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[MR. CLAM'S POV]

"Dad, you're back!"

The hunting sack slips from Mr. Clam's grip and falls with a thud near the cottage's battered door. At Aliska's hug around his waist, a comforting warmth spreads in his chest—more than the sunset's heat—also warding away the aches and pain throughout his limbs. His smile stretches wider as he hoists his youngest daughter into his arms and twirls her around. "What have you been doing all day, huh? Why do you smell like a whitetail deer?" He pretends to gag, tempting Aliska to slap his back as she giggles.

"I've been rolling in the snow all day." She turns her head to meet her brother's drowsy gaze as he lumbers out of the kids' room.

But after his eyes land on Mr. Clam, his body becomes as stiff as a corpse.

Mr. Clam's smile fades into a frown. He gently puts Aliska down and pats her back, ushering her into the kids' room. After her giggles disappear through the door, Mr. Clam stares flatly at his middle son. "Didn't I remind you to stay inside? Why didn't you listen?" A sigh leaves his lips at how even Milton smells like the outdoor snow and dead leaves.

They must have had played hide and seek under Borealm's snow again. Or maybe they had fed the hungry snow hares.

"The sky is clear today, Dad." Milton's voice shakes as if someone is messing around within his throat. "We've already helped Mom too."

"Opus just died there, Milton." It takes all of Mr. Clam's self-control to not palm his face with his blood-scented gloves. "There are still lots of traps around. And not all beasts hide in their dens during the winter. What if something happens when I'm not around?"

Milton replies with a scoff. "I'm almost twenty. Besides, it's not like we went to the heart of Borealm. Just the edge of it." Milton zips back to the kids' room, with pure defiance brightening his eyes. "For an experienced grown-up, you do worry too much, Dad."

When the door slams shut with a groan, Mr. Clam's heart sinks.

He collapses on the dining chair, leaving the hunting sack next to it. Milton's words echo like a curse in his ears.

Pucca is twenty-three, Milton is nineteen, and Aliska is seven. Should I not worry about them so much? Why couldn't I be like Da, who didn't mind much about me back then?

Scratching his coarse, snow-covered stubble, Mr. Clam leans against the chair and closes his eyes. But before his muse can get deep enough, a soothing womanly voice melts his trance away.

"Milton said you got upset again for their adventure in Borealm today." Two warm hands massage through his shoulders and manage to clear away all the tension they bear. Even when Lucian's fingers have started to wrinkle and bend, her touch is still everything he needs after a long day.

He almost forgets that he's on a dining chair, not a mattress.

Mr. Clam slowly shrugs out of his bear-fur coat, and Lucian takes the cue by hanging it on the back of his seat. "I was," he murmurs. "They shouldn't go there, Lucian. There are still too many traps around."

If Lucian only chuckles, Mr. Clam might mistake her as an angel. Her words, however, are always as sharp as the daggers of a hunter. "You can always say that, dearest man, but we both know it isn't the real reason why you won't let your kids wander around." A chill rocks Mr. Clam's spine as he imagines his wife curling up her know-it-all smirk behind his back. "You don't want them to see it, do you?"

Mr. Clam straightens his back and shirks away from Lucian's grip, clambering off the chair weakly. He gulps down several times at Lucian's judging gaze.

"They eventually knew from their friends or those bucket-mouths at the market." She huffs, heading to the dining table, and grabs a clean tablecloth from the crate near the cooking stones. "After Opus died, the rumors spread like a bushfire. If you haven't noticed, it brought more outsiders into the market stalls. They would even trade a few coins just for a sliver of information."

"Haw-haw, we'll be rich if we open up our stall there." Mr. Clam rolls his eyes and puckers his lips scornfully. His heart now beats like an ancient war drum in his chest as he slowly processes Lucian's words.

I should be happy that the hunting party for the Day-Lynx grows bigger lately. But if Lucian ever finds out that I was the one luring them here through the mouths of the other hunters, this place won't ever be as calm and soundless as it is now.

"Look, please make sure they won't find out more about it. I don't want more noses to poke in my job."

The sound of chopped vegetables tickles Mr. Clam's ears while its damp smell tempts him to yawn. For a brief moment, it replaces the pungent smell of deer blood on his gloves.

"It's about time you tell them your real job, you know?"

The howling breeze rages even more outside, making Mr. Clam shiver under his thick wool shirt. "They love animals. When they find out their dad hunts them down for a living, can you imagine how they'll react?" Grabbing his hunting sack, Mr. Clam sets it on the cooking counter, next to the neatly cut vegetables. "Here's what I got today. The mother was out hunting for food, so I only got a fawn."

Lucian's face turns more wrinkly as she assesses the corpse, which is in a clean state save for the gaping wound on its white belly. As her fingers comb through the deer's grayish-brown fur, she throws a chilly glance at Mr. Clam. "But you should at least try. There's nothing good in living with fear."

"Such wise words." He forces a smile as he pecks his wife's cheeks and holds her free hand tightly. "But I fear more of my kids' resentment. I can't bear that day when they find out their dad is not a butcher, but the killer instead."

Turning his back before Lucian displays her saddened smile, Mr. Clam storms to his room. His heart still beats with both anticipation and fear. As he untucks the knives from the pockets on his trousers and shoves them back to his drawer, a grim smile stretches across his lips.

Whenever he closes his eyes while lying down, his last encounter with the Day-Lynx will replay. How its snow-white fur gleams under the sunlight, emphasizing the bloody corpses on its back. How the forest seems to protect it, for no arrows nor bullets can get close enough to their target.

The Day-Lynx has done nothing as if it's as dead as the corpses on its back—most of which owe a grudge to Mr. Clam's weapons.

Or as if it has a human brain since it won't injure any of us. It even bothered to lure us into that arena of traps instead of gnawing us to death first.

The memory of Opus shrieking and grasping his ankles still leaves a bitter sting in Mr. Clam's head, no matter how many times he has tried unlinking the Day-Lynx to his comrade's accident.

If it hadn't shown up in Mr. Amberth's cottage, we wouldn't have hunted for it. Opus wouldn't have died either.

If only it hadn't existed in such a terrifying form in the first place. If only it didn't have those corpses on its back and ended up reminding me of my sins. While also possibly exposing them to the world.

The thin sandy wall separating him and the kids' room allows him to catch on to their whispers. Mr. Clam folds his arms above his chest and sighs with dread when Pucca's manly voice leaks through, "Do you think Dad is hiding something from us?"

"I'm sure of it," Milton whispers back. "Lately, he always acts weird whenever he comes home. Like that thief we saw at the Chief's barn during the village feast. And I've seen his trousers so many times to know that he keeps weapons in them."

"No way!" Aliska exclaims, soon followed by her siblings' hushes. She lowers her voice to the verge of a hiccup, "Dad is a good man. He will never lie. He always teaches us not to."

It's like a hammer is cracking Mr. Clam's heart open, for the pain in his chest continues to grow. While gripping his pillow until his knuckles hurt, a frustrated cry tries to climb out of his throat.

I might sound selfish, but as long as the Day-Lynx lurks around, I can never stop hunting for it. And as long as the three of you live, you shall never know that your dad has always been this miserable human being.

No one—not even the darkest beast in Borealm—can ever ruin my life.

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Total Word Count: 24,925