Flashback [The Bronze Woods] All Gone Bad

[Alasdair]

499 AV, 30th Day of Fall

Crouching at the narrow stream's edge, the Syliran scooped icy water into his rough hands and splashed his sweaty face. A chill ran through him, but it banished any of the remaining fatigue that lingered in his tired muscles. His old mare stood a few yards downstream, drinking her fill of the crystal water. The forest around them was cast in weak, filtered morning light. Thick tree canopy overhead blocked much of what Syna was starting to cast across the sky this early. It left them in a gloom, but one that couldn't nearly be considered night. Day would be upon them in less than a few bells at the most. It left plenty of light to see, but not enough for all the creatures to yet be awakening or the nocturnal animals to be bedding down.

Alasdair carefully washed his hands in the stream, then cooled his neck and dampened his hair. He slipped one of his two waterskins from over his shoulder and popped the cork, then submerged its opening in the cold water. The other still hung bloated on his saddle horn, but he didn't want to risk running out of water. When the bladder was full he closed the top and pushed himself to his feet. Rumeer, his mare, raised her aging head to look at him. Her lips smacked appreciatively and water dribbled loudly from her mouth. She approached him carefully - her shod hooves crunching and clacking on the stream's rocky bottom. Once next to him, she walked back up onto the bank. The water had barely been high enough to wet the top of her fetlocks.

He slipped the newly filled skin back over his shoulders, where it rested heavy against his hip. Rumeer touched his hand with her wet nose, and as he threw the left stirrup over the seat of the saddle he rubbed her face with the other. When she was satisfied, he unworked the cinch strip and tightened her girth back up - having loosened it earlier while they rested. Her gut bloated out, but he acted like he didn't notice. Alasdair dropped her stirrup back down and grabbed the horn of the saddle, shaking it back and forth on her withers to test its tightness. He patted her neck and grabbed the reigns, walking backwards away from the stream and leading her forward. She followed obediently, then stopped when he did.

Again Alasdair tossed the stirrup up, and quickly tightened her girth the rest of the way. She grunted in protest, and gave him the stink eye. He smiled at her, stroking her cheek affectionately. "I win." Tying the long leather cinch in place to secure the girth was the last step, and once more he dropped the stirrup back to her side. He patted her coup loudly, disturbing some light dirty on her coat that swirling up into the dark air. He felt she needed a slightly longer break what with her increasing years, so he took her reigns and instead of mounting lead her back into the trees in the direction the two of them had been originally traveling. For a while their altitude climbed gradually. The land swelled and rolled upward, carrying them higher into the hills before more or less settling into consistent terrain, though the woods still pitched down and rose all around, offering a playground of exploration.

This wasn't his usual hunting grounds, but several times over the years he had noted a decent sized population of large does frequenting this general location during mating season, and bucks followed. He was more interested in some of the does he'd seen because none of the males had impressed him, but if he had to settle for one he would. The two of them stopped at a gnarled old ash tree. Its trunk was warped and knobby, and moss grew across the old bark. A few of the branches were so thick and close to the ground that they looked like separate trees that had grew together. Alasdair dropped Rumeer's reigns and circled around to one of her saddle bags. He unbuckled the pack and flipped the soft leather flap open, then stick his hand in and dug around for a moment until his fingers touched the scrap he was looking for.

He pulled out a tattered purple rag - something he'd found on the floor in the Maiden District a few days ago. It was lower quality cotton, which he assumed had been torn from a shirt. The Syliran rubbed the strip of material between his fingers, then walked over to a lower hanging branch and tied it carefully in place. He wanted to place a marker so he knew for sure where he was in case he backtracked. The tree itself was distinctive enough, but it wasn't the only strange looking gnarled tree in the Bronze Woods. If he got disoriented somehow, this would make it stand out even more. He made sure his knot was secure before returning to where Rumeer waited patiently, picked up her reigns, and tossed them over her neck.

