Closed Respect (Matthew)

[Razkar]

30th Day of Winter, 513AV
Outskirts of Sunberth
10th Bell

Part of him grumbled that it was a waste of good tobacco, but it was quickly scolded into silence. Respect needed to be paid; the Green Goddess could be given nothing less, and for what Razkar was to take, this was more than fair exchange.

Thrice the little stream of brown stems and leaves tumbled from his rubbing fingers, trickling down through the still air onto the ground. His lips moved gently as a slow, constant murmur of prayer droned from them. Thrice. Always thrice. The Green Goddess may have been everywhere and eternal, but Razkar's people were still staunchly pragmatic.

You had to be sure the message got through.

"Green Goddess, thanks to you for the bounty you bestow. The meat and fur to be found in your bosom. The water and fruit gifted to your children. Green Goddess, my thanks to you, and my offering given, to in part repay for your kindness..."

Finally, the Myrian's hand dropped and he bowed his head, eyes closed. Even at the edge of Sunberth, beyond the smoky sprawl and braying slums, he knew he was not totally safe. Thieves and dregs would prowl the outskirts for travelers and hunters like him... but he detected no hint of them in the clearing before the wooded hills.

Razkar gave a tiny, satisfied smile. Word traveled fast in Sunberth. For once, that worked to his advantage. No-one wanted to pick a fight with him.

Black eyes darted up at yawning, stretching Syna when he got back to his feet. Hmm... already half a bell. The human was late, but that was to be expected, given the particular human. Razkar decided to give the harlot a certain amount of leeway... but he didn't want to wait forever.

The wood were lovely, dark and deep... and he had promises to keep. Namely, a birthday gift, and he was deathly remiss in delivering it.

Shhhhhk... Shhhhhk... Shhhhhhk...

The woods and all within them seemed to hold their breath for a tick as the Myrian began sharpening the arrows in his quiver with a whetstone, squatting on a rock. His bow was by his left and a hunting kit opposite. Stripped down to his breeches, sandals and his cloak, the wind chilled and gnawed at his lean frame, but he ignored it.

He waited for the human to arrive, then the hunt could begin.

[Matthew]

Matthew's slim form soon broke through the wooded treeline, coming from the direction of the hills, not Sunberth. This seemed to quickly confuse the harlot, his blue eyes blinking a bit at Razkar, then the horizon beyond Razkar, and then turning to study the woods he had just come from. He wasn't the best when it came to wilderness survival of any sort, so he wasn't second-guessing his ability to get lost and be late... he was just trying to figure out how he had become so lost that he had ended up turning a half-circling and heading back to Sunberth without realizing it. Even sadder still, they weren't even that far from the slum of a town. He would have to learn more about this wilderness, even if it secretly terrified him to the core. The harlot was bundled up in a long coat, but one that had been left open to give him room. The rest of his clothes looked just as nice as normal, though a bit more plain. While his hair had been styled somehow, the wind had tossed it around just a tad, though even the windswept locks looked a bit natural on him. Laying eyes on the knelt Razkar, he stepped over, voice soft and apologetic. Genuine sorrow was actually laced into his words. "I am late. I apologize. It won't happen again." Matthew was one who always liked to be on time. It was rude not to be on time in his opinion, so therefor, he had been rude to Razkar. On such an important day too. He knew what day it was, and he had approached Razkar about it. He wanted to experience it and learn about it, and what better way than from a child of Myri? He was thankful the savage had allowed him to come along. He would have to tread carefully. "How can I help? Is there anything I should know before we begin?" Blue eyes peered at the lack of clothing currently on the Myrian, wondering if that was part of what needed to be done. He wasn't good with traditions, but only because he didn't understand them. Hopefully this would fix that. "If I was a Myrian, what is expected of me on this day?" His eyes turned to the arrows and the bow, thoughtfully examining them. He wasn't good with any kind of weapon, but that didn't stop him from being interested in them, like he was everything else. For a brief second he closed his eyes, becoming aware of his breathing, his dulled excitement, his emotion. He breathed in and out, focusing on the sound of the air entering his lungs, and the feeling of his body distributing it. He meditated briefly, calming any lingering emotion, dampening it, centering himself. Things like this thrilled him, but being thrilled un-nerved him.

