On Hunting

The Hunter squinted at the sunlight playing upon the rippling water of the lake. Big game made it their watery home, he knew, hidden among the seiches, snake-necked dlonghos and the great mottled Poid-poids occasionally breached with their grey-green fins. Rarnh sat on his haunches with his spear athwart his sinewy shoulders.

He gobbed in the reeds. He could not catch such a monster. Even if he had a dozen others, he would still find it troublesome. He made a rude noise, which would have gotten him a smack if the Old Mother had heard him. She had died after Oul.

Since the dawn he had been searching for food. All he had to show for it was a string of puny ormfish, the two large ones bearing little meat on their little bones. The days had been getting shorter, the clan-friend Sthel had noticed, and darker and colder too. In two moons the white-death would descent on the land. Food would become scarce quickly. Then decisions would have to be made.

He shook off such morbid thoughts, standing and making a quick trot to the greenlimbs that hugged the lake like an impassioned lover. The sun was still shining, birds still flew, and fish still swam… So where are they all? He knew better than to return to the clanhome emptyhanded. A hunter for more than ten summers, he was expected to show the beardless boys what it was to hunt. He fingered the greyfang pendant around his neck, a habit he developed very early. The totem that marked him as a man.

These greenlimbs would not lose their verdant dresses like their cousins, remaining lush and invigorated even through the frost. It was humid amongst them. Rarnh liked to think that they were breathing, a great horde of creatures making themselves warm against the coming darkness. He had told as much to Old Mother, the only one he knew would not laugh. She had scratched a wrinkled neck and thought deeply about it.

The great barked beings creaked and thrummed in their secretive language. They kept their own counsel. Apart from their mutterings, Rarnh heard only the crunch of leaf and snap of twigs as he shouldered through brush deeper into the green. His eyes were restless, furtive and searching for tracks, scat, remains, anything to point his nose in the right direction. He fingered the pendant again.

He did not know how long he had been scouring the undergrowth, but he soon found himself sitting cross-legged on the damp ground. His eyes were closed. His hands still, gently holding his spear across his knees. An unbidden thought passed his mind, of a brother called Oul that tried to hunt Great Brown. His brother. Why did he think of that? I should not think about Oul. He brought it upon himself. I was not to blame... Yet a nagging doubt remained…

If I am to feed the babes and the venerated, I must find something. Something to see us through the dark. More than ormfish. Enough fat to light the fires. Enough meat to fill the belly. Meat.

When he opened his eyes, he was stood near that dreaded place. Where Oul died. A cave entrance gaped before him like the lair of some great burrowing creature. There were no leaves here. No green. Branches, white and dead, rattled in the still air. What had they seen that made them tremble so? An acrid smell wafted from the cave, bathing Rarnh in musk and blood and rot. His heart was a drum in his chest. He couldn’t turn back now. I must find him.

It was dark in there, he soon discovered. I should have made a light. The cave dropped quickly, plunging Rarnh into a murky hall lit only by water glistening wanly down the rockface in sluggish rivulets. The bones of ghayd and pisk and other things lay strewn about. Some still had flesh on them, but it was green and rank. He held his spear forward, the razorbone head shining eerily in the pre-gloom. Every footfall echoed, and soon enough even his breath misted. A chill bit through his uks-hide coat. A bead of sweat fell down his cheek. It was ice-cold.

Deeper he went. Every instinct gnawing at his being to turn back. To run. To hide. He should not disturb what lay here. Something hard hit his foot. Pain shot up through his toes as a pale, bulbous object was kicked up and into the gloom. Was that a stone? It looked almost…

KLAAK!… LAAK-lak….lak-lak…

He froze. He was blind to the crashes in the dark. But it had snuffed out any doubt he had. He felt like he needed to make water. The echoes died away quickly, leaving Rarnh with the pounding of his heart. His hands were slick on the spearshaft. Spectral things took shape in the dark around him. The largest gave a deep-throated growl. It stepped forward, the shade becoming a big, square beast coated in umber fur, with small, dark eyes. Coruscated light showed a wet nose and scarred muzzle dripping slaver between impossibly big fangs. At the end of four heavy legs, claws a handslength long scraped slackly on the cave-floor.

His thoughts betrayed him. Run. Save yourself. He clenched his jaw. His hands shook, and he felt something warm run down his legs. Great Brown raised his enormous head and sniffed. Small eyes glinted in the shadows. He can smell me. He sees me. It took all his effort to steady his spear. The beast slammed the ground with its forelegs, and then stood.

Even in the dim light, Rarnh felt breathless at such a sight. He towered over the hunter, his head almost hitting the roof of the cavern. Upon his hind legs Great Brown was twice the size of the tallest man. He gave a roar, sounding off the walls and the echoes giving voice to the shades surrounding them.

Some mad feeling took the hunter, and he thrusted his spear with a grunt. If Great Brown feared the weapon, he gave no sign, but lazily swatted it away with a paw. It slid like water through Rarnh’s fingers and clattered to the ground. He felt naked. Then his courage left him. Light distorted and his eyes burned. How long was I in the cave? He squinted, trying to see through the white blindness. Twice he tripped, scrambling over dead things. The second time, something hard was under his hand. He took it. It was the only weapon he had, and the beast was everywhere…

He stood shaking, clinging like a babe to some dead stifflimb high above the ground. Fear turned to shame turned to anger. You’re a hunter… look! He peered around the great gnarled trunk. From the lair a proud giant lumbered. He was on four legs now. Sunlight hit his pelt, turning it from the dull umber of the tunnel to a rich tawny. Whatever bravery had returned to Rarnh was not enough to make him try the attack again. Then he remembered that he didn’t have his spear anymore, and quietly sobbed. He hid behind his wooded shield and watched. The beast either seemed to lose the scent of his urine or he had lost interest. Whatever it was, the hunter didn’t care so long as that muzzle wasn’t pointed at him.

After a while Great Brown shambled away, into the thicker green. He looked almost peaceful from a distance. That was how Rarnh liked it, as far away as possible. Why did I think I could take him? Even Oul couldn’t, that brave boy. I had to... His free hand went to the greyfang.

A yelp yanked him from reverie. His body seized up, afraid that he had caught his scent again. But the sound came from the cave mouth, where a pair of small furry beasts snuffled at the ground. No, not small. Young. He found himself walking, his descent from the stifflimb a dreamlike haze. He neared the cubs, squeaking and squealing in their play. A long shadow fell over them, holding something sharp in its hand. Rarnh looked down, to see what he was holding. A broken hipbone, yellowed from age, gripped tightly by lean fingers. A steady stream of blood flowed down the flat. When did that happen?

The cubs broke off their game, staring curiously as the hunter loomed above. Their pelts a lustrous chestnut. The one cocked its head to the side. Rarnh fingered the pendant, his thoughts returning to Oul, to the white-death, to the babes.

Babes will need to be fed. He looked at the bone again.