Blooded

A dark mumbled threat grows like distant thunder calling. The ground moves or is he just imagining that? From the darkness in front of him he hears deep slow breathing and the tearing of things; things like flesh. And the cracking of things; things like bones. He shudders.

At home, in his chest of possessions, he has hardened leather chaps, chest and shoulder pads. He keeps also thick hemp bindings for his joints and throat. These things are worn when hunting. These things offer protection against biting, scratching, clawing, gnawing... But here without them the spears he holds feel like tinder for a wishful wedding fire.

A mosquito bites him and he slaps instinctively.

"Ggrroooaaaarghlllll." Stamping feet slap loudly, quickly toward him and a vicious black head lined with glowing white teeth stops just out of arms reach from him. The head tilts one way then the other and the large yellow eyes assess this shaved painted ape that has invaded its den. Moments pass. A hundred moments. He measures them with his heartbeats; counting to hold his fear from rising through his vocal chords. "Hold still. Hold still. She has a plan."

It roars again and without thought his arms move and his legs move. His arms thrust both spears toward the Ursula's head and his feet step forward, out of the circle. The Ursula retreats under the threat of his spears. She swipes her right paw savagely at him, grazing his chest and opening dark, deep stripes of heat across his ribs. Pain angers him and he wildly slashes his spear returning blood for blood. The Ursula's face droops beneath his savage strikes but she will not open her guard for a heart thrust or stand as her kind should.

"The circle. She has a plan." Through the pain and fury of this instant he remembers the instructions and steps backward still slashing with the spears. The Ursula swipes one spear into splinters of useless litter. He edges back; one foot then the other slashing at her with the remaining spear. His feet touch rocks, "The circle." He hears his own voice aloud and then the giant beast arches it's neck backwards.

It stiffens along its spine and its eyes roll back in their sockets. Blood makes a wreath around it's shoulders and it falls stiff and silently sideways to shiver spastically on the ground. Atop its back her eyes find his and smiling she twists the knife in the giant beasts cortex. Quickly, like a cricket in the grass, she leaps beside it's giant head and slashes into its neck while it writhes on the ground. Great gushes of bright red flood the ground and he kneels into their sticky arms.

.....

A little fire warms his skin. Flames dance, reflected in her eyes as she dabs at his ribs with bits of papery bark. There is an unspoken depth between them now. Her arms are red from her shoulders to her wrists with the matriarch's blood; her legs red in the moonlight with her own. His torso and legs red with his spilled offerings.

She is ashamed for testing him. He is only flesh and blood. "I'm so sorry." She kisses his chest. "I should have told you all my story. I should have trusted you with my plan."

He is equally embarrassed. "I knew you had one. Fear." He stumbles. "Fear gripped me. I struck out and left the circle."

"It's okay."

"I'm injured."

"I know."

"You may now reject me."

She lifts his chin and stares deep in his eyes, "If that was my plan; to see you fail... Would I tend your wounds?"

"My wounds..." she continues. "I did not tell you everything. I let you underestimate me. I wanted to test your trust. I am ashamed of risking you to test you. You could have died. There was only one spot where I could drop down on her. It was in that circle. I should have told you. Does it hurt?"

"Here..." he moves her bloodied hand over his heart. "Here it hurts. I failed you."

She pulls his head into her breasts and cradles him like a child. "No. I failed you by not trusting you with the truth."

"And I, you. By striking out in fear."

"Wear these..." She scoops a handful of ash from the edge of the fire and pushes it into the gashes on his ribs, "Wear these scars as a promise of my truth."

He groans in pain then speaks, "I will wear them proudly as a reminder to trust you with my life."

She takes a wad of thick green grass and throws it on the fire making thick sweet-smelling smoke. "Our kin will be here quickly husband. They will take my kill's heart for the ceremony. We had best be on with the hunt."

"Yes wife." He groans aloud as he stands. The camouflaged patterns of his body paint now awash with blood in the moonlight, he looks as brutal as the clearing.

"Groth..."

"Anise?"

"Please... just think on this thing a moment." She looks to the dirt pondering a way to ask, "We did this thing together. It was foolish and crazy of me to hunt such a thing. I have injured you in my pride."

"Pah."