A NoteThe horse in this flashback is not alive in the present, so is not in his possessions or ledger. Neither does he own any of her tack anymore.

[Alasdair]

Rumeer waited patiently as Alasdair prepared to mount. He once more checked the tightness of the saddle, and was pleased to see it hadn't loosened during their ascent. He buckled the open saddle bag closed, and tightened the ties securing them to the skirts behind the back of the seat. After giving the old mare another pat, he grabbed the reigns and horn in one hand with his other on the cantle, slipped his left foot into the left stirrup, and hoisted himself up into the saddle. Rumeer shifted slightly to accommodate the increase in weight on her back, but they both settled when he positioned himself comfortably in the deep seat. Alasdair fiddled with the long reigns for a moment, getting them even and shortening the slack enough to be manageable.

He wasn't the best rider around by far, and the reigns were always still a little awkward to get situated, but he finally settled and was ready. Rumeer perked up a little, noticing the change in his posture - the way he sat up straighter. Alasdair tapped her sides with the heels of his heavy boots, urging the well-mannered mare into an easy walk. She was strong and healthy for her age, but after she hit twenty last year her old body was starting to slow down. She was retired from anything faster than a trot except under emergencies, which was fine for both of them.

They settled into a slow, comfortable pace that allowed Alasdair to examine their surroundings without hassle. Rumeer's hooves crunched the leaves underfoot and shifted twigs aside, sounding louder than she actually was in the silence of the forest. That was one of the reasons he didn't ride often. It was easier to stay quiet on his own, but across longer distances it was still convenient to have a mount, even if they were louder. While she was trained to take silent leg cues, that didn't necessarily mean she herself was quiet. His hips sways steadily with the slow rhythmic roll of her gait, one hand resting on his thigh and the other guiding her through the maze of trees with the reigns.

He glanced behind them to check their progress, and noted that the ash tree was out of sight. They'd passed a crumbling rock that he was sure to note, and were about to cross the bubbling stream. Brush grew up alongside the water in this area, and the creek itself had bloated wider, though it was still shallow. Alasdair turned Rumeer to follow the bank upstream, and they steadily climbed the small slope until a fresh deer track made him reign her in. He pulled her to a halt gently by the narrow trail, then stroked her neck appreciatively. "There's a good girl," he assured her quietly. Her ears twitched in acknowledgement of his voice.

[Alasdair]

The thin trail seemed to have been used for quite a while. Plants and earth were trampled by continuous pressure from the hooves of deer - and who knew what other animals used it. All he cared about right now though was that it was clearly a deer track. It sloped down the bank and into the gurgling water, disappearing at the edge of the crystal stream and materializing once more on the other side, leading off into the trees to he couldn't yet see where. Alasdair spun his mare with pressure on the reins and nudged her toward the trail. He guided her carefully down the soft bank, leaning back as well as pushing his heels down against the stirrups to help both of them balance as she picked her way forward. Water splashed around her legs and stones clacked against her steel-shod feet, then he leaned forward when she climbed up over the other side.

Bunching the reins in both fists, he halted the horse at the top of the far bank and leaned over to examine the path under her carefully maintained hooves. A few deep furrows marked the old crossing of the deer he hoped to find. After a pause, he unmounted and dropped to a crouch by the imprints for a closer look. There were undoubtable variations in some of them. What he knew about deer tracks was enough to get by when they were this clear, pressed cleanly into the soft muddy earth by the stream. They must have been fresh enough that they were before the last hard rain, else the swelling waters would have washed them away or ruined them. That was good. Alasdair touched one track in particular. All of them shared the similarity of the deers' toes being spaced apart as they gripped the soft ground for purchase.

This imprint had rounder toes than some of the others, which indicated that the deer was older. His father had taught him that an aged buck or doe would have a print not as sharp as a fresher, younger deer. Over the years their hooves wore down. He touched another print, smaller and sharper-edged than the first. He had no idea how many might have passed through recently, but the good thing was that they had definitely passed through. Alasdair rose to his feet and walked back around to Rumeer's side, where he climbed back into the saddle. They set off once more in the general direction the trail led them. He lost sight of it multiple times as the undergrowth became sparse before thickening again to where he could see where it had been flattened in their wake. Another promising sign were the antler rubs scattered along in odd intervals.

