The Hunting Trip

		Beams of sunlight pierced through the canopy of deep, damp green, and bathed the world in the golden brightness of late morning light. A lone figure, long of limb even for his tall race, picked his way quietly through the tangled labyrinth of vines, brush, and undergrowth. The dark shape of a massive dog followed closely behind, its fat pink tongue lolling from a muzzle the color of pitch. He followed a game trail, too tall for rabbits, much too narrow and subtle for boar. A tree, it’s bark recently scraped, had told him this path was actively used; a pile of soft dung, untouched by the rain from the night before, heralded to him that the hunt was on. He stalked carefully but swiftly, and his gazed danced over his surroundings. A soft imprint on sodden moss here, a trampled sapling there. He followed the trail for what seemed like hours when suddenly it disappeared. He doubled back, circled the area. Frustrated, he stopped to push his shaggy black mane back from his sweat-slick forehead. Burgeoning muscles shifted beneath skin the color of new leather and the javelins he carried clacked against one another. The noise was loud and unnatural in the quiet of the forest. Another noise, a rustle just on the edge of hearing, responded to the soft connection of wood. He froze. The familiar pin-pricks of excitement ran down his back in a sharp wave. The dog, who had maintained a passive disinterest all morning, suddenly pricked its’ ears and shut its’ mouth with a snap. It leaned forward and sniffed, then began to shift from foot to foot. The beast let out a high-pitched whine and looked to its’ master.
	“Go,” whispered. Like an arrow loosed from a quivering bowstring the beast burst through the undergrowth. Strong legs and massive paws pulled with all their might and flung dirt high in the air. He sprinted after, urged on by the dog’s howls. Something else crashed amongst the brush ahead of them, and here he caught a flash of movement, there a snatch of yellow-brown. Past trees and through bushes and over roots he bounded with the grace of youth, a javelin readied in his right hand. The dog’s bark had reached a fever pitch, deep frenzied bellows that erupted in rapid cadence and echoed through the trees. The world blurred past him in his pursuit and his bare feet ate up the distance hungrily. A sudden crash and snarl made his heart leap, and a new noise split the air; the panicked bleating of prey ensnared. He broke into a small clearing and saw his dog latched onto the hind leg of the deer they’d run down. A mixture of spittle and blood flew from its jaws and a fierce light shone in eyes that were set deep in the big, furrowed brow. The deer lurched, tugged, twisted, and bleated with all its’ instinctual might. With an easy, practiced motion he broke his run with a skip, planted his feet, and hurled his missile. He knew it was a killing throw as soon as the wood slid free of his palm, a perfect spiral. The iron tip parted flesh, slipped past bone, and pierced the pounding heart.  Satisfied, he relaxed and paced a few steps, a hand on his hips. He blew out a deep sigh of relief and smiled to himself.
	“Enough, Mascius,” Caile said. The dog, so intent on his task that he hadn’t noticed his quarry’s expiration, dropped the leg he still worried at and cocked his head at the deer, confused. A laugh burst from the youth’s lips, and he clicked his tongue against his teeth. Mascuis’s ears pricked up, then all at once the big pink tongue was free again and he bounded over in innocent excitement. Caile squatted and kneaded the loose skin of the brute’s neck with his free hand. Mascius struck a regal pose while his master showered him with praise and scratched just the right spots, his head thrown up in the air and eyes half shut. Caile gave him a final, hearty pat on the ribs, then stood and crossed over to their kill, eager to get a good look. A young buck no older than four seasons, two blunt, velvet covered tips on each short antler betrayed his age, but large and lean. He wrenched his javelin free with a twist and, along with the other, drove the iron points into the soft earth. With a flourish he whipped his neck-cloth free, wiped the sweat that dripped from his face, and bound his hair back. He drew the big single-edged knife from his belt and bent to his work.
	With smooth practiced motions he sliced the belly of the buck open and pulled the skin wide to expose the writhing gray mass of entrails. Blood flushed out over the grass and carried organs with it. The dirt, already glutted on rain, refused to drink in the scarlet flood; it pooled amongst emerald shoots of grass and stained them a red so deep it was nearly black. Caile plucked out the liver and sliced a piece off of it, which he tossed to Mascius. He set the rest aside and continued to clean the deer. The crack of bone echoed in the clearing. Mascius yawned and settled down in the shade of an oak, exuding an aura of contentedness from a job well done. A similar air radiated from Caile as he dressed and cleaned the buck, his face flushed from the heat. He set the punctured heart beside the liver, then sliced the windpipe and began to pull everything else clear, cutting and tugging down the length of the animal.