"I have. I could have killed a swamp hen as the other women do, and been done with it but I wanted to end this Ursula's pain and I used you as my bait." Her eyes hang low at his feet and he can feel the pain in her voice. "I'm sorry I risked you for my pride husband."

"I'm sorry I doubted, wife."

She raises her chin to find his eyes with hers, "Do this thing for me. Forget your kill. I have harmed you enough. Let us quickly kill a swamp hen and you take this Ursula for your own." Her eyes beg him with a sincerity that disarms him for a while.

"Wife." He smiles at the sound of that word, "I have my own hunt. I would not, could not ask you to humble yourself to excuse me from my duty. Come... I have need of you now."

He stands awkwardly and moves to the maw of the matriarch's den. The darkness swallows him whole for long shadowed moments until his eyes shine bright in the moonlight again. A bundle in his arms makes mewling noises as he walks to her.

"Please," he thrusts the furry ball at her, "we owe this little one a home. Now come. We hunt the Orynx."

Her eyes dart from the furry ball of cub to the naked, red bathed man in front of her. "I didn't know..."

"Come."

.....

"The Orynx?" she asks some hours later. Her arms are heavy with the large bear cub and her feet weary with the miles. She has spent the last two hours walking weighing the consequence of her vanity. If not for her wish to honour the crone, and more honestly her own self-worth with a kill of some social account, if not for her wish to test this young man's mettle, if not for her wish to stand out from the mundane... This man would not be injured. This cub would not be orphaned.

Her nudity is now forgotten. Her bloodied legs now blurred with the bloodied mess of her soul. But what is this he proposes now? A similar vain pursuit? A wish for death now?

"Husband?" how easily that falls from her tongue, "Husband, the Orynx is a myth. Gone for generations."

"You must trust me now wife."

As they walk, the sound of running water comes more loudly from the river. Mosses and ferns crowd their footsteps and she stumbles, weary now on the wet rocky path. The Cacoran has worn quickly off and she feels the pain of acid in her muscles.

"Do you think they've found the Ursula husband? I hope there were no other cubs."

"None dear. I checked well."

"Do you remember when I first visited the smith?"

"Very well. I can still smell you."

"I rubbed myself with mint and lavender for so long that morning... I remember your face; black with soot and your eyes so wide at me... Why me? Husband, why me? Why not one of those curvy blondes or the merchant's daughters? I thought you mad you know."

"I don't know." There is honesty in his voice that disarms her probing mind, "My heart saw you and just chose you I guess. I have never really asked of it why. I just know it wants you."

"Hah, that's not your heart, that's your little spear."

"Haha."

There are silent moments as he squats near the river and examines a patch of flattened fern.

"I'm sorry. It really isn't small you know."

"What?"

"Your thing."

"Oh... My father says it is."

"Hahaha, have you seen your fathers?"

"Um... only on his way from their bunks to the compost."

"Trudith, my cousin has seen it several times at least. She says it's all show and no grow "

"Oh... sure."

"Yours is quite... a grower."

"Well... Thanks I guess." He watches her; feeding her to his eyes. They probe her from toes to top and linger here and there. She can feel them on her skin. Never before has she stood naked before a man so open to his gaze. She knows he sees her completely as she is and stands boldly under his inspection. She can feel him linger on her blood smeared thighs and her embarrassment is lost in the knowledge that his gaze does not falter or flinch. He simply understands she is a woman. She watches his eyes rise to the thatch of red curls and they light with hunger. He lifts his eyes further, dragging them along her flanks to rest on her round small breasts and his smile lifts with his eyes to hers, where he settles before breaking the spell of this shared moment.

"You are beautiful, Anise. Not the overstuffed, pale, giggling beauty of other girls. You are proud and tall; as strong and agile as myself, as much a hunter and warrior as me. Only one who is your equal can love you without fear or jealousy. That is the love I seek in life. A brave heart given freely. It's what I would offer you. It's why it is hard to ask this thing of you now."

"What do you seek?"

His eyes drop from hers to the dirt, "I need you to wait here."

"No, I would help you hunt. This thing you do is dangerous. I-"

"You must. You cannot hunt and hold that cub. I cannot risk your life in this."

"No, I will not sit by like a-"

"You must Anise. Please listen; I do not belittle you or doubt your skill. I have watched this Orynx hunt for the last few months. The way he stalks his prey makes it impossible for two people to hunt. He does not follow prey, he leads it."

