Fall 82, 513
Dastina had allowed Issy to be off for the day when the woman from Autumnrun had mentioned the masses of small game around the pools that had appeared once the storms ended. The seamstress had learned some about the kelvic's past as a huntress in Syliras with a man named Lukyc and understood Issy's desire to return to some of the old ways, especially knowing how hard the woman worked and how upset she had been when first being brought to Dastina's tent by Tudav.
But the morning was bright and clear and the end of the Hunt was only a few days off. Issy had spent it cooped up for the worst of the storms, working fervently on the scarf she had started near the beginning of the season. It was nearing completion, of course, probably three or four more sets to complete before Dastina taught her how to cast off the stitches.
The other reason she wanted to hunt today was that Cotice was out of the pavilion and had been since the sixty-first as he left with the other men in the family to fill the quota for the Hunt. It had, mercifully, left the kelvic without his frustrating presence each night, enabling her to lay unhindered on the pillows and furs that made up the ankal’s shared bed. The sweet feel of solitude did not off much of a platitude, though, for she was constantly tossing in discomfort when she was not in the corner of the tent, expelling the contents of her stomach into a pail at third bell on the dot. She could not have hidden the pregnancy from the man even if she’d wanted to. He knew what it was like to have a woman be with child in his family, had observed his children’s births, had assisted in his families children’s at times. No, he knew but would not give this woman the rest she wanted. At least not until he left for his own Hunting.
But it was nearly the end of the Hunt now and Cotice and his brother and other men in the family had not yet returned and Issy, well, she was free to do as she pleased! And today, she was pleased to hunt. Her clothing had been removed and neatly folded and put into what these riders called ‘yvas bags’ and secured to that damnable horse Cotice had given her. The beast loathed the woman, though Issy could not discern why. She had done nothing to outwardly offend it; yet the horse continually kicked at and tried to buck her off. Today, though, he was being used explicitly to carry her kills.
Once everything had been readied, the woman laid out a leather roll for placing her kills on and placed a hand on the subtle rise in her belly, the muscles a tight knot where that oaf’s child grew. “Alright, time to hunt.” She murmured before simply letting herself dissolve into the far more preferred state of serval. A flash of lights and colors and an instant later, where a cropped-haired woman stood now was but a cat, long of leg and tall of ear, a short tail twitching excitedly at the sounds of prey flitting and flirting with the pools.
And so, without further ado, she slipped into the grasses silently, one ear trained on the pool, the other searching ahead for what might lie lurking. Issy had no idea what sort of fauna existed out here, only what she’d seen (mostly horses) around the tents. It was the first experience she had truly had of the massive grasses and already she was overwhelmed. The kelvic had been used to the marsh-terrain of southern Sylira where prey tended to wade a lot and she had to jump a lot to catch game with Lukyc.
She remembered, specifically, her favorite times were at the peak of summer when the smaller streams had dried up and left small pools (not unlike these) that harbored many a prey and predator alike. She loved going after the small cranes that came for fish at these pools; they frightened easily when the long-legged cat leapt at them only for a bolt to bring them down before they could get out of range. It was always such fun and they always celebrated with a fine meal that night.
Yet, the constant warnings she had heard from many brought her mind quickly back to the present as her ears honed in on the sound of wings ahead. There was something feathered (maybe) ahead. Quail come to drink? Dove? The serval lowered herself closer to the ground and slunk slowly forwards, her head tilting a little this way and that as she focused her hearing on the source.
Dastina had allowed Issy to be off for the day when the woman from Autumnrun had mentioned the masses of small game around the pools that had appeared once the storms ended. The seamstress had learned some about the kelvic's past as a huntress in Syliras with a man named Lukyc and understood Issy's desire to return to some of the old ways, especially knowing how hard the woman worked and how upset she had been when first being brought to Dastina's tent by Tudav.
But the morning was bright and clear and the end of the Hunt was only a few days off. Issy had spent it cooped up for the worst of the storms, working fervently on the scarf she had started near the beginning of the season. It was nearing completion, of course, probably three or four more sets to complete before Dastina taught her how to cast off the stitches.
The other reason she wanted to hunt today was that Cotice was out of the pavilion and had been since the sixty-first as he left with the other men in the family to fill the quota for the Hunt. It had, mercifully, left the kelvic without his frustrating presence each night, enabling her to lay unhindered on the pillows and furs that made up the ankal’s shared bed. The sweet feel of solitude did not off much of a platitude, though, for she was constantly tossing in discomfort when she was not in the corner of the tent, expelling the contents of her stomach into a pail at third bell on the dot. She could not have hidden the pregnancy from the man even if she’d wanted to. He knew what it was like to have a woman be with child in his family, had observed his children’s births, had assisted in his families children’s at times. No, he knew but would not give this woman the rest she wanted. At least not until he left for his own Hunting.
But it was nearly the end of the Hunt now and Cotice and his brother and other men in the family had not yet returned and Issy, well, she was free to do as she pleased! And today, she was pleased to hunt. Her clothing had been removed and neatly folded and put into what these riders called ‘yvas bags’ and secured to that damnable horse Cotice had given her. The beast loathed the woman, though Issy could not discern why. She had done nothing to outwardly offend it; yet the horse continually kicked at and tried to buck her off. Today, though, he was being used explicitly to carry her kills.
Once everything had been readied, the woman laid out a leather roll for placing her kills on and placed a hand on the subtle rise in her belly, the muscles a tight knot where that oaf’s child grew. “Alright, time to hunt.” She murmured before simply letting herself dissolve into the far more preferred state of serval. A flash of lights and colors and an instant later, where a cropped-haired woman stood now was but a cat, long of leg and tall of ear, a short tail twitching excitedly at the sounds of prey flitting and flirting with the pools.
And so, without further ado, she slipped into the grasses silently, one ear trained on the pool, the other searching ahead for what might lie lurking. Issy had no idea what sort of fauna existed out here, only what she’d seen (mostly horses) around the tents. It was the first experience she had truly had of the massive grasses and already she was overwhelmed. The kelvic had been used to the marsh-terrain of southern Sylira where prey tended to wade a lot and she had to jump a lot to catch game with Lukyc.
She remembered, specifically, her favorite times were at the peak of summer when the smaller streams had dried up and left small pools (not unlike these) that harbored many a prey and predator alike. She loved going after the small cranes that came for fish at these pools; they frightened easily when the long-legged cat leapt at them only for a bolt to bring them down before they could get out of range. It was always such fun and they always celebrated with a fine meal that night.
Yet, the constant warnings she had heard from many brought her mind quickly back to the present as her ears honed in on the sound of wings ahead. There was something feathered (maybe) ahead. Quail come to drink? Dove? The serval lowered herself closer to the ground and slunk slowly forwards, her head tilting a little this way and that as she focused her hearing on the source.