	Finished, he dragged the carcass to where the ground sloped downward and laid the beast on the decline, head towards the crest. He then took a moment to sit down beside Mascius and rest. He took the cloth from his head and wiped his face. A gentle breeze whispered through the dell and cooled his sweat drenched skin. He peered off to the East, to the untamed wilds and the mysterious kingdoms beyond, and dreamed of a life unbound. Away from the drudging routine of mundanity, every sunrise a new challenge, a new question. While he daydreamed Caile unslung his skin and took a deep draught of tepid, earthy water. Images of adventure flashed before his minds’ eye as he poured water into his hand for Mascius to drink; visions of wonders, of lands where golden grass stretched unbroken across the horizon, of a great empire built on the ruins of an ancient race, of giant snakes that cavorted with men, of Kin who spent so much time straddled upon horseback that they could no longer walk on their own two legs. All this and more flickered through his mind while the big dog lapped his palm. He could leave now, head off in any direction he desired. The buck would feed him for a few days, and the skin would make a decent enough shelter for the time being. Caile felt his legs compelled to rise, his soul compelled to fly free. Nothing could stop him, and nothing logically held him back. Nothing, of course, except for duty. Always duty and, by extension, honor.
	With a resigned sigh, Caile stoppered his waterskin and shrugged off his small pack. From it he withdrew: three honeyed cakes, a vial of dark red wine and one of oil, a tinderbox, and a pristine white cloth folded neatly into a square. He rose and began to collect sticks with which he made a small pyre. Mascius watched his master out of the corner of his eye with only the slightest hint of care, content to sit and pant in the heat. Once the pyre was built Caile knelt down, solemnly unfolded the white cloth, and covered his head. Next, he struck sparks into his bundled tinder and gently blew into the budding heart of embers once it caught. Soon the flames began to lick at the damp wood of the small pyre, and he laid the heart and the remaining hunk of liver upon it. When the organs began to pop and sizzle, he placed a honeyed cake on either side and flung the vial of oil onto the flames. He winced from the sudden heat of the flare-up, then quickly poured out most of the vial of wine onto the earth in front of the makeshift altar. He held his hands out, palms up, and began his prayers.
	“To Mother Gei I offer this libation, to give thanks for the bounty the She has provided,” he said. He swallowed the remainder of the wine and continued. “To Budea I offer this heart and liver, in celebration of the hunt and to give thanks for the stalwart companions she gave to my people, who’s descendant proved so invaluable in my success.” Mascius, oblivious, let out a sacrilegious yawn. “And to the spirits of this forest, I invite you to share these humble cakes with me, so that you may know me and know that I am no enemy.” His prayer finished he gulped down the third cake in a single bite, ceremoniously folded his head cloth, and placed everything back in his pack, just so. The proper rites completed, Caile slung the carcass over his shoulders and took one final glance, filled with longing, towards the East, towards adventure and glory. His jaw kneaded, muscles knotted like cords stood out on the side of his face. With a sigh, he turned and began the journey back.
	By the time he broke the edge of the forest the sun had reached its’ zenith. If he had stretched his legs, he could have made it back to the temple within the hour; instead, he walked at a leisurely pace. Not only did he exhibit no signs of hurry in his manner he also took the circuitous route back home. He strolled down the wide dirt road and sang the marching songs the drill master had taught the initiates. Songs of glory and battle, of power and victory. He sang the bawdy ones as well, and his voice soared lustily whenever the inevitable pun was made in the refrain. Mascius amused himself in his own way. He would sprint ahead until he was nearly out of sight, then lie down on his front paws and waggled his cropped tail in the air. When Caile got within several feet, the big dog would lurch upright, spin in a circle, and take off again. The pair carried on like this for the next hour, a boy and his companion letting their spirits soar in the openness of the road. Caile clicked his tongue when the small suburb of Bulti came into view, and Mascius reluctantly trotted back to his side. The big dog yawned and whined at him.
	“Don’t blame me,” Caile said, mock sternness in his voice, “you’re the one that spooked that poor potter’s mule last time.” Mascius’ ears pricked up, and the bright, sharp eyes scrutinized the squat buildings that loomed ever closer. Whatever conclusion his primitive mind reached, he ceased to complain and plodded along beside Caile. They passed by fields where farmers tended to growing crops, tall, strong Kin who’s skin was darkened and creased by years in the sun. A few paused and waved, but most simply raised their heads for a moment before bending back to their work. As he drew nearer, he saw the townsfolk bustling about in a fever-pitch of preparation. Laborers toiled to load wagons with goods, which were being taken to the big market in the city proper to be hocked during the festival, under the watchful eye of tradesmen. Girls wove stems of flowers and vines together to create crowns, and groups of women sat and gossiped as they mended dresses and tunics. A pack of boys yelled and laughed as they swarmed around Caile and Mascius. Questions and exclamations flew from a dozen mouths and small hands patted and scratched the big dog. Others grasped his javelins, pulled on his belt, and the tugged at the legs of the carcass he carried. He smiled and squatted down to let them see the buck, and a collective ooohhh arose from the crowd. They touched the antlers, only a few at a time, gingerly and reverently. Caile saw a boy who’s face he recognized, so he reached out and took his arm.
