Their Hunt - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Sunrise


It was dusk when the boy drew into camp, his clothing frozen stiff and his limbs deadened. The sky was a mural of purple and yellow as the moon reflected the sun’s dimming light across the snowy plains of the Outland. The full moon’s evanescent glow serenaded the encampment with light leaving few lanterns lit as he approached.
His shadow stretched out before him, a beacon for all who had not noticed him before. He hung his head low and quickly walked behind the rows of tents, off the main path. The Helm Camp of hunters was one of four installments of the Outland Village. They alone skirted the snowy forests, hills, and lakes of ice and wind; hunting and thriving unopposed.
The camp was smaller than that of the Vardi warriors and the Leundeja healers, but larger than the Runeej scholars. It had four dozen hide tents and a single cabin in the center for storing kills. Six rows of seven in a square made the body of the site with the remaining six spread one to each corner for the lookouts like a hexagon.
Small markings from Thuat Root and Yew Nectar identified which tent housed who by a system of colored stripes. From the top support strut of each tent hung a unique set of wind chimes and a lantern used for dark nights and insulating during a blizzard. The ice was tramped solid and packed into slick runs of momentum inducers. Several cracks were evidence of those who had slipped.
The camp smelled of smoke as fireplaces remained roaring. Roasted venison, fresh picked wine berries, chilled rose pedal pastries, and blueberry juice awaited him, yet the boy’s shame tamed his hunger and put a sour taste in his mouth.
He hung his head in shame as he entered his small tent, laid his weapon on the table then kicked off his dripping boots with a loud thump. He hesitantly removed his drenched clothing, wincing as the chill air enveloped his bare body and wounds. Hurriedly pulling on his timber wolf fur parka and trousers, he sat on his cot and pulled his deer hide about himself, staring down into his bowl of unfrozen salt water.
The unbroken surface reflected his remorse. His deep grey eyes were sunken in and sullen beneath his chin-length ebony hair, as was custom for young hunters. His thin face seemed to stretch remorsefully across his high cheekbones and square jaw line. Bruises covered the right side of his face from the fall and his lips were cracked, white strips of paper. His brow seemed frozen in anguish and his mouth tightly closed.
He breathed in the familiar smell of leather and hickory and absorbed his home. A single table where his weapon’s corpse lay, sat beside the entrance and his cot opposite the flap. A small unlit fireplace sat in the center surrounded by stones, his boots against the stack of wood and kindling he kept inside a few feet away. The room was no more than nine paces wide and two of himself tall. The darkness felt good and mesmerized his senses as flashes of light bled through from the outside and stained his foul mood. Fires from his neighbors flickered and danced nearby, spreading and retracting a warm light show and renewed his senses.
Invigorated, he drew himself from his thoughts and soaked in the world of reality. The shuffling of feet outside grew louder as supper time arrived.
A loud crunch of someone just outside alerted him. He pushed his bowl away and released his grip on his blanket when he became aware of the strain he held it in. He stood and strode to the opening flap and waited for the rattle of his wind chimes to announce their arrival. Moments later, the soothing echo of that of a howling wolf in the distance reverberated inside his tent.
He pulled back the flap and looked into the eyes of his visitor.
The boy’s heart skipped a beat and his eyes nearly fell from their sockets.
“Greetings, Hawkner.” A young healer said in a gentle voice. Her mahogany hair was worn down and long to the middle of her back with waves that would draw the ocean envious, with the smooth face of an angel. Her piercing amethyst eyes bore down to his core and almost naturally lifted him from his guilt-ridden burden. Her body’s gentle curves would have made him blush if his face wasn’t still numb
“Hello, Kairi.” He said curtly, struggling for words.
“Did your hunt go well?” She said in her symphony of a voice. Her words seemed to dance lightly from her lips in a melody he had never heard before. “I didn’t see you come into town and I grew worried.”
Hawkner sat for a moment as he thought of a euphemism.
“It. It was good.” He paused. “For a while.”
His foul mood was quickly returning despite her presence.
“Hawkner,” She said gently, moving closer. “It’s okay. Please, tell me what happened.”
He recounted to her the story, leaving out the mystery of how he got to land, and ended with himself using the branch to support his weight against the shore.
Kairi sat silent for a moment and pondered on what she had learned. She looked up at him then back to the ground.
Hawkner wondered if she had caught him leaving out a part.
“Perhaps it was meant to be,” She said finally. “But I must question, what will happen to you now? Was this not your rite of passage?” Her eyes grew soft and looked into his. He could feel her sympathy for him and decided to confide in her.
“I’ll be tested.” His eyes locked to hers. “Severely. This will be my last chance to become a man and they will take heed of it. Elder Briar is sure to push me to my limits, then leave them far behind. I know it won’t be for a while with the winter storms brewing, but once they’ve passed it will come.”
A deep silence followed between the two, only broken by the howling wind and laughter resounding from the sup tent.
“We should get to supper. They’ll be looking for us.” He said suddenly, brushing past her and walking slowly to the ever growing conglomerate of sound and smell. He slowed to accommodate Kairi’s slower pace. They talked quietly about her experiences with a wounded fawn earlier today and how it finally gave in to her healing.
They approached the opening to the sup tent and stopped. He looked at her then remembered his manners. He opened the flap for her then followed closely behind, cursing himself for his stupidity.
Long wooden tables laden with plates and drink stretched from one end of the tent to the exit, down to the opposite with the line. Four lanterns hung from the ceiling lit the room a bright yellow against the walls and kept the grass inside green. The strong smell of mead wafted by and mixed with the aroma of crispy pheasant.
Hawkner’s mouth watered as he stepped to the rear of the line.
“Hawkner, ‘bout time you showed up!” A booming voice hollered across a nearby table as he walked past with his food. Hawkner looked up from his plate and sighed. He looked pleadingly at Kairi who shrugged and mouthed sorry.
Hawkner went back to the table he was called to and looked for the man responsible. It was Jhen, the village blacksmith. He, for some reason unknown to Hawkner, had found him very interesting and took any chance he got to speak to him.
“Come on over here boy! And sit with me. We were just discussing what’s more dangerous, a Kera or a Howler. Whaddya’ think?”
Hawkner sat in thought, watching Jhen’s gnarled beard rustle around his thick lips and fat face. His large arms were nearly as hairy as his head and his wide hands were red from constant exertion.
“A Howler is faster and stealthier, but not near the power of a full grown Kera.” Hawkner said with a bitter remembrance.
The rest of the meal went by slowly as he sat through conversations ranging from who was stronger to who had the most attractive wife. Hawkner had long finished his meal before the supper was slowly disbanded as people shuffled out, bellies full and much warmer.
Hawkner bid the men goodnight once a fist fight nearly broke out and left quickly. The warm tent left him little protection from the bitter cold of midnight. Wrapping his arms about him tightly, he walked hurriedly to his tent.
Closing the flap securely, he laid in bed and tucked the excess of his blankets beneath him. Sleep overtook him quickly from his exhaustion and dreams of what would come to pass plagued his mind.
Visions of great plains overlooking a vast ocean as black as night plagued his mind. Trees screamed and howled in torture, pleading someone to help them. His thoughts suddenly went ablaze as flames consumed the trees and terrorized his alternate reality.
He woke with a start, slapping at the imaginary flames that filled his room. He wiped cold sweat from his brow and sighed deeply.
It seemed so real.
The following morning was no warmer than the night before and windswept frost rose in swirling tendrils from the ground. Fog clawed its way across the camp on the breeze and iced over the north side of each tent. Hawkner stepped out and shuddered against the cold, watching the sun rise through the mist.