Closed Duck Season, Rabbit Season... Fish Season?

[Graham Whipmane]

23rd of Fall, 515AV

Graham groaned as he rolled over on his bedroll, grumbling as he scrubbed at his eyes. It was far too early to be awake, but if he wanted to get any real hunting done, early was the best time for him to be on his way. With a yawn he rolled into a sitting position and stumbled out of his tent, pulling on his clothes as he went. Fader whined and peered up from his spot by the entrance as his master passed, and with an eerily similar, grumpy growl, the hunting dog followed him from the tent. Stretching and rolling his shoulders Graham simply enjoyed the soft morning sun and the quiet for a moment. The rest of the city was just beginning to wake, but the lack of rowdy children was more than welcome so early in the morning.

First, he went to check on Cato. The Strider was already wide awake, grazing peacefully a few meters from Graham’s tent. She looked up and nickered in greeting as he approached, passing a hand over her mane and giving her velvet like ears a good rub. Turning with a click of his tongue he moved over to where her Yvas and Yvas bags were stored along with his spare rope and torches. With a grunt he hoisted the Yvas up and over Cato’s back, buckling it carefully and making sure it was secure as she flicked her ears at him. Next he fetched breakfast for himself and his two companions, a bucket of feed for Cato, a plate of vegetable and meat scraps for Fader and a warm bowl of porridge and a hunk of bread for himself. He finished his meal quickly and checked the buckles on Cato’s Yvas for a second time. The Strider had the bad habit of holding her breath while her Yvas was fitted, resulting in it being too loose when he finally got around to mounting her. Sure enough, he could easily slip his hand between the leather straps and the horse’s chest. With a grunt he set about tightening them, ignoring Cato as she huffed sulkily into her feed.

While his two furry companions finished their breakfasts, Graham set about readying his own belongings to ride out. He shoved some food and water into his backpack, along with his eating knife. His flint and steel, tarp, rope, blanket and a torch were all packed into the Yvas bags and secured onto the Yvas. By now Cato had finished eating and wondered away to drink deeply from a nearby trough. Fader was still licking his plate, so while he waited, Graham sat down to check over his bow and arrows. Satisfied that they were all in order he stored the spare arrows into his pack, which he then slung onto his shoulders. His bow and the arrows he was more familiar with using were strapped into place over his back and he finally rocked back onto his feet from his sitting position. Finding Cato, he finally pulled himself up and onto her back, calling Fader to heel with a sharp whistle. Guiding Cato in the direction of the cities edge, he urged her into a brisk trot as they finally cleared the last of the tents.

[Graham Whipmane]

At the beginning of the season Graham had stumbled upon a marshy, swamp area to the north-east of the city, and had been planning to go back and hunt the many ducks and waterbirds he had seen there ever since. He had successfully hunted ducks with Fader only once or twice before, and he was eager to give it another go, as he had noticed the hunting dog had become less and less possessive and protective of his food in the past few seasons. Graham was hoping that this meant that the dog would be less likely to fight with him over the bird when he retrieved it, resulting in less damage to the meat.

The marsh was only a bell or so from the main camp site, and Cato seemed to remember the way mostly on her own, as she only really needed Graham to pull her in the correct direction on leaving the city and in locating the direct area of the swamp. Fader bound along beside them happily, so much so that he didn’t immediately notice when Graham finally pulled Cato to a stop and dismounted. The water dog skidded to a halt when he realised he was moving ahead on his own and dashed back to Grahams side, tongue lolling cheerily.

He had pulled Cato to a stop a fair distance from the marshes, as the last thing he wanted was for his Strider to become bogged in the thick mud. He was happy to let her graze, trusting her not to wander too far. Graham stretched out the cramps in his legs and took a small sip from his water skin, taking a moment to enjoy the sun and note that the wind direction was in his favour.

Calling Fader to heel, he started in the direction of the main area of the marsh. As he got closer he paused to unstrap his bow and fit it with an arrow, holding the bow-string loosely, but ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Fader followed along obediently at his master’s side, and the both of them were careful to keep silent as they picked their way through squelching mud and tall reeds. Up ahead Graham could hear the quacking and honking of ducks nesting along the water line.