[Razkar]

The petch was he doing in there...?

Razkar shook his head as the human emerged in a bumbling mess. He squinted a little and... Goddess on the Throne, he'd actually styled his hair. For a hunt. That was like doing make up for a sparring session. He shook his head and concentrated on his arrows as the human marched closer.

"I am late. I apologize. It won't happen again."

Razkar's black eyes flicked up briefly; the human seemed sincere, but he knew what a talented actor the harlot could be when he wanted. Still... he didn't see lies in his eyes. He wished that was the truth of the matter, and shrugged.

"Don't concern yourself."

"How can I help? Is there anything I should know before we begin?"

Once again Razkar looked up, eyes running up and down the human's outline... which was now quite bulky. He nodded slightly.

"The coat will have to go. Too big to go creeping through the shrugs. Also, I hope you don't value those clothes too highly-" he held the barbed arrow up to Syna; no blemish nor tarnish was revealed by her scrutiny, and the Myrian was satisfied "-since they'll probably be a different color by the time we come back."

"If I was a Myrian, what is expected of me on this day?"

The click of the arrow returning to the quiver was sharper than intended; Matthew's question seemed to have struck a nerve. Black orbs that seemed suddenly unfriendly rounded on him and Razkar's voice had iron underpinning it.

"You are not a Child of Myri." Then he saw the glimmer of disquiet in the harlot's eyes and shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of a fly. "I... I am sorry, Matthew. That is not what you said."

He sighed again and got to his feet, snapping his neck back and forth, the motion rolling down his taut shoulders, his muscle-corded armed and down his lean torso. Not a patch on the sculpted build of Matthew of course, that artists would weep over and women swooned over in droves... but they have very different purposes, after all.

"Blessed Myri's celebration is long over," he said with real sadness, a twinge of regret marring his flexing features, "But I will not be remiss in honoring her. This day... I left it too long. Too much was happening... to much to be done..."

Razkar gazed out at the brackish woods and seemed to be talking to them... pleading with them. Myri was never far from the hearts of her Children; she was their light and their queen and their purpose. She had raised them from true savagery and made them feared and powerful. She watched over them all and protected even the youngest or oldest, rich and poor. This much he had told Matthew. But never before had Razkar made an offering with the human present.

Which would be... an experience.

"Enough maudlin." He said with a quick smile, determined to get in the proper mindset. He rummaged around inside the kitbag as he spoke, words sliding towards the authority of a teacher. "First thing we do is smell like what we hunt. Now, I assume that you washed thoroughly this morning-" he flicked a glance at the shining but windswept hair and sniffed indifferently "-good for hygiene, bad for the hunt. You need to smell like your prey, or at least where the prey lives. So-"

He held out a vial that stank even from his hand.

"Deer scent. Enough for us both. And don't make that face; as soon as we can find some dung, we'll be using that instead. Now, stow the coat somewhere safe and splash some of this on..."

[Matthew]

