19th of fall, 513 a.v
sunrise
He’d fallen into a familiar routine, one that was so easy it was as if he had never left Endrykas. The first trap was empty, but the second held a fine sage grouse, fat from the bounty of fall. A quick snap of its neck and breakfast was won; Shahar was a bit uncertain how Slither would handle feathers, but after a moment of thought decided that he trusted the Dhani enough to figure something out.
The sun was just beginning to crest the skyline when the hunter regained visual contact of his camp. The east was aflame with reds and golds while the west was bathed in a deep blue that was rapidly giving way to purple. His early morning rounds had taken much less time than he had expected; the day was not yet strong, and they were no longer traveling, so there was no reason to rouse the rest of his family. With a sigh Shahar tossed the grouse onto a stone where it would not get dirty and remain well within his sight, then reached for one of the javelins at his back. He rarely had cause to use them in the early mornings, but sheer force of habit had kept him from leaving behind, and it never hurt to be prepared.
He flipped the throwing spear in one hand absently, playing with the weight that he knew as well as his own hand. He circled it, carved patterns in the air, leaned back when one side almost grazed his nose.
It was with a half-conscious thought that Shahar flicked the javelin to guard his head, sending a vague jolt of deja vu running down his spine. Then to the side, guarding against an attack to his ribs. Change of grip, and another guard, one that would send a strike sliding sideways along his weapon.
It was unusual for him to toy with his javelins in this manner, though he had done it many times before. He knew that the lull of waiting could easily tease him back into slumber, which he also knew was dangerous. It was not the norm for him to finish his morning routine early, either, but when he did he was often forced to find an activity to keep his body or mind in motion until his family awoke.
Step back. Block from above. Knock opponent’s weapon to the side. Stab. His imagination conjured watery shadows to battle, ones that attacked slowly enough for him to react to before speeding up as he tried to retaliate. It was almost a dance, his steps and jabs. The dance of a child, who on his own has begun to learn the ways of war.
sunrise
He’d fallen into a familiar routine, one that was so easy it was as if he had never left Endrykas. The first trap was empty, but the second held a fine sage grouse, fat from the bounty of fall. A quick snap of its neck and breakfast was won; Shahar was a bit uncertain how Slither would handle feathers, but after a moment of thought decided that he trusted the Dhani enough to figure something out.
The sun was just beginning to crest the skyline when the hunter regained visual contact of his camp. The east was aflame with reds and golds while the west was bathed in a deep blue that was rapidly giving way to purple. His early morning rounds had taken much less time than he had expected; the day was not yet strong, and they were no longer traveling, so there was no reason to rouse the rest of his family. With a sigh Shahar tossed the grouse onto a stone where it would not get dirty and remain well within his sight, then reached for one of the javelins at his back. He rarely had cause to use them in the early mornings, but sheer force of habit had kept him from leaving behind, and it never hurt to be prepared.
He flipped the throwing spear in one hand absently, playing with the weight that he knew as well as his own hand. He circled it, carved patterns in the air, leaned back when one side almost grazed his nose.
It was with a half-conscious thought that Shahar flicked the javelin to guard his head, sending a vague jolt of deja vu running down his spine. Then to the side, guarding against an attack to his ribs. Change of grip, and another guard, one that would send a strike sliding sideways along his weapon.
It was unusual for him to toy with his javelins in this manner, though he had done it many times before. He knew that the lull of waiting could easily tease him back into slumber, which he also knew was dangerous. It was not the norm for him to finish his morning routine early, either, but when he did he was often forced to find an activity to keep his body or mind in motion until his family awoke.
Step back. Block from above. Knock opponent’s weapon to the side. Stab. His imagination conjured watery shadows to battle, ones that attacked slowly enough for him to react to before speeding up as he tried to retaliate. It was almost a dance, his steps and jabs. The dance of a child, who on his own has begun to learn the ways of war.