Stopping he slipped down into a crouch, before catching Faders attention before giving the command. ”Bird.” He murmured to the dog, and almost instantly Fader was off, slinking silently through the reeds as he was trained. Graham drew his arrow back and aimed toward the patch of sky that he had estimated the birds would appear, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Moments later Faders loud barking cut through the clucking of the ducks and the croaking of frogs. Half a dozen fat round ducks burst from the reeds with squawks of surprise and Graham quickly adjusted his aim to one of the slower birds as it flapped its wing in a panicked hurry, trying desperately to gain momentum. His aim firmly on the bird, Graham loosed the arrow, the feathers along its shaft brushing his cheek as it shot forward.

The duck tumbled from the air with a pained quack, disappearing back into the reeds. ”Retrieve.” He called to Fader, who was still concealed further into the foliage. He was sure he had only injured the duck, and the last thing he wanted was for the duck to shake of its shock and escape. He could hear Fader tramping through the undergrowth, not bothering with quieting his movements now, and the duck began to honk in rapid succession until it fell silent once again. More rustling and Fader finally reappeared, the ducks now broken neck clasped in his jaw. Graham lowered his bow as his dog approached, sitting on his haunches once he was close. ”Drop it.” Graham commanded firmly, staring down the hunting dog. Fader hesitated for a moment, but seemed to decide against fighting for the duck. He bent his head to the ground and released it, making no move to snatch it back up as Graham reached down to pick up the bird.

His arrow had pierced it through the thin flesh of the wing, and he could see a few shallow teeth marks around its neck from where Fader had delivered the killing blow, but other than that the duck was fat and health. Smiling happily, Graham rewarded Fader with a vigorous back scratch before securing the duck to his bad by its feet and a strip of twine

[Graham Whipmane]

Calling Fader back to heel, Graham moved forward towards where the ducks had been nesting, not bothering to keep the noise down just yet. He stopped and dropped into a crouch, parting the reeds with his hands, searching for any eggs that he could collect. Coming up empty, Graham sighed, and pushed himself back upright, moving on past the nests. Now was the time that he began placing his steps carefully again, carefully searching and listening for any signs of life along the swampy, ankle deep waters.

Fader followed along obediently, and the hound would pause each time a frog croaked or a bird trilled, so Graham kept a careful eye on him, watching for a sign that he had heard the ducks before his master. They walk a bit further, both man and dog carefully treading through the marshland, before Fader stopped, his ears perking forward and nose working vigorously. It was clear that the dog had heard something, and after a few steps, even more careful than the last had been, the sound of ducks reached his ears once more.
Fader was prepared now, and he watched his master carefully as Graham readied his bow again. Once he was well prepared, he gave Fader the command. Just like before the dog slipped away into the undergrowth silently, only to be followed a few moments later by bark, growls and frantic quacks. Ducks burst out of the undergrowth, fewer than last time, and Graham’s eyes darted among them, trying to pick the best to shoot and take aim at the same time. Too late he chose his bird and took aim, only to realize that it was too far from him to bother, he was almost certain he would miss. A commotion to his left, and a big, fat goose all but exploded from the reeds, Fader jumping up after it to snap at its tail feathers. It was even closer than the others, and Graham quickly took his chance, drawing back on the arrow, aiming it at the fat bird’s body and releasing.

With a pained honk the bird fell from the sky, and Fader who was waiting directly under it, seized it by its long neck, giving it a fierce shake and snapping its neck. ”Fader, come.” Graham called, and watched as Fader returned to him, all but prancing with glee at his kill. Shouldering his bow, Graham took the bird when Fader released it in exchange for another pat, and strung it up on the back of the bag next to the first. Reshouldering it, he bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, making himself accustomed to the added weight.

As Graham turned and began to pick his way back in the direction he had left Cato, a pond of water to his right caught his eye. The water seemed clear and clean, so with a call to Fader, he moved toward it, eager to wash the sweat from his face and the stink of the swamp from his hands.

[Graham Whipmane]

Fader darted ahead of him, tail wagging eagerly as he lept into the water without a second thought. Graham chuckled at the dog’s antics, slipping his pack off his shoulders and setting it down a ways back from the water. He trudges forward, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he goes before crouching at the edge of the clear little pond. Dipping his hands into the water he splashes the cool water onto his face, rubbing one damp hand over the back of his neck with a happy sigh. The weather had been getting considerately cooler over the last few days, but on such a clear, cloudless day the sun was still hot and bright enough to cause Graham to sweat lightly. Sitting back on his haunches he watched Fader leap into the water, shoving his head under in an amusing attempt to snap up the darting fish around him. Graham couldn’t help a laugh as he watched his dog across the pond, but it was then that he noticed that Faders antics were driving the fish closer to Graham’s side. They were fairly large, silvery fish, though Graham knew too little to think of the name, he did remember eating them a few times, and they were a welcome alternative to the usual game.