It was clear as day where bucks had scraped bark from the trees to sharpen their racks. Some of them were fresh young saplings, others were powerful oaks. Surely he was riding in the right direction. It was almost a bell before his diligent searching finally paid off. After losing the trail for a few chimes, it suddenly made itself clear again as his mare pushed through some low growing thorns. Alasdair reined her to a stop and swung down to the ground, leading her to the impressions dug into the ground by the deer. He crouched again and examined the tracks, frowning deeply as he examined the variations. Another round-toed hoof here, a sharp one there. They overlapped here rather erratically - a sign of frequent traffic. He stood and led his horse a few chimes more on foot down the track unit it finally seemed to disappear for good.

Leaves littered the ground under very sparse undergrowth. The trees here seemed a little younger and thinner, also spaced wider apart. Not nearly a clearing, but clearer nonetheless. Rumeer followed Alasdair over to a strong looking young tree, about as thick around as his leg. Carefully, he tied her reigns around the trunk using a release knot that could quickly free her with a simple tug. He made sure to loosen her girth enough so that she would be comfortable waiting here while he went off further on foot without her. If he had no luck within the span of a few bells, he'd come back to retrieve her and they would go back home. Hopefully there would be something to reward their efforts.

[Alasdair]

Retrieving what gear he would or might possibly need from the saddle, Alasdair set off at a steady clip. With the trail now gone, the chances of tracking the deers' movements were slim to none. He would have to rely on intuition, patience, and a little bit of dumb luck. It was impossible to keep quiet with his heavy boots on a blanket of fallen, decaying leaves, so he didn't even try. Squirrels chattered loudly overhead, chasing one another through the empty branches as he moved deeper into the trees and further from his horse. With a glance over his shoulder, he noted that she was no longer in sight. The forest was starting to come alive with day dwelling animals, adding ambiance and noise to his surroundings.

Nocturnal creatures had their own rhythm and music, but it wasn't anything like the birds that awoke with the sun and all the other animals that rose from their dens at dawn. A horned owl swooped down from the branches to his left, silently plucking up an invisible mouse from the undergrowth a few yards in front of him. He watched it flaps its long wings for altitude and disappear into a tree hollow. A last minute meal before bed. Alasdair forged ahead, glancing once at the hole in which the raptor had flown into before the old tree melded into the forest behind him, nearly unrecognizable from the others around it. He was in an area again where the trees seemed older and larger. Brush once more was growing thick and wild, climbing to around the height of his waist.

Still there were no sightings of the deer. He did spot a few more antler rubs, and upon closer examination of the wood that had been exposed by the bucks, they did seem fresh enough. And yet, no deer. He hadn't even flushed any out of hiding with his loud tromping boots. Plenty of birds and small mammal, but nothing big. Wild rabbit seemed to populate this area fairly heavily. He noted several holes as he picked his way through thorns and bushes, and even more hares fleeing to hidden dens as he passed. He counted about ten in all within the span of a bell. Perhaps he'd have better luck if he abandoned the deer and hunted the rabbits instead.

When Alasdair came across a narrow brook cutting through the hills, he decided to stop for a moment. He had no way of knowing whether this track of water was the same he had followed and then crossed early. It trickled and fell through and over a tall tumble of stones and boulders that led up a short cliff. He couldn't see over it, and it was his first obvious indication that he was approaching more mountainous terrain. The Syliran sat for a few minutes on one of the rocks by the water, listening to the forest wake up around him in harmony with the sound of flowing water. Birds were beginning to flit between branches and the ground more frequently, and squirrels were rummaging in the leaves for food.

