Razkar spotted the big bull easily enough and nodded slowly as this "Malkaren" spoke, though he did raise an eyebrow at his comment about the calves. Surely every hunter knew that one without being told? You didn't kill the young, unless you wanted nothing to hunt the next deer. Raised in the Jungle on hunted meat and in an environment where any imbalance to Cauyha's equilibrium could be fatal, Razkar learned the lesson well.
But he still nodded. The boy had a wise head.
"Yes. Now we start move."
And they did. In slow, lengthy strides, Razkar circled the herd. He kept low, down wind as often as he was able, screened by the thick, tall grass and was mindful of his footfalls. Even a snapped twig or a heavy crinkling would give him away, and while there were plenty of old animals in the herd, the young ones with sharp senses would be alert for him.
And, he thought wryly as he finally got into position, the old wouldn't be old if they were stupid. Or slow. Or blind.
Razkar took a breath and shifted his body a little bit. He crouched down to one knee and settled his weight on his lower body. He couldn't afford any shakes or tremors in his arms or shoulders. He slowed his breathing... through his nose... all the way down... out through his mouth in a patient, silent gust. His bow was drawn, arrow already notched, and he held it in position with one hand.
His left moved up, unsheathed his kukri a few inches... and he let the sun catch it.
The old bull squinted. That was an odd sight. He'd been around for a long time - gracious, nearly twenty years - and he rarely saw weird flashes of sunlight like that from the grass. Could it be something to do with those strange Two Leg creatures? He bet it was. They were always causing trouble, always chasing his females and even himself, when they dared.
Razkar saw the old boy snort and look his way, just as he dew back his arrow... sighted down it... placed the tip across its fat, fleshy neck...
"Hope you're ready, boy."
He let fly.
But he still nodded. The boy had a wise head.
"Yes. Now we start move."
And they did. In slow, lengthy strides, Razkar circled the herd. He kept low, down wind as often as he was able, screened by the thick, tall grass and was mindful of his footfalls. Even a snapped twig or a heavy crinkling would give him away, and while there were plenty of old animals in the herd, the young ones with sharp senses would be alert for him.
And, he thought wryly as he finally got into position, the old wouldn't be old if they were stupid. Or slow. Or blind.
Razkar took a breath and shifted his body a little bit. He crouched down to one knee and settled his weight on his lower body. He couldn't afford any shakes or tremors in his arms or shoulders. He slowed his breathing... through his nose... all the way down... out through his mouth in a patient, silent gust. His bow was drawn, arrow already notched, and he held it in position with one hand.
His left moved up, unsheathed his kukri a few inches... and he let the sun catch it.
The old bull squinted. That was an odd sight. He'd been around for a long time - gracious, nearly twenty years - and he rarely saw weird flashes of sunlight like that from the grass. Could it be something to do with those strange Two Leg creatures? He bet it was. They were always causing trouble, always chasing his females and even himself, when they dared.
Razkar saw the old boy snort and look his way, just as he dew back his arrow... sighted down it... placed the tip across its fat, fleshy neck...
"Hope you're ready, boy."
He let fly.
