2nd of fall, 515 a.v
early afternoon
“Dawnwhisper?” Loud and authoritative, expectant and demanding. It was Snow that perked up first, pointing her ears curiously forward from her lazy sprawl behind her Drykas. It was a voice accustomed to being heard, and it was abrasive to Shahar’s ears. Whoever was calling for him, it was undoubtedly one of those Drykas that laughed and bellowed and stomped and raced, who seemed to live their lives as fast and thoroughly as they could.
Shahar had a premonition that whatever conversation was to follow was not going to be pleasant.
The clanless Drykas let acknowledgement fall over his shoulders, although he did not turn from the task to which he had been set; he remained cross-legged on the ground in the shadow of the Spit Fire, focused on the jackrabbit in his hands. The corpse-traders always wanted the skins he brought in, but today he wanted meat. Rabbit was plentiful and lean, and it was good in stews and stocks; Naiya knew more about it than he, and she wanted lean meat. Lean meat she would be given, then.
The owner of the abrasive voice made no attempt to hide his approach, and Shahar felt it more than heard it through the weights of footsteps drawing near. Such an approach made Tuka look up from her shaded rest as well, and soon enough Akaidras was lifting his head to regard their unfamiliar visitor. When the time was right, the Dawnwhisper cast a glance upwards, and was rendered completely unsurprised.
The man approaching was tall––surely somewhere close to Shahar’s height, if Shahar had decided to stand straight with a full posture––and was as broad across the shoulders as a bison. His hair was long and blonde, interlaced with braids and wraps and trinkets of all sorts. He wore no shirt, but the red trim around his vest, leggings and sash were enough of an advertisement regarding his identity: a Ruby clansman.
“Alsith Cloudcarver,” the man said. I am, friendly greeting.
Acknowledgement, Shahar replied.
Alsith frowned when no other words were volunteered. You are “Shahar Dawnwhisper,” yes?
Correct.
“You are a hunter here?”
Shahar tilted his head. Hunter, everywhere.
“What do you hunt?”
Bizarrely bemused. “Animals.”
Obviously. “I assumed.”
What else hunt?
“Big or small animals?” Which preference?
No difference.
Alsith tilted his head, then sighed with a rolling chuckle. “They warned me you were a difficult one to talk to.” Exasperated acceptance.
Acknowledgement.
“My nephew has become old enough to participate in the fall hunt.” Pride, excitement.
Acknowledgement.
“He had never done such a hunt. The Cloudcarvers are crafters first and hunters second. I was told that you are the other way around.”
Acknowledgement.
“Many of our men and women work to keep the pavilion strong. We do not have time to give him the skill to take part in the hunt; we have our own duties to attend to. I am looking for someone he can learn from, and I was told you can help.” Hopeful, offer.
How?
“I am looking for someone he can shadow.”
early afternoon
“Dawnwhisper?” Loud and authoritative, expectant and demanding. It was Snow that perked up first, pointing her ears curiously forward from her lazy sprawl behind her Drykas. It was a voice accustomed to being heard, and it was abrasive to Shahar’s ears. Whoever was calling for him, it was undoubtedly one of those Drykas that laughed and bellowed and stomped and raced, who seemed to live their lives as fast and thoroughly as they could.
Shahar had a premonition that whatever conversation was to follow was not going to be pleasant.
The clanless Drykas let acknowledgement fall over his shoulders, although he did not turn from the task to which he had been set; he remained cross-legged on the ground in the shadow of the Spit Fire, focused on the jackrabbit in his hands. The corpse-traders always wanted the skins he brought in, but today he wanted meat. Rabbit was plentiful and lean, and it was good in stews and stocks; Naiya knew more about it than he, and she wanted lean meat. Lean meat she would be given, then.
The owner of the abrasive voice made no attempt to hide his approach, and Shahar felt it more than heard it through the weights of footsteps drawing near. Such an approach made Tuka look up from her shaded rest as well, and soon enough Akaidras was lifting his head to regard their unfamiliar visitor. When the time was right, the Dawnwhisper cast a glance upwards, and was rendered completely unsurprised.
The man approaching was tall––surely somewhere close to Shahar’s height, if Shahar had decided to stand straight with a full posture––and was as broad across the shoulders as a bison. His hair was long and blonde, interlaced with braids and wraps and trinkets of all sorts. He wore no shirt, but the red trim around his vest, leggings and sash were enough of an advertisement regarding his identity: a Ruby clansman.
“Alsith Cloudcarver,” the man said. I am, friendly greeting.
Acknowledgement, Shahar replied.
Alsith frowned when no other words were volunteered. You are “Shahar Dawnwhisper,” yes?
Correct.
“You are a hunter here?”
Shahar tilted his head. Hunter, everywhere.
“What do you hunt?”
Bizarrely bemused. “Animals.”
Obviously. “I assumed.”
What else hunt?
“Big or small animals?” Which preference?
No difference.
Alsith tilted his head, then sighed with a rolling chuckle. “They warned me you were a difficult one to talk to.” Exasperated acceptance.
Acknowledgement.
“My nephew has become old enough to participate in the fall hunt.” Pride, excitement.
Acknowledgement.
“He had never done such a hunt. The Cloudcarvers are crafters first and hunters second. I was told that you are the other way around.”
Acknowledgement.
“Many of our men and women work to keep the pavilion strong. We do not have time to give him the skill to take part in the hunt; we have our own duties to attend to. I am looking for someone he can learn from, and I was told you can help.” Hopeful, offer.
How?
“I am looking for someone he can shadow.”