Matthew jerked backwards just the slightest bit at Razkar's sudden turn and the steel of his voice, a look of actual child-like hurt very briefly flickering across his pristine features. It was soon replaced with a more familar look though, one that was curious about what had just happened. He watched the Myrian closely, shrugging his shoulders at the quickly-offered apology, observing as the man loosened his muscles. Matthew himself could do something resembling that, but there was a big difference in their builds. Matthew's definition came from a lack of fat more than anything, while the Myrian's came from a lack of fat and a generous helping of pure muscle. Razkar was notably thicker than Matthew, but in a fit and defined sort of way. At the mention of his coat, Matthew looked down and then nodded understandingly, quickly working on discarding the offending piece of clothing. He listened closely at the words Razkar offered him, trying to understand the genuine emotion behind them. He felt like he rarely heard that much emotion from the man, so it was interesting to hear so much in his words all at once. Matthew himself wasn't one for religion. He understood who the Gods were and believed in their existance, even appreciated their concepts. He had just never been moved to worship. Accepting the vial, he wrinkled his nose a bit as the smell hit him. Razkar's logic made perfect sense though, so Matthew readily agreed. If he smelled like human, they would know he was coming. If he smelled like them... they wouldn't know the difference until he was too close for it to matter anymore. He shrugged off his jacket, kneeling down to quickly fold it and place it off to the side. Hopefully he would remember it here. And the Myrian had said his clothes would change color? Blood perhaps? The harlot was surprisingly familar with the idea. More familar than most people seemed to know. As soon as he folded the clothes, he uncorked the vial and stuck two fingers to the opening. Quickly coating the tips of his fingers while keeping the bottle plugged, he then swiped the liquid onto his flesh in strategic locations. On the side of his neck, at the waist of his pants (though on the flesh), and very quick splashes on his sides. They were locations where he felt his natural odor would come from, so best to mask it at the source. Dung would be next, hm? What a good idea. It was just as natural, though with a stronger smell. "This is all very intelligently done." The compliment was sudden and likely foreign, but Matthew was quickly moving on. After offering the vial back to Razkar, the harlot oddly at peace with all the steps asked of him, Matthew soon asked a trademark sort of question. An uncomfortable one. "Are only Myrians the Children of Myri? Are there step-children, or other ways to become part of her family?" A good question, or at least Matthew thought it was.

[Razkar]

Razkar gave a little murmur of approval as the harlot shed his clothes and doused himself thoroughly. Truth be told, he was surprised. He'd thought the human a creature of civilization; an urban specimen who would be lost and awkward in the wilds. And, to a degree... that was true. But he was learning, and had the will to learn more.

"This is all very intelligently done."

The Myrian snorted his agreement, smiling. "Not just a matter of marching into the green and tripping over your prey, my friend. There is... craft. A way of doing things that tip the odds in your favor."

He stripped down and began his own preparations. He coated his hands with the scent and rubbed them on his neck, his armpits, even his thighs and chest. A thin film of very un-Myrian stunk was soon wafting off him, and with a deep breath... and a content nod... Razkar couldn't smell either trace of them. Just the deer.

"Are only Myrians the Children of Myri? Are there step-children, or other ways to become part of her family?"

Razkar turned that stony stare on him again; something Matthew was fast-becoming used to. That reaction somewhere between smoldering resentment and mortal insult. But instead of lashing out or snapping, a smile creased his face, sharp white teeth revealed, chuckle rolling from between them.

"'Step-children'. That's a good one. Very good... but no, my friend. Myri's Children are... well, like me. The Myrians. We took our name from her, our whole race, and those who dwell in Falyndar call her Goddess, Queen and Mother. All others are... barbarians."

Even as he spoke the words, the Myrian frowned. They would not have struck him as so... uncomfortable a couple of years ago. Back when his certainty of the nature of the world was iron-clad and he wore it like armor against the darkness of the barbarian nations. But he had seen strong males and females in that time, different to him in so many ways... but they would have been worthy of Myri. Their strength and courage and wisdom and...

Yes. Their devotion. Like Edreina.

"But," he finally said, shaking his head free from the troubling thoughts, "she is still the Goddess of War and Victory, so one could say that all who wage war can pay homage. Those who fight or duel or struggle... all pay their respects, in a way." He chuckled again, genuinely amused as he stripped down to his breeches. "Even those who would wage war against her still war, so they would give her strength. Strange to think, hmm?"

The Myrian stretched out one more time and took his bow in hand, hunting kit worked tight on his back under his quiver. He picked up a handful of dirt and started to rub it where his weapons gleamed or shone, flicking a glance at Matthew.

"Do the same. You don't want Syna giving you away out there. All our senses must work to our benefit. Our scent, we have enabled. Our sight, we are enabling. Our sound..."