"What? I've watched other cats hunt and seen them stalk. You need two people to hunt them, one to flush and one to throw-"

"Anise. Watch..." he squats and smooths the dirt flat. Taking a stick he draws a circle, "This is the crater we approach. He hunts the wolves."

"Wolves? How is that even possible they must be twice his size?"

"He lures them away from the pack, using himself as bait letting them get closer and closer then springing backwards to land behind them. I have a plan, but for it to work, you must this time trust me."

There are tears in the corners of her eyes, "If you make me sit on the rim of the world and watch you die..."

He lifts her chin and rubs the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "You'll kill me?"

"You shit of a man. You know what I mean. I love you. There, I've said it. I've loved you since we were children. If you die now..." Their bodies meet as their lips touch; this time tender and careful.

"I love you too. I don't plan on dying. But I must do this thing to have you."

"You must do 'a' thing. Not 'this' thing you stubborn man."

"Not for my pride, for my hearts sake. Now... come to the edge with me and no further. Promise me."

"No. I will not promise. I will do as you ask but if that thing kills you, I will drag your bleeding corpse out of there and beat you with a stick. Then I will go down there and tear that Orynx's heart from its living body."

"Ha, remind me never to pick a fight with you. You are as cranky as the Ursula you killed."

"Shut up husband; go now before I cannot do this thing."

With one last deep kiss, he leaves her. Emptiness grows in her heart to match the cold creeping into the place on her belly where his hot hardness pressed a moment ago. He stops at the top of the trail and turns back to her.

"And bring me back my spear." She orders him.

"Huh? Yours was broken by the Ursula."

"Not that spear you fool... Now go."

With a broad grin and a growing blush, he disappears over the edge of the crater wall. She scouts along the top of the wall for a place to wait for his return and settles upon a shadowed grassy spot from which she has a vantage over most of the crater. It is roughly a hundred feet to the floor and four or five times as wide. She has heard of this place, 'the rim of the world', but never been here. It is known as the home of the wolves and even the men don't hunt wolves unless their numbers are too great or they start stealing stock. She fears clearly for this man and watches his every footstep knowing they carry her heart as well as his.

He scampers down the trail with an agile grace. It is a loose rocky pad worn by the feet of the wolf pack as they come and go from the crater and a single loose stone underfoot could bring the whole pack to him. She can see a dark hole in the opposite wall of the crater and wonders if that is the wolves den. At the foot of the cave a spring fed pond lies reflecting the red light of the moon. She panics a little having lost sight of Groth then spots him slinking through the shadows of the trees as he makes his way around the wall toward the cave.

In the shadows, she sees his arm move overhead then sees ripples grow outward from the centre of the pond. A lone grey shape rises from the rocks at the mouth of the cave and sniffs the air. She knows Groth covered in the Ursula's and his own blood, and fears that the wolf can smell him. Silently Groth moves away from the cave and the lone dog follows, pausing here and there to scratch the ground and drink in the scent trail the hunter leaves. She realises he is doing exactly what he explained the Orynx does to hunt wolves but why? Why another kill? Why risk further injury?

He doubles back on his own tracks and she sees him shimmy up a slender tree. He waits long minutes for the huge grey shape to move beneath him following the trail. A single stifled yelp carries on the night air, then silence fills the crater once more. She sees two or is it three tall shapes leave the cave to listen on the wind near the pond, but curiosity satisfied, they slink back into the dark mouth in the rocks. Anise watches him working near the grey body and his actions are explained as he lifts the pelt onto his shoulders and sneaks through the trees back to the stony path.

At the base of the crater where the wolf pad climbs toward the rim, he curls into a ball in a soft patch of grass. "He looks just like a sleeping wolf," she thinks watching him place his hands to his lips. Weariness mocks her and she reflects the gesture, placing a bitter Cacoran leaf under her tongue as well.

As ages pass, the grass offers less cushion to her aching body. She stretches and fidgets and marvels at how still he lays. A faint scratching noise draws her attention to the head of the trail where they had stopped and he drew in the dirt. She sees dust rise from the drawn circle and then a shimmer in the air. The Orynx! Legends tell how it changes colour like the jungle lizards but none describe the near perfect illusion of invisibility. Its shimmering opaque shape is visible only against the moons shadow it's body casts.

