between morning and noon
Empty.
Shahar bared his teeth at nothing in particular and cast the trap to the ground in irritation. Twice he’d set and reset this noose, and twice it had failed to claim prey. It was easy enough to admit that trapping was not his forte, but two days had passed with only a single hare to either of his snares, and he was beginning to grow very annoyed with the contraptions, and through them, his own lack of skill.
He picked the snare from the ground and tucked in in his belt, stalking off to find another trail to hover over.
Akaidras raised his head as the hunter stomped irritably into the clearing that he had decided to use as a base of operations. Sensing his rider’s foul mood, the horse saw fit to remain stationary as Shahar rooted around for another trail. If there was a time to irritate the Drykas, the time was not now.
A grouse path soon made itself known to the Dawnwhisper, assuaging some part of his ire. He reset the snare, then settled onto his haunches to survey the site. Grumbling about empty traps only made him annoyed; what could he do to make them better?
Perhaps he could fortify the trail. A bit of grass woven sideways, just to keep the grouse from wandering away from where the trap would catch them. Grouse were stupid, and so they would not see it and become wary. Perhaps that was what he had been missing. Annoyance forgotten, Shahar pulled some of the previous year’s growth from the ground and began to make subtle walls on either side of the trail. He stood up feeling much more optimistic.
Akaidras, seeing his rider’s change of disposition, quickly took the opportunity to mosey over and headbutt Shahar’s back. Shahar turned, what? and puzzled in his posture, in time to receive another bump to the chest. Satisfied that he had his rider’s attention, the stallion nickered and turned to nuzzle one of the bags on the yvas. And in case Shahar still hadn’t gotten it, Akaidras bumped his shoulder a third time and nuzzled the bag again to drive the point farther.
Now curious, the Drykas untied the bag and took stock of the contents. A vial of rabbit-scent, a blood-pellet, some dried fruit, a brush… ah. Shahar turned a knowing eye on his Strider and pulled the horse-brush from the bag. Akaidras pricked his ears brightly in affirmation, bumping Shahar once more to illustrate. The hunter laughed—a soft, whispery laugh, but a laugh nonetheless—and leaned close to his Strider’s ear.
“Later,” he murmured. “Home.” Wait, calm, promise.
The stallion neighed in dismay as Shahar swung onto his back. Smiling in an odd combination of affection and exasperation, the hunter tapped promise against the horse’s shoulder and showed him that he had not put the brush back in the bag.
“Home,” he said again. Akaidras let out a grunt, but didn’t make too much more of a fuss; he knew well enough that to spend too much time away from the city was dangerous, and if it meant more brushing, he certainly wouldn’t complain.
Shahar leaned forward and squeezed the stallion’s sides, and Akaidras leaped into a canter.
Shahar bared his teeth at nothing in particular and cast the trap to the ground in irritation. Twice he’d set and reset this noose, and twice it had failed to claim prey. It was easy enough to admit that trapping was not his forte, but two days had passed with only a single hare to either of his snares, and he was beginning to grow very annoyed with the contraptions, and through them, his own lack of skill.
He picked the snare from the ground and tucked in in his belt, stalking off to find another trail to hover over.
Akaidras raised his head as the hunter stomped irritably into the clearing that he had decided to use as a base of operations. Sensing his rider’s foul mood, the horse saw fit to remain stationary as Shahar rooted around for another trail. If there was a time to irritate the Drykas, the time was not now.
A grouse path soon made itself known to the Dawnwhisper, assuaging some part of his ire. He reset the snare, then settled onto his haunches to survey the site. Grumbling about empty traps only made him annoyed; what could he do to make them better?
Perhaps he could fortify the trail. A bit of grass woven sideways, just to keep the grouse from wandering away from where the trap would catch them. Grouse were stupid, and so they would not see it and become wary. Perhaps that was what he had been missing. Annoyance forgotten, Shahar pulled some of the previous year’s growth from the ground and began to make subtle walls on either side of the trail. He stood up feeling much more optimistic.
Akaidras, seeing his rider’s change of disposition, quickly took the opportunity to mosey over and headbutt Shahar’s back. Shahar turned, what? and puzzled in his posture, in time to receive another bump to the chest. Satisfied that he had his rider’s attention, the stallion nickered and turned to nuzzle one of the bags on the yvas. And in case Shahar still hadn’t gotten it, Akaidras bumped his shoulder a third time and nuzzled the bag again to drive the point farther.
Now curious, the Drykas untied the bag and took stock of the contents. A vial of rabbit-scent, a blood-pellet, some dried fruit, a brush… ah. Shahar turned a knowing eye on his Strider and pulled the horse-brush from the bag. Akaidras pricked his ears brightly in affirmation, bumping Shahar once more to illustrate. The hunter laughed—a soft, whispery laugh, but a laugh nonetheless—and leaned close to his Strider’s ear.
“Later,” he murmured. “Home.” Wait, calm, promise.
The stallion neighed in dismay as Shahar swung onto his back. Smiling in an odd combination of affection and exasperation, the hunter tapped promise against the horse’s shoulder and showed him that he had not put the brush back in the bag.
“Home,” he said again. Akaidras let out a grunt, but didn’t make too much more of a fuss; he knew well enough that to spend too much time away from the city was dangerous, and if it meant more brushing, he certainly wouldn’t complain.
Shahar leaned forward and squeezed the stallion’s sides, and Akaidras leaped into a canter.