He finished up and started walking, not waiting for the harlot to catch up, because he knew he would anyway. He talked over his shoulder, fast approaching the looming copse of trees, eyes fixed on the ground, head moving in slow, methodical turns as he scanned the snow and grass.

"When we move, we do so slowly. Put your feet on that which is moist or muddy, when you can. Crinkling leaves, snapping twigs... very bad for alerting the prey. Move in the shadows, at a crouch, and use the cover of shrubs and bushes. But right now... we look for signs of passing... like..."

The Myrian dropped like a stone, so fast the human may have thought he'd been struck, either by men's steel or fatal malady. But he went down to a crouch instead, pointing to some indents at the edge of the wood, sharp and clear in the icy mud and dusting of snow.

"See there? These are..." His fingers gently brushed the outline, as if reading them though his skin, voice hushed and words coming slowly. "... yes... deer tracks. See the oval shape? The indents at the back from the rear toes? I would say..." He measured his hand against the track, frowning at them... then smiling. "... nearly five inches. That would mean an adult, over two years old, perhaps. See where the tops are rounded, not sharp? Because his toes have worn down with age. A fine prize..."

Razkar looked up and saw... nothing. Because his student was already down at his level, studying the inprints with a fierce concentration, earning his unlikely teacher's fond smile. He nodded to them and gestured with his muddy, smelly hand.

"What do you see... student?"

[Matthew]

Matthew wrinkled his nose, but not in distaste. He had apparently made a joke, but Myrian humor was as completely foreign to him as Human culture was. First Razkar had given him a look like he was about to bite his throat out, and then the look had turned into one of glee. He'd have to remember his 'joke' for any further interactions with other Myrians, though they weren't the most common thing to run into. The rest of the sentence made sense though, Matthew giving a small nod, oddly at piece with the idea while Razkar delved into a short moment of troubling thoughts. "Barbarians. That makes sense. To a Myrian, who was born of Myri, than she is everything. Everyone has a different idea of what is civilized. To you, Myri is the very definition of existance, the standard for your race, the standard for what it is to be civilized. The opposite of civilization is savagery one could say, so all those who are without Myri are the real savages. How interesting." Perhaps it would be too wordy for Razkar, or maybe it would all make perfect sense. It seemed to make sense to Matthew, which was satisfying to him. Why Razkar referred to others around him as barbarians had long been a minor mystery churning in the back of Matthew's brain, and now that it had been solved, a pleasurable buzz was shivering through his brain. It was also interesting to him how the Goddess of War worked. It was indeed a strange thing, to realize that anyone who fought against her with pure strength would only add to her own strength. Respect her, even. How befitting for a warrior. Watching as Razkar rubbed a layer of dirt onto the sheen of his weapons, Matthew blinked, glancing over his form. He didn't have a single weapon on him. After a moment of hesitation, he scooped a handful of dirt up and applied it to his person. Any shiny button was smudged, and dirty hands were scooped through his hair to color it like earth and take away the style he had given it. Patting his creamy skin with some of the dirt as well, he tossed the rest of the handful, figuring that the dirt would help him blend in if anything. His ability to decorate himself was obvious, as even the hastily applied forest dirt seemed to fall on his flesh in almost attractive ways. Taking off after Razkar as the Myrian steadily moved forward, Matthew was silent but attentive, soaking up the words given and scribing them somewhere deep within his brain. Everything made excellent sense so far, common knowledge applied to hunting. He appreciated such a method of teaching. There were no complex terms used, no foreign concepts, just simple strategy. He obeyed Razkar's instruction, moving softly and gracefully, slowly lowering his foot onto patches of mud or snow, and only trodding upon fallen leaves if they were absolutely soaked. Thankfully, the fallen snow made almost everything wet. There were still fallen twigs and branches to avoid, but as long as Matthew kept a bit of his attention focused on the path in front of him, then he was able to do it. Thankfully, Razkar wasn't moving quickly. Anything more than a methodical pace, and Matthew wasn't sure if he would be able to keep up quietly. When Razkar suddenly dropped to a crouch, Matthew hesitated a moment, and then quickly dropped his form as well. Peering at Razkar and waiting for enlightment on their sudden adjustment, his eyes were soon led to the tracks imprinted across the ground. Deer? The hooves of each different animal must have their own unique appearance. The small mention of the rounded tops was met with an appreciative nod. Once again, common sense had been applied, with an eye to detail. The size of the hoof could help determine the age, though that likely came with experience. He would keep it in mind for future training. When asked what he personally saw, the harlot glanced over to Razkar, studying his black orbs for a moment. A few bells passed, and Matthew suddenly closed his eyes. Slowing his breathing, he focused inwards. In a slightly odd display, his hands lifted, pointing and tugging at invisible things in the air. His lips moved in mumbles, whispering small details. Nothing is known of hunting or tracking, so don't try to figure anything out. Use common sense, as he is. Take in everything, set it beside the object of study, find the relationship, draw the lines. Connecting lines. Snow, wet, tracks, mud, leaves, stealth, dirt, pee, deer, hunt, Razkar. Edge of the forest, snow. Snow, wet, ice. Tracks. His eyes opened. "They are fresh. Our own footprints will be gone quite quickly, with all the melting snow, sloshing mud, and occassional rain. If they are still this defined, then it passed very recently." He made eye contact with Razkar again, intensely awaiting. He very well may have missed something, and he was very okay with that. He was sure he would be taught anything he missed, and then he wouldn't miss it again.

