I am a little annoyed because in the google doc where I'm writing this, I have each new paragraph indented, but for some reason, Wattpad doesn't allow indents in your paragraphs, and I am not bothered to do three spaces for every single paragraph.

So sorry, you don't get the cool layout I'm doing.

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Centuries later...

The young caribou nuzzled at the damp and dying grass, trying to find some nutrients. It was nearing the end of the few warm months they had in this harsh climate and the caribou was well-fed. It must have been its first month away from its mother and its antlers hadn't quite grown in yet, instead being little more than rounded stubs jutting out of the top of its head.

It raised its face, sniffing at the air, legs tense and ready to bound away. Its nose quivered for a few moments and then, upon determining that there was no danger present, it bent back down, continuing to search for food. Some sixth sense warned it again and it poised itself to run. But the arrow had already spat from the bow and as the caribou's front legs left the ground, the arrowhead pieced its hide and it instantly lost strength in its body, falling to the ground in a heap.

A boy stepped out of the shadows downwind from the caribou, a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows at his side. He swiftly came forward, slinging his bow onto his back and drawing the hunting knife from his belt before kneeling next to the animal, a hand feeling for a pulse, the blade resting on the neck. But his shot had been true and the animal was dead.

Now he let a small smile come onto his face as he sheathed the knife, sitting back on his feet, eyes scanning the animal. The hide was soft from the warmer weather and, once tanned and cured, would sell quite well in the nearby village. The antlers were a bit small but still useful and the meat, of course, was the most valuable of all. His mouth started to water as he thought of eating caribou tonight.

He went to lift the dead creature onto his shoulders to carry home when he froze, ears attentive. He had heard a sound, the sound of many people walking. Moving very slowly now, he put the animal down and silently moved in the direction of the sound, his hand on his knife. A slight wind stirred his brown hair, cut short so that it stayed out of his eyes. He wore a long shirt made of a cheap wool but the worn leather jacket he wore over the top kept him warm. His boots had soft soles and were silent on the grass and branches but they were also suited for tramping through the thick snow that could fall for over half the year.

His warm brown eyes were constantly flicking, searching the shadows both near and far. The bow on his back was old but in good condition, and his knife was the sharpest thing his family owned. He was young, not quite yet an adult, but he was strong and lean, his body still bearing the signs of the near-poverty he was raised in before he could hunt and the fortunes of his family changed.

He neared the edge of the small mountaintop he was on and knelt to the ground, sneaking forward until he was looking over the edge to the valley below. It was full of grass, with no trees or animals, and the two exits of the valley were filled with a dark mass that he knew to be hundreds of people, all armoured. They came to a stop hundreds of metres apart, and he heard faint noises in the air that must have been the two leaders of the armies talking. He took one look at each of their banners and scoffed.

"Brilliant," he muttered. "Another territorial war." The voices drifted up as the speakers grew louder and he fancied that he could understand the words that they said. It would have been the same things that he had heard them speak before: 'By the might of the eastern sun', 'This land is mine by Herobrine', the same old crap that gave them an excuse to continue feuding and gain more land.

"Keep invoking child stories," he muttered angrily. "It's all you're good for." He glanced over his shoulder fugitively. Even here, in the middle of the forest, it was possible to be overheard. And while most people weren't fond of the feuding lords, they had a few who they paid to keep them informed of the possible traitors.

Sliding back from the edge of the mountain (there was nothing more to be seen), he stood and went back to his kill, lifting it onto his shoulders before beginning the way home, mentally mapping the best way to go down the mountain. The way he had come up was too steep to be carrying this load down, but the way to the left that was easier took an extra hour, meaning that he wouldn't be able to do more hunting before it became dark.

A kind of guttural chatting sound made him stop, his head flicking in the direction of the call, his eyes wide. There was silence, then the guttural sound came again. It was hard to describe the sound, but he knew it in an instant. The sound was made by arctic foxes when they were either fighting or hunting something, and from the sound of it, there were several coming quite a way to his right. He instantly veered left to head down the mountain when he stopped again, listening.

The voice of a man had come this time, yelling something in a defensive manner. Now he was stuck, torn between getting his kill back home to his parents or helping this stupid stranger who had managed to get himself chased by foxes. For a few moments, he debated with himself until another call from the man came and then he dumped the caribou from his shoulders and lightly ran in the direction of the calls, sliding the bow off from his back as he did so and nocking an arrow.

