reminding him of where he was, who he was.
His body returned to normal, without even feeling exhausted from the previous fight, as if he had eaten a full meal.
Then he remembered the weird occurrence, so he took what remained of the sleeve on his tunic and began rolling it up towards his elbow. And as he rolled it, his eyes grew wider.
The wound the lynx so graciously offered him on his left hand was now gone, replaced and healed by the outline of large spots on his skin that covered his entire forearm.
On both sides lay wide patches, each circled by a thin black line, the surrounding spots scattered without pattern or order.
It was beautiful... this new Mark of his. A perfect mirror of the lynx's own coat.
However, he couldn't leave just yet. He hadn't had the chance to fully explore what the Mark had given him. And the lynx, well, he couldn't take that back with him.
There was something he had to do first, an idea, something that had to be finished before he could return home… to whatever waited for him and his family there.
But at least, he felt better now. More calm and more powerful.