[Razkar]

"Bugger. I hadn't thought of that..."

Matthew made a curious little sound as Razkar rumbled in his own language, causing the Myrian to abruptly clear his throat, eyes flitting around before finally arresting on the fresh marks in the snow. Fresh. Goddess, why didn't he draw that conclusion?

"I, ah, said you... you do very well. Sorry, ah..." he scratched at the back of his neck and coughed again. A blind man could have seen his deception, his grasping for words. Fortunately, Matthew was as clueless to deception as they came (he hoped). "... I talk in my native tongue sometimes. Common is, ah... still new to me."

The hunt! Back to the hunt!

"But, like I said, you are right."

He looked down and tried to match the human in... Goddess, had it come to that? Matching Matthew in hunting abilities?! But he glared downward anyway, trying to think logically, some way he could tell him...

"Ah... there is... very little snow in these treads. Little mud or water. So, not many bells have passed since the deer came this way." He licked his lips, imagining both the hunt and, beyond it, juicy steaks of venison roasting over naked flames. "Probably morning food and water. The steps... the space between them... maybe a steady walk. So a distance covered."

Razkar closed his eyes and listened. Birds chirped and things creaked and snapped and rustled in the black woods. Refuse from all across Sunberth had been dumped in and around the woods, and Razkar wouldn't be surprised if a graveyard's worth of corpses buried in there, too.

Even in a city as lawless as Sunberth, some men didn't just need to die; they needed to vanish.

"Listen..." He whispered, pausing... then sighed. "I do not hear water. Probably not a stream. Maybe a lake or a pool. Perhaps a clearing where they feed. But, either way, we have the beginnings of our tracks. Now we have something to follow. Stay close to me, and low. Eyes and ears open."

The Myrian went into a crouch and notched an arrow into his bow, half-pulling it as he held it before him, sliding off his sandals and shoving them to cover with Matthew's coat. When he saw the harlot's expression he gave a quick wink.

"Raised in the jungle, remember? I did not own sandals until I joined the army, when I was in my twenty-second year." He lifted up one foot briefly, wiggling his toes as he showed Matthew the muddy, callused soles. "Feet like leather, my friend. I could walk over everything but nails and glass and fire..."

He turned back to the tracks and started following them, staying away from them so not to mar them or their scent with his own. His footsteps were careful, measured, and his eyes scanned the treeline. Out there, unawares, was his prey, and its senses were far sharper than his own. Brain, not the physical strengths that Caiyha gifted, were what would seal his victory.

