TreeKin spoke with creaks and sighs as Wind took the uppermost branches, but Šilombiš’okpulo lay uncanny quiet. The deeper Tokela ventured, the more its presence brushed against him. Every tree, every blade of grass, every creature living alongside him held their own brand of life… but this waiting, this focus? It drifted beyond any Dance he knew: past tribe and Clan and shelter, food and survival.
That nearly decided for him: turn around, retreat, you have no business in this place.
Fear lived with Tokela every Sun in some fashion; it sharpened nerve and sinew, built one’s heart strong. Panic, however, could turn one from hunter to prey on a knife’s edge of acquaintance. Panic had led him here, set his feet upon a path he’d never imagined… Well.
No more panic. Instead he’d find answers. He was no ahlóssa of seven winterings on his first hunt in a darken place. He’d all he needed: four capable limbs, nose and ears and eyes. The copper weight of his skinning knife at his thigh and the lighter eating blade upon his arm. His thick hide leggings were sturdy, his boots worn close as skin. As he walked, he ensured his tunic was belted snug and, rolling the sleeves free of his sinewy forearms, he tucked up the dangling wood beads of his hip wrap. Ready.
Water quivered his nostrils before ever he saw or heard; the scent led him, unerring, to a River-child running deep and clear. Tokela halted at the edge, gauging not only the surround but, most importantly, the spoor telling of others coming here to slake their thirst.
The River-child tasted normal, sweet, and so cold as to burn upward behind his cheekbones and down into his gullet.
He remained squatting on the bank for a while, listening, smelling, watching. Then he leapt the stream and continued on, passing silent through the huge, mossy trees.
Not far after, he came upon the pathway.
No animal trail, this; wide and well tended as the trade path leading past the Great Mound and upRiver to the crossing shallows. Closer inspection revealed the tri-cloven prints of large antleredKin and, beside that, unmistakable signs of two-leggeds, only their tread was twice the size of his own. Tokela hunkered down to trace his fingers lightly over the spoor, sniffed. The tang was sharp and unfamiliar, but strides told more than scent; four two-leggeds had passed, accompanied by six of antleredKin.
Only wabadeh were so sizeable. Some firstPeople partnered with antleredKin, on the edges of frozen upLands where the animals were smaller, docile. The great ones of dawnLands’ Forests had a spooky and recalcitrant nature; wabadeh wanted kinship with none but wabadeh. Unless…
Chepiś were giants. They Shaped not only flesh, but thought and intent. What if they could tame even wabadeh? What if wabadeh were… different, here?
Mindful of his exposure on the trail, Tokela rose.
But the tracks were old, perhaps two fours of Sun. Curiosity once again won out over wariness, compelling Tokela to follow, and when the trail split his next decision made itself just as easily. The smaller path held the newer prints.
He didn’t have to venture far. Something large lay across the path, laced with Sun’s blinding shards where they broke the canopy.
Tokela halted, hefting his skinning knife, nostrils flaring. Wind told him little, but nothing smelled right in this place, and the unexpected twists of Sun and shadow made vision even chancier. Tokela snuffed again, but only the pungent rot of disturbed humus and the whiff of bruised conifer answered him… with perhaps a telltale tang of musk? Likely male, then. Hand upon his knife, Tokela crept towards the beast, merely to hesitate as the furred bulk gave a sudden expansion, letting out a large, moisture-laden sigh.
No antlers, not wabadeh. Living.
No trepidation, now, but pity sharp as the blade at his fingertips drove Tokela forwards once more. To be trapped in such a fashion, with no help in sight? He scuffed his feet so as not to startle the… creature, beast… whatever it was, it seemed nothing of Grandmother’s making, so Tokela felt uncomfortable calling it Kin.
Splayed belly-up in a tangle-trap, neck twisted at an impossible angle, the creature made three of any predator Tokela knew. It had to be Shaped, more like to some improbable cross between pantherKin and wolfKin. Signs of a mighty struggle marked the path, and odd streaks of blue-black clotted the creature’s huge, foam-flecked jaws and brindled fur.
All this flitted through Tokela’s consciousness swift as a sharp breath. The creature gave another quavering wheeze, and its sideways-flung leg jerked and quivered. Perhaps its spine was injured; surely it wouldn’t just lie there? Tokela uttered a soothing grunt, placing a firm, cautious foot against the hinge of the creature’s formidable jaw as he reached for the obsidian blade upon his right arm. Thin and sharp, it would give swift mercy.
The creature gave into a small panic as Tokela bent over, knives in hand. Heaving and scrambling, it nearly jerked from both pinning foot and the trap—
Tokela froze.
The trap. It wasn’t one. A loose tangle of tree limbs curved and broken, it wouldn’t have held Tokela, much less this creature.
Tokela stomped hard on the broad head, pinning it. He turned just in time to see a three more of the creatures melt from the nearest thicket.
With a snarl, the one in front pounced.
It bowled Tokela over even as he struck out with both knives. The obsidian gave a shrill crack and shattered against tough hide; the copper knife met only air as the creature tumbled over and past. It snarled, shrill and cheated. Clearly it had overestimated his size.
Tokela took the chance, rolling to his feet, grip still firm on the skinning knife. An oddling sight sent the blood chill in his veins: the trapped creature pulling free from its
