Hidden Ink #1: Hunting Trip
Inspired by this post by @albino-whumpee about rough caretakers and feral whumpees.
Hidden Ink masterlist
Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, reluctant caretaker, hissy kitten whumpee, brief blood mention, leg-in-beartrap whump, some swearing.
Mika rose before the sun did, fumbling with the hurricane-lamp until its glow illuminated the inside of the cabin. It was one his father had left him, a centuries-old relic that still worked by some miracle. By the time he’d pulled on his hunting boots and helped himself to the berries and jerky he’d scraped together the night before, the lamp was no longer strictly necessary. He made sure to turn it off before he went out.
It had rained in the night. Mika could smell the petrichor in the soil and on the trees. When he brushed past a shrub to get to the forest track, the leaves left wet smears where they’d made contact. He shivered a little—the rain had absorbed most of the unbearable heat from the day before—and lifted his bow away from the foliage to help keep it dry. The morning birds sang to each other in the canopy above.
The first thing to do, Mika decided, would be to check on the traps. He’d set up a few new ones yesterday, a little more efficient than some of the others. He hadn’t forgotten the way something had pulled itself loose, dragging the trap with it. Mika had followed the trail of blood some way before he’d concluded he wasn’t getting the trap back. It had been a harsh lesson and, if his father had still been alive, he would not have let him forget it. The size of whatever he’d initially captured would have kept him fed for weeks.
“All right,” he muttered to himself as he pushed away waist-high ferns. As much as he’d tried to maintain the path he’d beaten, the local flora had other ideas. “First trap—up here…”
First trap was empty, of course. Mika checked briefly for damage, then let it be.
“Second trap…”
And then he heard the deer. Thrashing, loud thrashing. Instinct pressed him against a nearby tree trunk, turning his face towards the sound. The bow trembled a little in his grip. Something big. He needed to not mess this up. Land a few arrows in it, finish it off before it caught wind of him and struggled even harder…
His back still to the tree, he manoeuvred with a hunter’s practised silence. Get a good view, get a good shot. He reached for the quiver at his hip, his fingers seeking an arrow. He drew back the string, aiming that arrow at the writhing patch of darkness, and waited for the moment.
Something stayed his hand. Not a conscious realisation, but an itch that urged him to reconsider. He lowered the bow, returning the arrow to its quiver before he’d even realised what he was doing. Stalling… why was he stalling? He was almost out of food at the cabin, with each trip this past week having ended in failure. He couldn’t afford to pass this up, and yet…
The deer sobbed. Mika had killed plenty, and was familiar with their dying throes. He had never heard one make that sound before. And that weakly struggling darkness didn’t have the form of a deer; the configuration of the limbs suggested something closer to home. The early sun illuminated the side of a face, and a matted tangle of hair that did not resemble a deer’s fur.
“Oh, fuck.” Mika ran forward.
Prising the trap away would have been perfectly possible with the correct technique. The person caught in its jaws did not know the technique. Mika saw rips on the trouser leg where they’d tried to brute-force it, saw the splatters of new and dried blood on the leaves of the forest floor. He couldn’t blame the captive for that. The position of the trap on their ankle had forced them to the ground, pressing their face into dirt. Even for someone who knew what they were doing, who knew the release mechanisms like Mika did, it would not have been a straightforward task. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone would be… Here, I’ll help you.”
A scream startled the surrounding birds into silence. The thrashing recommenced, but without focus. Mika tried to catch the imprisoned leg and received a kick from the other. He was about to try again when a stone smacked him in the shoulder. A quick glimpse told him the captive was scrabbling in the dirt for another.
“Will you stop?” The impact of the first one would leave a bruise. Drawing back his bow-string was not going to be fun. “I’m not trying to hurt you!”
The captive’s hand did not still. Mika saw them grab another rock, this one much bigger. He did not hang around to see if they were strong enough to throw it. Instead he tackled the arm, using his weight to pin it against the ground, and the captive screamed until his ears rang. Under all the dirt, they were young. Probably a boy, although the presented profile and neutrally messy hair made it difficult for Mika to confirm that. Whoever and whatever they were, they were not content to let Mika contain them further. Mika had to duck his head as teeth snapped at his ear.
“I’m trying to help,” he snarled. “Help. Not hurt. Help.”
The boy hissed something incoherent, trying to raise his free arm to take a swipe. Mika shifted his weight so he was sitting between his shoulder blades. “If you keep wriggling, you’re going to do yourself a worse injury.”
Gradually the boy’s struggles stilled, although his shoulders heaved below Mika. Muttering to himself, Mika turned his attentions to the trapped leg. He knew he had no right to get so impatient, and indeed it was mostly a cover for the guilt. He’d set that trap, and a human being had stumbled into it.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised, and got to work on the mechanism. The jaws opened with a click, the metal teeth stained with the boy’s blood. “There, it’s done. I’m sorry again…”
The boy scrambled up, dragging his injured leg. Mika could tell from his stance that his centre of gravity was off. A pale, trembling hand reached for a discarded backpack that Mika hadn’t noticed. He was about to call him back, tell him he needed to look at the wound, when the boy’s balance gave out. Mika grabbed him, half-expecting a snap or a snarl, but the boy seemed to be beyond that. Glassy eyes stared uncomprehendingly under heavy lids as Mika lowered him to the ground.
“Great,” Mika muttered. Without a deadweight, the cabin was a half-hour away. He did not like to think about how much more difficult the journey would be if he had to drag the boy along narrow trails and treacherously steep slopes. He’d done it before with deer carcasses, and the multiple trips always left him exhausted. Slicing the boy into manageable parts would not be an option here.
“We’ll get that leg seen to,” he promised, hauling the weakly stirring shape over his shoulder.
The boy dug his nails into Mika’s back, a rebellion that reminded Mika just what he was signing himself up for.
Part 2










