text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy, fantasy, dystopia]
  
  It's before dawn. Tired of the rations brought by the tribe, you've decided to bring down the first hunt of the season. You grab your bow, arrows, spear, and satchel, and step outside the warmth and pressed-together bodies of the communal tent.
  
  You see Enya outside the tent. She's sitting cross-legged on a large rock, scraping a piece of flint over a bone knife.
  
  "Morning," you say. You eye her with a slight amount of caution.
  
  She returns the greeting, not looking up from the knife.
  
  "Planning on going out for a hunt?" you ask.
  
  "Aye. Gonna bring down the first buck of the season, I'd reckon."
  
  You raise your eyebrows. "I think you should reckon something else, because I'm about to bring down the first buck of the season."
  
  She snorts, and stands up. "Sounds like we have a competition on our hands, then."
  
  > hunt together
  You regard the defiant, scarred elf for a moment. "Not necessarily."
  
  "How so?"
  
  "We'd probably catch more if we worked together, yeah?"
  
  "Don't think that's how it works," she says with a scoff.
  
  You think on this, for a moment. "Yeah, you're probably right," you say, before turning to depart into the forest.
  
  She pulls on your arm. "Doesn't mean we can't go together, though."
  
  Your arrow pierces the rabbit's throat, killing it instantly, and pinning it to the ground. You break from your hiding place in the snow to retrieve the arrow, and tie the rabbit to a piece of rope that holds three other rabbits.
  
  "Nice shot," Enya says, motioning to the rabbit with her thumb, "right in the neck."
  
  "What can I say? I have a gift." you say, grinning. You wipe the blood off the tip of your arrow, and stuff it back into your quiver.
  
  She looks into the sky, and measures the sun's progress against her fingers. "It's nearly midday. Should probably head back, yeah?"
  
  "Haven't shot anything big yet, though." your mouth still waters at the thought of a piece of venison.
  
  She grinds her foot into the snow. "Think it might be best for us to head back."
  
  > Head back to camp with Enya
  "Aye, you're right," you say, frowning slightly.
  
  "Ah, cheer up. We'll bring down an elk or something tomorrow. Besides, I would have kicked your ass anyway." she unstrings her bow, and you do the same. You rest the bow over your shoulder, along with your spear and three rabbits.
  
  "I seem to notice that I've three rabbits, and you have two." you say mockingly, as you begin to head back to camp.
  
  "Maybe so, but I caught a squirrel."
  
  "No way a squirrel's worth a rabbit. It's half the size."
  
  "But it's harder to hit."
  
  "I'm sure all the hungry children back at camp will be pleased to note that your measly little squirrel was hard to hit."
  
  "I'm sure they will appreciate my expert marksmanship, thank you very much."
  
  "I'll believe it when I see it."
  
  As you approach the camp, you take a deep breath of the crisp winter air. It's tinged with far more smoke than usual; something is terribly wrong.
  
  You drop your kills into the snow, and immediately begin to string your longbow again.
  
  "What's wrong?" Enya hisses, dropping down into a crouch.
  
  "Smells like a wildfire down there."
  
  "Maybe they lost control of a cooking fire?"
  
  "Or maybe it's a fucking raiding party."
  
  Her eyes widen, and she, too, begins to string her bow. Soon, the two of you ghost through the snow-covered forest until you reach the clearing. Your suspicions are immediately confirmed. One of the tents is on fire. A couple dozen tribespeople are kneeling in the snow, and heavy iron manacles are being placed on them by stern-faced legionnaires with short-swords and tower shields.
  
  "They're being taken," you whisper.
  
  "I can see that."
  
  "We've got to stop them!" you knock an arrow.
  
  "We cannot fight them! There are a bunch of them, and two of us. If you give away our position, we die. We need to leave, and we need to do it now."
  
  > fight the legionnaires
  You loose the arrow. It strikes true, hitting a legionnaire in the throat. He sinks to the ground, clutching uselessly at his ruined neck. The rest of the soldiers move with frightening efficiency, even as you and Enya begin to fire arrows at them.
  
  You manage to fell another, and strike one man in the exposed forearm before they assemble into a formation. Three huge, interlocking shields form an impenetrable barrier to your arrows. Four men in the back cover the heads of the two rows, so that they form a formidable shell of iron.
  
  Then, with a slow and terrible deliberateness, they begin to march forwards. You see the wild-eyed terror in Enya's eyes.
  
  "Run."
  
  > fight to the death
  "I'm not running," you mutter as you drop your bow to the ground, and grip your spear two-handed in front of you. You leap over the snowbank, ready to fight the foreign interlopers who dare to invade your lands and shackle your people.
  
  The iron turtle approaches, muttering its arcane, guttural marching-chants. Blades reach out from behind shields like sharp teeth.
  
  You shove your spear through one of the gaps in the shield-wall. It bounces off a breastplate. Two shields slam shut, trapping your spear. You pull, but it's hopelessly stuck.
  
  Meanwhile, two men leave the back of the formation and begin to flank you. You drop the spear and draw your knife. You look to all sides like a wounded predator, as the phalanx circles in.
  
  You scream as a white-hot blade buries itself in your thigh. You fall to the ground, and lash out at your assailant with your hunting knife. It scores across his exposed cheek, and he screams in pain. The blade remains stuck in your leg.
  
  You try to stand as another soldier circles in. He easily catches your forearm as you stab at him. He holds it aloft in a crushing grip.
  
  "Submit."
  
  You shake your head. He nods, and there's a glimmer of respect in his eyes. He slits your throat, and drops your gurgling carcass to the snow. The last thing you see is a crimson pool forming around you, before you drown in your own blood and fear.