"... and I should know about the last one. Never getting that drunk again..."

With the ghost of a chuckle, Razkar finished his lesson for the moment, sliding silently through the snow and mud and dead, black trees, drifting after his prey.

[Matthew]

Matthew was as clueless to deception as they came, unless logic dictated that something was obviously very wrong with whatever the attempt at deception was. In this case, he was none the wiser. He just gave an understanding nod, blue eyes lighting up for a moment. "You speak it very well. I would like to learn more Myrian from you, one day. It is something of a goal of mine to master various languages." Watching as Razkar returned intense eyes to the snowy ground, Matthew followed his example and returned his stare to the tracks that the Myrian had found. Slow nods and enlightened sounds came from the harlot, who was happy that Razkar had seen details that he hadn't really linked. Noticing the Myrian had now closed his eyes, Matthew did the same. Were they listening? Listening for what? Chirping. Wind. Swaying branches. Melting snow. Very distant voices, Sunberth. the smell of mud, of earth, of rot and trees. The air is cold, slightly damp. It tastes of smoke and... cold." The harlot's eyes snapped open as Razkar spoke, and all was revealed. Ah, they had been listening for water. If there had been a water source nearby, and the deer had been thirsty, then it would have been wise to assume that the trail led there. He nodded quietly at the order to stay quiet and low, and then narrowed his eyes at the removed sandals. It made sense that the forest wouldn't pose a problem to someone who had been raised in a jungle, though Matthew couldn't say for sure. He had never actually seen a jungle, just heard of it. Mostly from Myrians, like Kaie and Razkar. He followed closely, keeping the lessons on moving quietly close to his heart. He stepped slowly but surely, and continued to scan the ground for exactly where to step. He was lucky it had snowed and everything was wet. If the ground had been dryer, he had no doubt he would have been making a horrific amount of noise. He offered a smile at Razkar's joke, thinking back to if he had ever gotten drunk. He couldn't remember a time. He usually avoided alcohol. It wasn't exactly his favorite beverage, and the potential lack of control scared him just a bit. A small pile of what looked to be deer droppings suddenly caught his eye, snapping him out of his series of thoughts. Tilting his head, he stared at the pile a moment and then motioned it out to Razkar. It didn't give them any new information (he thought), but it did at least confirm they were on the right trail. Perhaps the droppings could tell them something. He felt he was missing an important clue, here. He glanced over to Razkar again, stare curious, wondering if the savage had any sort of wisdom to impart.

[Razkar]

Good eyes...

Once again Razkar nodded his approval to the human as the pile of steaming pellets was pointed out to him. He'd scented it a few ticks before but had yet the pinpoint the cause; Matthew apparently had an even quicker nose than him... or eyes, rather.

Either way, he crouched next to the mass of turds and reached down with one hand, other holding bow and arrow where the two met, keeping them steady. Without any hesitation the Myrian placed his hands over it... felt the warmth... then picks up a pellet and rubbed it between his fingers.

"Hmm..." He was no expert, but this seemed promising. He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, nonchalantly grabbing a thick, sticky handful of droppings and rubbing a smear into his bare chest. "Still warm. Our friend passed this way recently... see?"

He nodded to the fresh track marks around the droppings. The dead trees didn't provide much cover in these "woods", another difference from the eternally-green "jungle". Here, when Winter came, leaves and branches were stripped bare and snow and rain could fall straight to the jungle... ah, wood floor without the impediment of a canopy. There was far less undergrowth, too, making movement easier.

And making it easier to be spotted.

Razkar glared briefly at the thought. The Myrians' greatest advantage outside of Myri's guidance had always been their mastery of the green hell that had been Falyndar. Where barbarian interlopers saw a tangled, merciless, impenetrable mass of hostile foliage, the Children of Myri moved with ease and certainty. The sparse undergrowth here was almost laughable, but it came with a price.

