3rd Day of Summer, 514 A.V.
The youth fashioned himself a hunter with only the loosest definition of the word. He was neither experienced with the proper method of dispatching animals nor the dangers of the jungle around him. He was, however, learned in the basics of following animal trail and scat. The Myrian crouched low in a muddy copse of vibrantly green bush hoping the print he had found was that of the tayra the youth had caught a glimpse of.
With black fur covering it’s body and a white head, he was almost positive of what he had seen. But as he approached the creature, which had been cleaning itself in a nearby bush, it had spooked. He was no where near as stealthy as he wished himself to be. The Myrian had pulled from his quiver a shaft and held it now against the smooth yew and bone of his composite shortbow. The weapon was his most valued possession, though he was still learning the intricacies of it’s use.
The mud made it hard to tell if the small marks, hidden under the shadow of heavy green leaves, were indeed recent trail of the tayra. Zukwa held his bow and arrow with one hand, protectively above the mud and bush, while pressing the other hand gently into the earth so as to support closer investigation. Dark eyes squinted down at the chocolate colored soil. He could just make out the outline of a paw. What he thought was a paw. That would have to be good enough.
Zukwa stood, careful not to disturb the leaves of the bush. He crouched at the waist and bent his knees, not wanting to present a silhouette to any nearby tayra that might be looking his way. The Myrian stepped carefully in the direction the pampering was oriented, careful not to let his footfalls land on anything that would produce a sound.
He reached down and took handfuls of mud to spread across his skin. The earthiness of it could hide his scent, and disrupt his image. He knew this could work on people, but had no real idea if it was useful against such a creature as the tayra he hunted. The archer ripped a few leaves from their stems and tucked the wildly green things into the already camouflaged armor he wore at random spots. Zukwa then dipped his fingers in the dark mud again. He closed his eyes and mouth hard and ran the tips of his digits across his face once. Satisfied with the disguise, the youth readied his bow and continued on along the jungle floor.
Though he was no worshipper of him, Ovek must have cast a blessing upon Zukwa. The youth made his way around another tree, a tall thing choked my moss and vines, and was mere meters from the sleek black tayra. He was so surprised that for a moment his body did not move, he simply stared at the thing. He had not really thought he had any real hope of finding it. Yet here it was. Apparently the animal had not seen him this time. It still sat at the base of another mossy tree, tucked between two gnarly roots.
Zukwa spun back behind the tree. He smiled to himself. Ovek and Myri be praised this fortunate day! If the Goddess-Queen let him have this prize he would offer all of the animals blood to her in thanks. Zukwa pulled the string of the bow taught with his thumb, his shoulder blades tightening against each other. He could feel the extreme tension of the composite shortbow in the pull on his left arm. Zukwa stepped back out into the small clearing where his prey sat, oblivious to the danger.
Zukwa honed in on the target and set the razor point of his arrowhead against the animal. The key was not to overthink it. He let the point drop a bit, knowing in his release he would pull back and raise it a bit. The recurve of the bow gaze it almost twice the strength of a regular short bow, but hard harder to draw. Zukwa flicked his thumb off the string and watched his arrow tear through the air towards the beast.
It thudded home.
In the tree truck a few feet from where the tayra was. The animal, hearing the bow and seeing the arrow dig into the soft, moldy wood of the root, scurried away into the jungle and out of sight. Zukwa groaned in frustration and stepped up to the root where his arrow was lodged. He bent and yanked it free with his free fist. It was a little dulled, but could be sharpened and shot again.
Zukwa hopped upon the root and stared into the jungle in the direction the tayra had run off…
