Okay, kind of a lame title, but I think you'll like this little vignette from Nikolas' time in the Hinterlands (where he trained with the elves):
A soft swish broke the air just behind the arrow that created it, followed by a dull thud as the point met its mark. The arrow pierced the stag's right shoulder, driving the shaft halfway into its body and piercing the heart. Some blood splashed onto the dew-moistened leaves on the ground as the large animal started at sharp pain and immediately took off running.
Nikolas watched it for a moment, trying to figure out in which direction the stag was ultimately going to head, then picked up his pack, slung his bow over his shoulder and walked toward where the buck had stood moments before. He was pleased with his shot, confident it had been enough to mortally wound the animal. But, as usual, he would have to track for some miles before finding, he hoped, the corpse. And that was assuming wolves didn't find it first.
Nikolas found the spot where his arrow had struck- a pool of blood, about the size of his palm, had gathered on the dirt and leaves covering the Hinterlands forest floor. He bent down to examine it and look for a blood trail, when something caught his eye- another pool of blood, a few feet to his left. He looked at it and furrowed his brow- this wasn't from the stag he'd just shot. It was too dark, it was on the wrong side of the body from where the arrow had struck, and it was opposite the direction in which the wounded animal had run.
Nikolas reached out and touched this pool of blood- it was cool to the touch, meaning it was likely a few hours old. He brought his fingers to his nose, breathing in its scent. A sour smell burned his nostrils and he quickly moved his hand away, wiping the blood on the ground and quickly scanning the surrounding trees with his eyes. Troll blood! He knew that scent well from the many forest trolls he had fought and slew here in the Hinterlands. Nikolas rose and drew out his hunting swords, one in each hand, turning his head this way and that, looking for any sign of a trap or ambush. But there were none.
He looked around the forest floor, scanning, searching for….there. Another small puddle of the same dark, sour blood. Drops leading out from the far side of the pool showed the direction in which the wounded troll had gone. Crouching in readiness, all senses alert and on edge, Nikolas began to look around. Imprints on the ground, torn leaves and patches of fur gave him a good idea of what had happened. Two, maybe three wolves had attacked the troll, maybe even caught him off guard, and the troll had struck back. He didn't kill the wolves, not right then at least, but had likely driven them off...yes, the tracks moved off away from the spot where Nikolas now crouched.
Turning his attention back to the blood on the ground, Nikolas scanned the area around him, searching for....there. Another small of blood. Moving over to it, Nikolas looked further along a straight line in front of him, and sure enough, there was a third spot of red. The three points made a rough line, telling Nikolas in which direction the wounded troll had set off. Deciding to track this troll and maybe find it, Nikolas moved off along the imaginary line, moving from blood spot to blood spot.
A shame, he thought as he drew his twin hunting swords, to leave such a strong and healthy buck to other predators, beasts that had no regard other than instinct for the meat. But he had different prey now, more dangerous and unpredictable.
As he moved, Nikolas thought about where he was headed and what he might find. The blood trail led to the south, away from the northern mountain range. Nikolas guessed the troll headed for the small river about two miles from here. That made sense- the water would wash the blood and hide the troll's scent from other potential predators. With luck, he would only find the troll's corpse. Nikolas didn't shy away from battle, not in the least, but he did not often invite it. But he was on patrol this morning, and if he found a troll, his job was to capture or kill it.
It helped that rain had fallen the day before- the ground was soft and the leaves were wet, dampening the noise as Nikolas walked over them. He kept a tight grip on each of his swords, ears listening intently to the forest around him. He had suspected from the moment he first saw the blood that this might be a ruse, a trap set up to catch him or kill him. But for now, there were no indicators but that the troll had been alone.
A quarter mile from the river, Nikolas slowed to almost a snail's pace. He paused after every step, looking, listening, smelling, feeling. Still nothing alerted him to any possible danger, but until he knew there was none, he would keep his guard up.