The fox calls grew louder, meaning that the man hadn't yet been killed. The trees were growing sparse here and he could see the man, a bright sword in his hand, warding off three foxes. Barely pausing in his stride, he drew the arrow back and shot at the nearest fox. It was an instantly killing shot and the fox dropped to the ground with a high pitched yelp. The other two foxes looked at his direction and he fired another shot that thudded into the ground, startling the two. They gave several high-pitched barks as they bounded away, their light brown fur making them almost invisible in the dying grass.

A sigh came from the man as he sheathed his sword, smiling. "Thanks," he said to the hunter. "I wasn't entirely sure what to do there."

"You should really get a bow, it's the better weapon against them," the hunter replied.

The man held out his hand. "My name's Ian."

The hunter replaced his arrow in his quiver and slung his bow on his back before shaking Ian's hand. The man was probably around 22 years old, four years older than himself. He had a firm grip, the sign of someone who lived by working with his hands and he wore dark black pants and a deep blue shirt that was the same colour as his eyes. He had deep brown hair and the beginnings of a beard. He looked like a solid, reasonable person and the hunter found that he quite liked him.

"Adam," the hunter replied. "What'cha doing all the way out here? There's not much to see unless you like the foxes."

Ian grinned. "I've never been a fan of foxes," he said. "I was actually just visiting my home village a little to the north. Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, it's been a while since I was last here."

"You from Lord Sparklez' territory then?" Adam asked.

"Lord Preston actually." He gave Adam a sidelong glance. "You're a part of Lord Max's, right?"

Adam nodded once. "Anything better in your part of the country?"

"Nope, Lord Preston's useless," Ian said, watching Adam's reaction. "All he does is make sure we're paying him the right amount of tax."

Adam rolled his eyes. "I get what you mean," he huffed. "Lord Max just barges through the country and if there's a village in the way, that's just too bad. And after the battle, they just go to whichever village is closest and expect to be cared for and fed. They don't care that after they're gone, half of the village will starve to death, they just look for the next reason to fight!"

Ian nodded in an understanding way, pursing his lips a little. "You know, it's not any better in the east."

"The east?" the young hunter asked with a frown. "You mean beyond the tundra?"

The stranger nodded. "It's not overly different from here. The summers are a bit longer and the winters less extreme, but there are still armies fighting left, right and centre. Innocent people caught in the war, just like they are here."

"So what?" Adam asked with a small shrug.

"Haven't you ever wanted to fix this?" Ian asked quietly. "To make things better? To turn away the armies when they come expecting to be looked after?"

Adam shifted slightly from foot to foot. He was still young in the great scheme of things, and which young person hasn't dreamt of being the hero? Of changing the world to help their parents, their friends? But that was the thing, they were just dreams; the wanting of something that was so far out of your reach that you never even spoke of attaining it.

Ian picked up on Adam's hesitation. "It's possible," he said urgently. "I've met some friends in the east, we have a plan to help people. One of their granddads had an army before they were destroyed, the base is still there, it just needs a little work. We want to make an army that people can turn to when they need help, someone who will stand up against the feuding Lords."

"Why do you need an army to protect?" Adam asked suspiciously.

"You need an army to ward off other armies," Ian said reasonably. "But our main point won't be to gain territory, it'll always be to protect. One of us had an idea to make neighbouring armies agree with each other in an effort to stop them from crashing at villages but," Ian shrugged, "I don't know how well it'll work. Either way, do you want to join us?"

Adrenaline coursed through Adam and he felt his arms and legs buzz with excitement but he hesitated. "I... don't know. I mean, I want to, I really want to but... I'm not quite an adult yet, and I've got my parents to look after. I can't just leave them."

"It's okay, I get it," Ian said. "But in case you do decide to come later." He stepped forward so that he was beside Adam and pointed in the direction that Adam had come from. "All you need to do is head east towards that big range of mountains. You'll probably cross a river and if you do, be careful 'cause a guy called Lord Vikk has his base just on the other side. If you come to a lake that has two three rivers coming from it, you've gone too far south and you need to head almost directly north. If you hit a lake with one river or a large forest, you've gone too far north. Got it?"

Adam nodded, visualising the scene. Ian clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "I might see you there then. If not, good luck with life."

The stranger walked off into the forest, leaving Adam standing there staring after him for quite a time. Eventually, he glanced down at the fox he had shot. The fur was matted with mud and little bits of blood and it seemed to be an older fox, so the meat would be hard and chewy.

"Not worth the effort," he muttered to himself before walking back to his caribou. He didn't forget Ian's question, or his directions.

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Enjoy the moment guys, you will not be getting 2000 word long chapters like this one all that often.