59th of fall, 513 a.v
before dawn
The first thing Shahar did that morning was hit himself in the head. He hadn’t meant to do it; Namal had taken to sleeping in the tent he shared with Khida, which left far less room than both of them had hoped and causing Shahar to sleep much nearer to the front of the tent. He had yet to get used to this new arrangement, and so when he had sat up he had knocked his head against one of the support poles with such violence that it made the tent shake. Grumbling and rubbing the lovely new bumb on his skull, the Dawnwhisper pulled on his clothes and rolled out of the tent.
A cool wind bit at him as he settled the cloak around his shoulders, reminding him, as it always did, that winter was coming. Hunting was of the utmost importance at this time of year, not only because of the competition but because of what the competition had sprung from: it was the season of harvest, and time to gather as much food as possible before the cold set in for good.
He pulled his javelins onto his shoulder and let loose a yawn. He had fallen well into the spirit of the Fall Hunt, and it was something he’d come to like. It was at this time of year, above all others, that hunters were venerated and encouraged to stretch their abilities. He’d taken to hunting for most of the day, now, since the oppressive heat of summer was no longer there to limit his activity during the swell of noon. All hours of light were open to him, and he took to them like a fish to water.
Akaidras whickered in acknowledgement when Shahar passed him, though did not raised his head. The soft pink of dawn was only just beginning to paint the horizon, and the Strider was quite happy where he was right now, thank you very much. This was Shahar’s time, the time of the between, when the night had laid down to sleep and the day had yet to rise.
His first trap was empty, to his dismay. With a frown, the hunter uprooted the contraption and stalked north for a few minutes, taking note of the trails and tracks all around him. A group of rabbits lived nearby, it seemed, as there were a number of individual trails that crossed every which way, but he did not pursue them; each trail was made by only one or two, which was not nearly consistent enough to warrant a trap.
Ah, there it was. A much more well-worn trail snuck beneath a sagebrush, where grass had been pounded out of existence by the passing of too many little feet to count. It must have led to the main warren, making it a prime target for a trap; Shahar set the noose over the trail, then wove some loose grass into the sides. Just in case the rabbits decided to try a different route today. He was tempted to linger longer, to try and do more to direct the rabbits to go where he wanted, but he’d lingered too long already; his cloak had been rubbed with rabbit-scent, but even so his own scent was still strong underneath, making it risky to touch too many things. Besides, he had another trap to check.
before dawn
The first thing Shahar did that morning was hit himself in the head. He hadn’t meant to do it; Namal had taken to sleeping in the tent he shared with Khida, which left far less room than both of them had hoped and causing Shahar to sleep much nearer to the front of the tent. He had yet to get used to this new arrangement, and so when he had sat up he had knocked his head against one of the support poles with such violence that it made the tent shake. Grumbling and rubbing the lovely new bumb on his skull, the Dawnwhisper pulled on his clothes and rolled out of the tent.
A cool wind bit at him as he settled the cloak around his shoulders, reminding him, as it always did, that winter was coming. Hunting was of the utmost importance at this time of year, not only because of the competition but because of what the competition had sprung from: it was the season of harvest, and time to gather as much food as possible before the cold set in for good.
He pulled his javelins onto his shoulder and let loose a yawn. He had fallen well into the spirit of the Fall Hunt, and it was something he’d come to like. It was at this time of year, above all others, that hunters were venerated and encouraged to stretch their abilities. He’d taken to hunting for most of the day, now, since the oppressive heat of summer was no longer there to limit his activity during the swell of noon. All hours of light were open to him, and he took to them like a fish to water.
Akaidras whickered in acknowledgement when Shahar passed him, though did not raised his head. The soft pink of dawn was only just beginning to paint the horizon, and the Strider was quite happy where he was right now, thank you very much. This was Shahar’s time, the time of the between, when the night had laid down to sleep and the day had yet to rise.
His first trap was empty, to his dismay. With a frown, the hunter uprooted the contraption and stalked north for a few minutes, taking note of the trails and tracks all around him. A group of rabbits lived nearby, it seemed, as there were a number of individual trails that crossed every which way, but he did not pursue them; each trail was made by only one or two, which was not nearly consistent enough to warrant a trap.
Ah, there it was. A much more well-worn trail snuck beneath a sagebrush, where grass had been pounded out of existence by the passing of too many little feet to count. It must have led to the main warren, making it a prime target for a trap; Shahar set the noose over the trail, then wove some loose grass into the sides. Just in case the rabbits decided to try a different route today. He was tempted to linger longer, to try and do more to direct the rabbits to go where he wanted, but he’d lingered too long already; his cloak had been rubbed with rabbit-scent, but even so his own scent was still strong underneath, making it risky to touch too many things. Besides, he had another trap to check.