Far below she sees Groth still unmoving and hopes he has not fallen asleep. Should she raise an alarm and risk startling the Orynx and spoiling his hunt? Her heart beats heavily in her chest and her mind rushes with imagined fears. The Orynx moves toward the darker opening of the trail and she marvels at its beauty. The shimmering turns to a storm cloud grey coat of short fur. Its smaller than she imagined; about the same size as the clan farm dogs, it resembles a very large domestic cat except in one thing -- the pair of six-inch-long venomous fangs that drip malice.

You're not supposed to swallow the cacoran leaves. It can make your stomach upset if you swallow too much. The first quiet sounds of scratching far above Groth, triggered the involuntary peristaltic admission of fear. Adrenaline courses through his body. His hands tremor with the hunt. He lays as still as he can, breathing as evenly and deeply as he imagines a wolf would and waits for the setting of the Orynx's trap. He almost smiles when he hears the falling stones. A deliberate gesture of clumsiness that he has seen twice now lure a wolf.

Groth stirs, mimicking a curious wolf; lifting the wolf head to test the wind then crawling toward the trail stopping to 'sniff' the air and dirt before beginning his ascent. Anise watches mesmerised as the Orynx turns on the trail and casually picks its way back up the rocky pad with Groth in tow. Now and then she sees it stop and itch itself with inch long claws seemingly oblivious to the wolf that it is checking to see still follows. The Ornyx crests the rim and she watches it lose the dark grey colour and become a shimmering of moonlight that slinks into the shadows. The trap is set.

Anise sees the shaggy head of the massive wolf lift above the rim. Her heart beats the moments in her ears as its shoulders follow and Groth beneath the pelt crawls into the clearing. He holds his spear flat to the ground and slides it forward with each 'step'. She wonders how he has attached the legs to his arms and thighs to make it appear so real and, as the 'wolf' scratches at the ground and sniffs, the Orynx pounces.

The shimmering is gone and a plain mottled black cat now lands crouched directly behind Groth. As he turns to face it and ready his spear it launches and she screams as the clearing erupts in violent action. The Orynx has the wolf pelt by the throat, huge fangs bite deep into the hollow wolf and Groth sheds it to stand with his spear ready. At the sound of Anise's scream Groth turns toward her and launches his spear with all his strength. At her! There is a thud on her torso and she is aware of a large white animal atop her, "a wolf?" she wonders and her eyes roll up. She crumples to the grass.

Unarmed he faces the Orynx. It has dropped the wolf skin and crouches with dripping fangs held low and coiled tension rippling in its muscled flanks. Groth glances wildly about the clearing for some style of weapon and circles around the also circling Orynx, waiting for the single moment... Its head looks briefly toward the trail and seizing the instant, Groth dives, rolling sideways into the shadows. The Orynx pounces in the very same direction and a deep growl fills the clearing then all is silent.

Hands touch her face and voices far away like mumbles in the shore winds tease her throbbing mind. One eye slowly opens then its twin. She focuses against the cracking pain in her temple and clarity returns as horror.

"Groth. My husband?" She stumbles and is held up by strong hands. "Groth? Oh no... No!" She sobs great wracking sobs and screams again; in anguish, not in fear.

"Shh daughter," she is pulled against the massive man's chest and Regthar speaks, "He is not lost, he is sleeping. He stirs as we speak. Come."

In the clearing, she sees Groth curled like a baby next to the corpse of the Orynx.

"Just a graze on his arm. Still enough venom to give him a bloody good head ache for a few hours."

The Orynx looks much larger now. A leopard like cat but mottled black and brown. One fang is broken and stuck in a branch that lays beside it. Its head is horribly misshapen and blood congeals on the grass beside it. Its clawed front paws are still locked on Groth's calf and great long gashes mix his blood with his prey's. A single small puncture mark and graze on his arm shows him envenomed. Anise chooses this precise moment to vomit and succumb to the blackening shadows at the corners of her vision.

.....

He kneels beside the stretcher and watches the Crone bathe her head with brined vinegar. Groth's own wounds are bound with hemp and aloe and the herbal tea he drinks has numbed the pain. He watches Anise intently, waiting for her deep green eyes to flicker open; for her to return to him. His eyes cloud with tears of horror at the cost of his prideful folly.