The Yule logs always burned brightest. It was a truth she had known on the night when she was born, when the winter winds wept and howled beyond the weathered log walls. Her eyes did not open for the sight of ancient ceiling beams. She did not cast her first glance to the snows that piled past the windowpanes. From the moment she opened her eyes, she knew, and she knows it now.
         Time has long since dragged her away from the warm hearth of her mountain home, with its Yule log crackling and popping as she slept nearby, in a pile of furs with the other children, huddled for warmth. For five years, she has traveled down to a valley colder than any peak. She sells the furs that kept her warm, and the meats that kept her fed. The logs on the fires there do not burn bright. They do not burn the same. But even in strange lodges, in a town of queer folk who call her “odd”, Jutte has never felt alone, and she has never been cold, for Hjalte and Ubbe were always there to keep her free of trouble. Ubbe was always there to talk with groups of strangers, to make them laugh, to keep her safe. And on her fifteenth birthday, Hjalte gifted her a pipe, so she could burn something of her very own whenever warmth was needed. But things change, with time. Ubbe's journeys grew too long for him to stay and see the festival, or watch the skies light up at night in glittering blooms of colour. Hjalte is not here this year. Hjalte will not be, this year. And somehow, even the pipe smoke cannot keep her warm. It cannot keep her safe. The curling, burning leaves do not hold the crackling laughter of her family by the hearth. It cannot carry the brightness of her home in its small, carved bowl.  
         For the first time, she feels cold.

         Jutte was born on the eve of the Winter Solstice, to a pair of hunters, Gjafvaldr and Ilse Starker, in their family’s lodge on a mountain, just Northeast of the Coldfells. She was raised alongside her older brothers, and the other children of the mountaineers that resided in the three great lodges, hidden deep in the wood of hemlock pines and heavy snow. The first of her brothers was named Keld, but he was ten years her senior, and already married with a family of his own by the time she turned eleven. The second was named Ubbe. A strong hunter, but a stronger salesman, Ubbe had been venturing out to trade for months on end ever since he turned fifteen, and Jutte rarely saw him after her tenth birthday. Finally, there was Hjalte. At three years older than her, it was Hjalte with whom she spent the most time. They were playmates in the summer, when the frost was light, and the birds came down to forage on the forest floor. Together they chased foxes to their dens, and reached down rabbit holes. But before long, the time for playing ended. 

When Hjalte came of age, and killed his first wolf, Jutte was stuck home in the lodge. She learned quickly that the forest would only nourish men so long as men were strong enough to command it so. Her mother, Ilse, taught her to tan hides, to sew cloaks and boots and mitts to keep the family warm. But above all else, Jutte wished to do as her brother did—to wield a bow, and arrows, and knives, and bring her family furs and food and wealth. Her mother refused her begging. There were few girls in the clan, and the work must be done by someone. Someone had to tan the hides, to cure the meats, to stitch the coats and cobble boots, and keep the hearth fire burning. And so, until she came of age, Jutte obliged. But what her mother never knew was that she practiced archery when gathering wood. Her brother crafted her a bow, and every day she’d practice with him when he wasn’t hunting, or checking traps. As their father taught him, Hjalte taught her, and on her twelfth birthday she went on a hunt of her very own.

Her brother had brought home a wolf on his birthday, but Jutte was determined to do better than even Hjalte. The beast she killed would have to be something great. Something strong. Something large… She recalled a cave, not far down the mountain, where she’d long since been forbidden to go. It was nothing like the stories. There were no beasts of the forest, waiting in the depths to lay a curse on her, but there were bears. Lots, from what Ubbe had told her in his late-night stories. Jutte decided there was no better place to begin. She set off with her bow and arrows, her grey fur cloak billowing behind her, and masking her form against the grey-white snow. She lured the bear out of the cavern cautiously, and strategically, setting a trap laden with a freshly killed coney all but two feet from the entrance. She woke it with the release of an arrow, and climbed up into one of the pines as fast as she could. The bear blundered out, smaller than expected, but still large enough to swallow the small girl whole. It shambled and lumbered toward her tree, but its hind leg caught in the trap, and seeing her chance, Jutte loosed her arrows, piecing it through its right eye once, and its chest twice as it reared up in anger and in panic. The great beast crashed hard into the snow, and she waited, watching the cave warily as she descended from her perch, and quietly crunched through the snow toward her first real prize. She knelt down, disarming the trap, and drawing out rope to harness the carcass and drag it up to the lodge, but just as she began to tie her knots, she felt warm breath on her back.

         A growl sounded, which turned to a snarl. Startled, Jutte stood up, only for the larger bear behind her to give a great roar, and swipe at her back with its massive paw. Her furs tore,and although she couldn’t see, the snow was stained a sickly burgundy when she fell against it. Her body felt like it was burning, and she screamed as loud as she could, scrambling to get away and clinging to her bow for dear life. Bloodied snow trailed behind her. Jutte screamed again, running as the heat gave way for a kind of cold she had never before felt, and hoped to never feel again. She stumbled through the snow, knowing that at any moment the bear would seize its chance, and kill her as she as killed the yearling in her trap. She gave a final scream for help, and the bear reared up, preparing to charge and finish its work. But just as it began to move, arrows sprouted in its shoulders, in its back, in its neck. More sung through the air, but the beast pressed on, only slowed by the pain. Jutte reached for an arrow, but none found her desperate fingers. She stumbled back and fell, cold ice stinging her wound and causing her to shriek. The bear was gaining on her, and she reached one last time, finally drawing an arrow from her all-but-emptied quiver. The bear opened its powerful jaws to bellow, and she took the chance that she was given. She notched the arrow, and released, sending it straight into the maw of the beast. Life faded from its eyes. It gave a shuddering cry, and collapsed upon the earth. Harried footsteps made their way to Jutte, voices shouting, but all she could hear was the crunch of snow, and a strange buzzing.

         Her wounds took a year and a week to heal in full, the jagged marks of the bear’s claws leaving angry scars across the upper right of her back. But they were not as deep as her family had feared, and for that they thanked the stars. Once she had healed, her father gifted her a proper set of hunting tools. She joined her brother on his hunts, and on her fourteenth birthday, she set off with Hjalte to the town of Winter-home, for the first trading venture of many. But being given leave to hunt and trap and trade is not enough for Jutte. Her first hunt required aid, from her brothers and neighbors and family—a fact that she will never live down. She wants more than the right to hunt. She wants respect.

Artist Credits:
1. wyldraven
2. Charlie Bowater
3. Sandara
4. dfishbac
5. Morten E. Solberg
6. Anonymous
7. vagab0nda