Dragovyn

Dragovyn

By Dayne Benoit

1

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley, but we should look out for them. Now steady muh’ boi, take but a moment for were ne’er-do-wells in these woods” says the man solemnly resting his callused hand upon the hunter adorned child’s shoulder. His accent thick with Erenguard dialect has caused his words to resemble that of a Flemish Pirate you would hear off the coast of Barbary preening for his Rum or Vermouth. He rests his palm with a firm grasp and leans into the boy as not to startle. “Just before the draw you must begin to inhale, or it will be wasted you stan’ me chīl’.”

Listening intently the boy takes a forward knee and quills an arrow from his draw bag along his waist. He pulls back the taught sinew that’s wrapped ornately upon and through the Horn made recurve bow. His gaze focuses with intent and lays a forward bead upon the Rivendare stag standing ne’er fifty paces in a meadow rutting from the frost. His twelve points covered in a soft white fuzz shimmer slightly in the light. Whilst the rest of his body reflects the sheen of his illustrious short hair fur, showing his mighty form he uses to make his rounds amongst his forest kingdom to which both the weathered man and boy were foreign.

“Now feel the bow and be one with the draw, do not forget to exhale before release. Do you have him boy?” he silently impedes into the boy’s ear.

With the thrum of the bow pulled taught and a slight mid-winter chill biting upon the boy’s extremities he begins to exhale, and the arrow is loosed upon the winds of change. The silent twill lands in-between the massive stag’s ribs seemingly grazing the beast’s heart. The shock subsides from the soon to be feasts eyes and he bolts over several yards before leaving the pairs view. Evidently falling victim to its mortal injuries, falling upon his front legs as if to bow in defeat. The elderly man claps the boy on the shoulder and flashes a proud grin.

“Nice shot Richter, mudda’ be of the red harvest we bring t’day. Come boy I’ll show you how to prop’ly field dress.”

All they hear is the sound of their feet crunching as they trudge upon the dense winter floor following the broken twigs and branches the monster left in its wake. Their only soundtrack against the backdrop of the peaceful forest. Following the pockmarked red trail easily seen upon the alabaster white snow they soon find their prize.

“Now listen boy,” says the man pulling a blade from his hilted belt, “Before we begin, we must bow and give tank’s to the forest spirits.” He grasps the belly of the beast and bows his head.

“Bless’d Ara thank you for this bountiful red harvest and may you see us through this ‘saken wintah,” he kisses his free hand and touches his head as the boy watches. “Ara be praised.”

“Dah’ it’s still alive, see…” Richter says pointing to the small amount of steam coming from the creature’s nostrils.

He finishes his prayer, and the man looks about as to what the boy says is true and leans upon the throat of the stag. Kneeling beside it he feels upon the beast’s throat as to see if this is indeed true. He looks to Richter and gives a moment of pause.

“You’d be well to turn from me now boi’.” He growls reaching for his ankle blade. Richter turns and faces the canopy of Drell Pine looking to its heights and closes his eyes. The man plunges his ankle blade into the mighty monsters throat whispering another small prayer as if for forgiveness to the essential bloodshed of its innocence. Several small convulsions later the stag passes to the next lifetime.

“Firstly,” says the man turning to Richter re-gaining his attention, “Firstly you must make a cut from here to here.” He motions the blade from sternum to pelvis, “Then everything inside of the stag must come out. The beast’s innards make a third of its weight so that will make our trek home a bit easier for the both’ve of us. We’ll be keeping the heart to sell to the midwives, and you’ll have to squeeze out some of the intestines to clean later for Uncle Morris.”

“But me that’s your job? You expect me tuh…”

“Now boi. There for Uncle Morris’s blood meat sausages”

The boys’ eyes light up and the grim death felt look prior washes from his cheeks. “I see, I love Uncle Morris’s blood meats; worthy of Na’s porridge grain for certain,” Richter says beaming.

