Merevaika
27th Fall 516
Something twitched in the brambles. The huntress narrowed her eyes, pulling the cloak tighter around her. She didn't want to concern herself with small game. This time, she was searching for something bigger. Something better. The pronghorn grazing to her south, to be precise. No other hunter could have made this hunt, not like this. After all, it was too open from any other direction to sneak up, apart from this one, with the sheltered glen, obscured from view by the bushes and small trees that called it home. The wind, with any other hunter, would have betrayed their position, strong, guiding their scent towards the pronghorn, who were nervy simply because of Zulrav's breath on them. But she wasn't any other hunter. She was scentless, and Eryunt was a horse. His smell didn't both them.
Another rustle came, distracting her from her prey. She turned her head sharply, bringing bow with it. If that thing didn't shut up... She would hate to waste an arrow, but she needed focus. One false move would startle the pronghorn, and her wait would be in vain.
It rustled again, a snake slipping out. In a blur, Merevaikak tried to shoot at the same time that Eryunt reared, the Drykas slipping and stumbling to regain hold of the yvas. While her Strider bound out of the glen, turning and snorting at where they had seen snake, Merevaika grappled with her yvas, dropping her bow and struggling to heave herself back up. When he finally calmed, calmed enough, anyway, she could return to her seat, weaponless and out of breath.
"It's okay, Eryunt," she soothed, rubbing his shoulder firmly as she gestured him closer to regain her bow, "It's okay." The snake was still there, hissing at something else, and Eryunt managed to go close enough to let her swoop down, holding onto him with her legs as she snatched up the bow. Thanking him with some scratching, she turned him away from the glen, adjusting her cloak and looking sadly towards the place where her prey had fled from. What a waste. Clicking her tongue, she brought Eryunt round the glen, deciding to turn in for the day. It was a waste anyway.
Sighing at her bad luck, she shifted the cloak off her, swinging it around her shoulders and letting it drape across Eryunt, relaxing into position. Not everyday could be a victory. Not everyday.