Pushing himself up from his seated position, Graham hurried back over to his pack, digging around in it until he pulled out a bundle of arrows from the very bottom. Yes! I knew I still had these somewhere! He though in satisfaction, bringing the fishing arrows and his bow back to the shore line and toeing off his boots. Bending, Graham rolled up the hem of his pants, before resolutely wadding into the cool water until he was knee deep. He was sure to move slowly, and though the fish darted around him in surprise, it didn’t take long for them to drift closer. Nocking his first arrow, Graham glanced around to make sure Fader was well out of the way before lining up his shot. He drew back on the arrow, and aimed at a large fish swimming lazily in front of him, and with a slow breath out, Graham released the shot.

Graham cursed as the arrow pierced the water and shot right over the top of the fish, causing it to dart away in panic. Frowning, Graham stooped to retrieve the arrow. His aim had been good, almost perfectly aimed at the widest part of the fish, so how had he missed? The fish had moved slightly, but nowhere near enough to cause him to miss it completely. Setting his shoulders he set the now dripping arrow to the bow string and drew again, turning to set his aim on another fish nearby, this one slightly smaller than the first. He took a moment longer to set the shot this time, taking into account the wind, and the fishes slight movements before releasing the arrow, confident that this time he would not miss. ”Shyke!” Graham cursed as once again, the arrow missed its target. Frustrated he tried again.

[Graham Whipmane]

While reaching into the water to retrieve his third unsuccessful arrow, Graham noticed that his arm look slightly odd. Where it was beneath the water his arm seemed slightly warped, as though his arm was further away from where he was standing beneath the water than what it was above the line of water. Frowning he drew his arm out, watching careful, before lowering his arm back in. Another idea surfacing, Graham nocked the arrow to his bow, drawing back on the bowstring and finding a sizeable fish to aim at. He took a deep breath to steady his aim, but this time instead of aiming directly at the meat of the fish, he aimed below it.

With barely a ripple, the arrow entered the water and pierced the tail of the fish, causing it to thrash and struggle as Graham stooped down quickly to grab it, whooping in victory. Holding the fish up he cheered, tugging the arrow free from the tail. He positioned the arrow at the base of the fish’s skull, thrusting it in and destroying its brain.

The shot hadn’t been perfect, in fact a hair higher and he probably would have missed entirely, but it was a success none the less, and it helped to spur him on. Nocking another arrow to the bow string Graham waited for the fish to swim near again before drawing back on the arrow. He took his time now, breaths even and hands steady as he drew the arrow back until his forefinger touched the side of his mouth. He eyed his next target, first aiming the arrow at the midst of the fish, and then carefully moved his aim to an inch below, seemingly aiming at clear water. Exhaling slowly he released the arrow, watching it pierce the water and hit the fish, this time even better than the last. Smiling happily Graham stooped to retrieve it, killing it in the same way as the last.

Standing he glanced around, noticing for the first time that the shadows around him were growing longer as the sun began to set, the water becoming even chillier. With a sigh he trudged from the water, sufficiently tired out, but satisfied with his day’s work. Returning to his pack, he placed the fish down by the birds, and lowering himself to his knees before them he bowed his head, taking a moment to thank Caiyha for her bounty. Satisfied that his duty was done for the day, Graham gathered his belongings, called a soaked Fader back to heel, and returned to his Strider.

[Tribal]

G R A D E S

Graham Whipmane

Experience

• Observation: 5
• Organisation: 1
• Animal Husbandry: 3
• Planning: 1
• Hunting: 4
• Wilderness Survival, Plains: 2
• Weapon, Shortbow: 4
• Stealth: 1

Lore

• Hunting: The early bird gets the worm
• Animal Husbandry: Feeding animals before the hunt
• Organisation: Packing before a trip
• Organisation: Checking weapons for faults
• Animal Husbandry: Teaching a dog to heel
• Hunting: Ducks
• Duck behaviours and nesting areas
• Hunting: Silver fish
• Fishing: Water throws of the true location of a fish
• Bow: Steady exhale when firing

Notes

A good job thread, glad to see Graham on task and doing what he is paid for. Enjoy the rewards.