“True thing my boy. Uncle Morris has been butchering for years and still won’t tell me what he puts into those damn things.”

“He said he will teach me one day but as to when I’ve yet to be clear.”

“Good then maybe we can make a well learn-ed man out of you yet,” he says chuckling as he slices into the carcass of the stag. Clearly seasoned on as to what’s required.

“Pa, it stinks, yuck… yeesh” Richter says holding his nose. Waving his other free hand about as if to swat a swarm of gnats.

“Well, you better get used to that smell or you’re going to go through a very hungry winter for when I’m gone no woman wil’ need the likes of a waster,” he says reaching into the stag as red begins to seep and permeate the slight dusted ground. “Now go push to me the sled so we can get a leather skin for some of these entrails if you would my boy. Then we can load the beast and carry-on home before night falls. Mother will be waiting.”

Richter prattles over to the sled and looks to the sky seeing that the sun is just short of mid-day. “Will, we be in time for Na’s bread and corn churned cause I’m famished Da.

“Famished, muh gosh boi words like that come from your readings or your Ma. Come this time next season the woodland creatures of Rivendare will rue the day they were born if you keep this up.” He smiles one more time to the boy and they begin the trek back to their cabin.

**********

Miles west the amidst the Rocky Mountains of Agarose Peaks. The Castle built into its tree line amass a quarry of stone. “Split up and fan the castle,” yells the general, “Her and the baby must be here. They couldn’t have gone far.”

“Yes Sire,” says the several soldiers in unison. The stomping of their feet heard far off in the distance. They begin to case the commons of the castle not realizing that the one they seek is already just outside the castle walls making her escape amongst the brambles of the dark shadows of the forest.

“Fear not my child,” the woman says brushing away falling leaves from the swaddled baby as she coo’s in delight. “Ara guide me,” she mutters trudging through the dense wood. Making a swift pace she passes through a small outcropping of trees caring as to not be sighted by the sentries posted upon the ramparts of the castle in the distance. For even some shadows can be seen this late and being sighted is not part of the escape plan.

The baby fuss’s slightly but is hushed by the disheveled yet stoic woman’s comforting voice. “Don’t worry Pasha…Shhhh...Shhh...Dagnar won’t find us now” She nestles the child closer in her fox fur blanket to keep off the winter chill.

She hikes into the night dodging low hanging branches and does her best to keep an ear out for the scavengers of the night. For her and the child would make a fitting meal for a rogue pack of wolves amidst their winter famine. After a few more hours of hiking and several stops to get the child to stop fussing she spots a dimly lit cabin in the distance.

“Oh, Thank Ara,” she whispers under her breath. She thinks to herself before reaching the door of the shack should she knock and leave the baby in the care of strangers? Looking through the frosted window she sees a woman tending to the dishes. Probably a hermit or wife to a local hunter she believes. She looks down to the child.

“Pasha, my darling I think you’ll be safe here,” tears starting to well in her already tired eyes. The woman lays the tiny child just outside the front door to the cabin and knocks abruptly before making a dash into the woods. She stops just outside the clearing of the cabin to see if the lady in the cabin comes to answer.

The door opens as the homely woman peers outside looking both ways and sees nothing until a small goo noise comes from below by her feet.

“My goddess,” The woman says aghast from the sight, “Where in Ara’s name did you come from?” She crouches down for a better look at the child and checks again for any other sign of life outside the cabin but alas the forest is silent except for the sound of livestock from the cabin’s farm.

Gently, she lifts the child, and turns her back to the expanse of the forest and makes her way inside the slightly smoky cabin. Ambling to the hearth to warm the child up.

Just out of sight the stoic woman draped in shadow peeks from the trees. Making sure that the child is taken in proper the woman in black shuffles from the rim of the thick wood and peers into the cabin once more. She smiles at the sight of the nurture but, sheds a small tear and turns to leave. Hoping to be yet unnoticed by the ever-present dangers of the forest.