When Razkar looked up, he could see fifty feet in any direction. He could follow the tracks with his keen eyes for a good chunk of that, made yet more stark by white snow and flecks of mud. They would have to be even more cautious as they tracked their prey.

"We move. And do the same before you do: hide your scent and keep you warm..."

He grunted once and they set off again, time sliding and oozing by with their furtive, careful feet. More than once Razkar raised a hand and unconsciously let loose a quick burst of hand signals, before winced and remembering where the hells he was. Then he dropped low, limbs freezing, eyes wide and watchful, flickering at some unseen noise... and then he moved on again-

-until they both heard it.

Something large let out a bass snort that seemed to shake the snow from the branches. At once and unbidden they both froze, dropping down into a lower crouch, Razkar's eyes fixed on the direction it came from.

Maybe... a hundred feet. Probably less. Big old buck, by the sound of it, and still snorting out challenges.

He turned slowly and caught Matthew's eye, black orbs gleaming with feral excitement. Bells had passed; limbs were sore and leagues had been covered with painstaking slowness. Now, it looked like was paying off...

[Matthew]

Ah, warmth. The light went off in Matthew's head right as the Myrian reached down and touched the droppings, and then spoke to confirm the harlot's suspicions. If the droppings were warm, then they were freshly laid. If they were freshly laid, then that meant the deer was nearby. Following Razkar's example and remembering his lesson from earlier, he took the rest of the droppings and slipped them under his shirt, smearing them across the bare flesh underneath. The smell filled his nose, mixing with the smell of the urine, and he tilted his head a bit as his head instinctively flinched away. It was quite a stench, but oddly enough a familar one. Matthew had smelled this exact combination of smells many times when he had traveled through the Wildlands. He could understand even better now how it helped him blend in with the wild and become part of what he was hunting. Razkar seemed to be annoyed by the surroundings, but Matthew hadn't the faintest idea why. He just quietly followed along, keeping low and keeping his eyes alert, making sure that he stepped as quietly as he possibly could. The snow and mud was still his saving grace, and he found himself making uncomfortable movements just to land in a patch that promised to be silent. It was a small price to pay. The hand signals that the Myrian randomly flashed certainly got a bit of an odd stare from the harlot, but he just made a mental note to ask later. Even Matthew knew now was not the time to skip from curious question to curious question. So distracted was he by his own thoughts that the sudden snort of the buck caught him off guard. He nearly jumped in place, but quickly put a cap on his surprise and bit down on his lower lip to muffle any sounds he would accidently make. Razkar looked very excited. Matthew was pleased that their knowledge had led to such a pay-off, though he doubted it would be like this every time. It looked like every single hunt had a lot of different variables, and a lot of variables was a good indication that many things could go horribly wrong. Matthew slowly moved his head, glancing cautiously around, trying to figure out exactly where the noise had come from. Then, no more than ninety feet away, a rather massive buck stepped out of a thick clumping of trees and brush. The harlot froze even more (if such a thing was possible), staring as the great buck with his majestic curved horns sized up him and his Myrian companion. The animal let out a snort again, pawing at the ground, tossing his head and locking each of the men in a critical stare. The harlot paused for a moment, sizing up the rather massive creature. Weren't deer supposed to be smaller? And weren't they supposed to be skittish? This one seemed to be rather confident... if not a bit confrontational. Determined to be of some use on this hunting trip, and wanting to put common sense to good use, Matthew turned and whispered to Razkar. "I'll catch it, and hold it steady so you can shoot it." If Razkar didn't close his eyes and cry to Myri, he would be treated to the insane sight of the harlot taking off in a sudden sprint. Even the buck seemed completely unimpressed. He just stood there, staring and snorting as the human charged. At any other sort of hunter, like perhaps Razkar, the buck would have met the charge head-on or bolted at the sight of a weapon. But this thing that was running at him now? He didn't even budge as Matthew slammed into him, doing his best to wrap his arms around the buck. "I've got him!" The buck snorted, shoving forward and sending Matthew to the ground with a loud grunt and a wet splash. The deer was stronger than the harlot had expected.