He took a long drought from the waterskin he'd brought along. The other was still hanging on his saddle. As he put the stopper back on and hung it again over his shoulders, he made to stand and continue on but froze when a low howl rose from the trees to his right. The haunting song swelled in volume before leveling off, continuing for nearly a chime before dying down once more. It had sounded far too close for his liking. Alasdair tried to be silent now as he began to trek back the way he'd come. After hearing the wolf's call, he wished to abandon this endeavor for today. If this was pack territory, he had no desire to stick around and risk becoming dinner searching for his own meal.

The hair on his neck stood on end and he watched the trees closely for any sign of movement. Not long after the first, another howl rose in answer, holding a high note and making his skin crawl before it died away. He redoubled his pace, half-jogging through the trees and crushing brush under every heavy step. There was silence from the wolves for a few more chimes before a loud canine yap made him stop. Moving slowly now, Alasdair put his back against the broadest tree in his immediate area. It was wider than he was, offering protection from behind. He didn't want one of them coming up and sinking into his spine. If they were all in front of them he might have a better chance of avoiding a confrontation.

[Alasdair]

The first one to make its appearance was a lanky female. She trotted through the brush and circled around him once before slowing back around in front. Her brindled fur blended well with the trees around them. He was sure if he'd been walking and ran a cursory glance over her, he'd have missed her completely. The second was a ginger colored male - younger and smaller than the female, with a dark outline around his golden eyes. The third and final was another female, even older than the first two. Her gray face was whitening with age, but her body still looked strong and ready enough to take down a kill. Alasdair had no idea where the others might be. Surely there were more, but for now, only these three were to investigate the intruder.

The youngest drew in closer, low to the ground before springing away with its tail between its legs. It had never seen a human. He was sure to avoid eye contact with each of the wolves, but he stood up straight and didn't make any sudden movements. He remembered what his mother had told him about the animals. Don't turn your back on them, and don't challenge them with your eyes. Stay on your feet, and make no sudden movements. Act large and intimidating. They're more timid of you than they let on. Alasdair gritted his teeth and slipped his axe out of the loop on his belt that it hung from. His sword was back on the saddle as well. Carrying it and the bow with its quiver plus his backpack would be too cumbersome.

The eldest female drew around to his side, ears back and hackles raised. They followed her lead, feeling brave when a low threat rumbled in the core of her throat, but still he didn't move, even though the prey aspect of his mind wanted to sprint through the trees. He squashed the desire with an effort and gripped the leather-wrapped handle of his axe more tightly. The younger bitch's lips pulled back, giving him a view of long canine teeth and a red tongue. Her teeth clicked as she nipped the air, skittering closer to him then fleeing back again. It was all a big dance of intimidation, trying to coax him into running or turning at an ideal angle. But he couldn't stand here forever and wait on the rest of the pack to come hunting.

Alasdair moved slowly away from the tree, walking sideways to keep his back away from the three wolves. They followed eagerly, growling and whining their challenges as they slunk in close then fell back again, always moving and trying to circle him. The eldest angled around to his right but he shouted incoherently at her, startling her back to the others and disturbing a pair of songbirds from their overhead perch. Be big and be loud, came his mothers old advice. Again the eldest tried to circle around - this time to his left. He let her come in close, then suddenly struck out with his axe and snarled defiantly. The razor double edge barely missed her. She was lucky enough to be quick and dodge out of the way.

They regarded him wearily now, following slowly as he retreated backwards, hoping not to trip over anything. He stepped carefully and deliberately, feeling the earth behind him with a tentative touch of the toe of his boots. A few times he bumped into trees with his back or a shoulder, and several roots and rocks were nearly his downfall, but he managed to stay upright for however long it lasted. Alasdair soon grew tired of the game of cat and mouse. The females kept swinging in close, trying to grab an ankle or get in behind him, but each time he would shout and swing his axe. It grew harder when they tried to attack as a group. He would swing the weapon and strike out with a leg, always narrowly missing a shoulder or a flank, while they teeth came perilously closer.