before sunrise
The morning had begun like any other. Shahar had risen before the sun, as was his way, pulled on his clothes, given Naiya a gentle touch goodbye and slipped into the gray pre-dawn air.
Summer was as thick as ever, and the night left no lingering chill to nip or shiver. In this weather, Shahar opted to remain shirtless, although he did don his sheepskin vest. He left that open, though; at the moment, the grasslands remained marginally lukewarm, and he could take the vest off before the sun began to actually scorch the land. After that came his belt, laden with all of the things he might need for the day, and then came his javelins, slung over his shoulders and strapped tightly into place. Last of all came his axe, more out of habit than anything else; it had been nearly a full year since he had raised it in actual defense, and he had no reason to think that he would do so again on this morning. Even in the case of danger, he would likely default to his javelins to fend off whatever might attack him, anyway---he was far more skilled with those---but still he carried the axe with him. It was a gesture of respect, he thought. But to what? The Serenity Tree? No, he reasoned. It was a gesture of respect to himself. Or at least, more specifically, it was a gesture of respect to his name, and where his name had come from.
And besides, it never hurt to carry an extra weapon when one roamed the Sea of Grass.
With his tools and wits about him, Shahar clicked quietly at the travois. There was a stirring beneath it, and then Tuka slid languidly out of the shadows, stretched and padded to her Drykas.
Good morning, dear friend, Shahar signed, kneeling to rub her on the head just the way she liked. Tuka pressed into his fingers and let loose a low rumble of pleasure.
Ready inquiry? Shahar stood. Time to go.
Tuka fell into practiced stride at Shahar’s hip, and he stretched his arm to toy gently at the fur of her crest. They both knew that there would be no hunting at this time of day, but Tuka did not seem to care; where Shahar went, Tuka went, even if where Shahar was going happened to be terribly boring. Shahar had never expected himself to care as deeply about the hunting cat as he had come to, but it was what it was, and he was altogether grateful for the company.
They made their way out of the camp, carefully quiet so as to avoid waking the others at the unreasonably early hour. Past the mismatched herd of zibri and horses they went, past Akaidras and Wildfire, past Khida’s dun mare and her slumbering filly. The mare glanced warily at the hunter and cat, and Shahar sent a quick flash of greeting peace nonthreatening her way. The mare didn’t appear to be impressed, but Shahar and Tuka weren’t venturing particularly close; without anything to be truly alarmed by, the mare watched as the pair passed the herd by and continued on their meandering way.
Shahar walked by memory, picking out familiar landmarks and patterning their journey around them. There was a stand of cattails not far away, and that was where he had set one of his traps. Beyond that, beneath a tuft of rabbitbrush lay another. He was more confident about the second than the first.
His confidence, it turned out, was correct; the first trap had been sprung by something small and lengthy, but it held nothing for him to gather. He reset it and continued on. The second one, to his immense pride, held the stiff corpse of a rabbit; it had been snared during the night, apparently, and its attempts to escape the cord around its neck had, in the end, caused the cord to constrict and eventually strangle it.
It would make a fine addition to their breakfast.
Shahar freed the rabbit and reset the trap, although he placed it beneath a different patch of rabbitbrush. Tuka eyed the kill, but made no move towards it.
With their morning task completed, the two of them made their way back to the camp. The silvery light that had seen them leave was nearly gone; the eastern horizon was ablaze with the color of Syna’s ascension, and it burned away the stillness and silence of the in-between twilight. Birds were waking, greeting the morning with joyful songs and bickering over the first morsels. Wind rattled. Grass whispered.
The night was over. The day had begun.
Summer was as thick as ever, and the night left no lingering chill to nip or shiver. In this weather, Shahar opted to remain shirtless, although he did don his sheepskin vest. He left that open, though; at the moment, the grasslands remained marginally lukewarm, and he could take the vest off before the sun began to actually scorch the land. After that came his belt, laden with all of the things he might need for the day, and then came his javelins, slung over his shoulders and strapped tightly into place. Last of all came his axe, more out of habit than anything else; it had been nearly a full year since he had raised it in actual defense, and he had no reason to think that he would do so again on this morning. Even in the case of danger, he would likely default to his javelins to fend off whatever might attack him, anyway---he was far more skilled with those---but still he carried the axe with him. It was a gesture of respect, he thought. But to what? The Serenity Tree? No, he reasoned. It was a gesture of respect to himself. Or at least, more specifically, it was a gesture of respect to his name, and where his name had come from.
And besides, it never hurt to carry an extra weapon when one roamed the Sea of Grass.
With his tools and wits about him, Shahar clicked quietly at the travois. There was a stirring beneath it, and then Tuka slid languidly out of the shadows, stretched and padded to her Drykas.
Good morning, dear friend, Shahar signed, kneeling to rub her on the head just the way she liked. Tuka pressed into his fingers and let loose a low rumble of pleasure.
Ready inquiry? Shahar stood. Time to go.
Tuka fell into practiced stride at Shahar’s hip, and he stretched his arm to toy gently at the fur of her crest. They both knew that there would be no hunting at this time of day, but Tuka did not seem to care; where Shahar went, Tuka went, even if where Shahar was going happened to be terribly boring. Shahar had never expected himself to care as deeply about the hunting cat as he had come to, but it was what it was, and he was altogether grateful for the company.
They made their way out of the camp, carefully quiet so as to avoid waking the others at the unreasonably early hour. Past the mismatched herd of zibri and horses they went, past Akaidras and Wildfire, past Khida’s dun mare and her slumbering filly. The mare glanced warily at the hunter and cat, and Shahar sent a quick flash of greeting peace nonthreatening her way. The mare didn’t appear to be impressed, but Shahar and Tuka weren’t venturing particularly close; without anything to be truly alarmed by, the mare watched as the pair passed the herd by and continued on their meandering way.
Shahar walked by memory, picking out familiar landmarks and patterning their journey around them. There was a stand of cattails not far away, and that was where he had set one of his traps. Beyond that, beneath a tuft of rabbitbrush lay another. He was more confident about the second than the first.
His confidence, it turned out, was correct; the first trap had been sprung by something small and lengthy, but it held nothing for him to gather. He reset it and continued on. The second one, to his immense pride, held the stiff corpse of a rabbit; it had been snared during the night, apparently, and its attempts to escape the cord around its neck had, in the end, caused the cord to constrict and eventually strangle it.
It would make a fine addition to their breakfast.
Shahar freed the rabbit and reset the trap, although he placed it beneath a different patch of rabbitbrush. Tuka eyed the kill, but made no move towards it.
With their morning task completed, the two of them made their way back to the camp. The silvery light that had seen them leave was nearly gone; the eastern horizon was ablaze with the color of Syna’s ascension, and it burned away the stillness and silence of the in-between twilight. Birds were waking, greeting the morning with joyful songs and bickering over the first morsels. Wind rattled. Grass whispered.
The night was over. The day had begun.