	“Arturo! Good to see you.” The boy smiled.
	“Hullo Caile!” He reached a lanky arm past Caile’s face and brushed the fur of the dead animal with his fingertips. “He’ll make good hide, won’t he?” Caile nodded.
	“Listen, Arturo, I have something for your sister, do you know where she is?” Arturo’s head bobbed up and down eagerly, and he pointed.
	“She’s supposed to be drawing water for the mules. Papa said we’re leaving for the festival first thing in the morning, so he can find a good spot to sell from. He’s got some really nice leather this year. I’m going to sell some of the bracers I helped Momma make! Papa said I’m going to be a master currier like him one day.” They boy proudly put his hands on his hips puffed his chest out. Caile laughed and tousled his hair. He rose and began his walk anew, and the boys sped off in a mob of squeals and hoots. He weaved his way through the crowded streets like a dog with a scent. Mascius trailed behind, mouth smiling and ears up. He took in all the sights and smells that Caile ignored and stared at all the passersby wide-eyed.
	Caile rounded a corner and came to an abrupt halt, his heart a lump in his throat. His quarry, a maiden named Vilvi, lounged beside the village’s fountain, waiting her turn at the main pump behind several others. He began his approach, slowly, and felt a heat rise up in his chest. She wore a blue tunic of light fabric that clung to her skin. It was tied up just above the knee and his eyes drank in the olive-colored calf; the barest hint of the leg higher up heightened his excitement when she crossed her legs. His gaze swept up her body and he found himself transfixed by her neck. Sweat collected in the soft valley of her sternum, and graceful lines of delicate skin swept upwards to a face that made his heart melt. She wore an expression of boredom and mild annoyance, eyelids half closed and mouth pouty. A sudden urge arose to make those lips smile, to have those beautiful green eyes widen in excitement at his surprise arrival. He took in her hair, carefully braided around her crown to keep it off her nape in the stifling air, and desired deeply to weave his fingers into the dark brown locks. He walked more deliberately now, shoulders back and chest puffed out. He pondered what he might say to her to elicit a laugh, and while he did his gaze shifted downward, past her neck and just above the girdle, when his concentration was shattered.
	“As vulgar as ever, I see.” The words flowed like sweet honey into his ears. It took a moment for the shock of the statement to register but when it did, he started visibly. He felt his cheeks redden and his eyes shot up to meet Vilvi’s. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, and one perfect eyebrow was arched high, which made the faintest of creases appear on the smooth plane of her forehead. He was caught, plain and simple, and he grinned sheepishly.
	“Forgive me, Madonna, your beauty always captivates me so,” he said with as much of a bow as he could muster, given his load.
	“My bust, more like,” she replied derisively. He saw the corners of her mouth twitch, and his grin broadened. He was familiar with this game, even enjoyed it. Caile took long, purposeful strides to the edge of the fountain beside were she sat, shrugged the deer off his shoulder, and tossed his javelins aside dramatically. An old woman watched him from the corner of her eye as she drew water forth into her bucket, mild amusement dancing across her features. He unclasped the shoulders of his tunic and let it fall, baring his body from the waist up. Mascius, oblivious to the machinations of his master, ducked his head over the edge and drank. Caile cupped water into his hand and took a loud sip as well, and then began to splash some on his skin. His broad chest contracted as his strong, lean arms ladled the cool liquid over himself. Out of his peripheral he could see Vilvi’s cheeks become flushed, and her entire expression soften. Her gaze hovered between his flexing pectoral and writhing abdominal muscles. Now it was her turn to be caught.
	“Captivated by something Vilvi?” She jerked at the sound of his voice and looked up at him dumbly. A gleaming row of white teeth, stark against the darkness of his skin, greeted her. The old woman guffawed and slapped her knee. Every drop of extra blood found its’ way to Vilvi’s face; she nearly glowed with embarrassment. After a moment of gaping silence, she brought her hand up to cover her mouth and shouted with mock outrage.
	“How dare you!” she cried. In a flash, she reached down and flung water at him. He recoiled dramatically and then dunked both hands into the pool and splashed her back. Soon they were laughing and soaking each other. Water flew haphazardly in all directions, and annoyed bystanders grumbled and moved out of the way. Mascius bounded playfully, jaws snapping at globs of water as they passed by his big head. Seeing they were at a stalemate, Caile leapt forward and grabbed Vilvi, completely encircling her body and pinning her arms to her side. He leaned forward and dangled her dangerously over the edge. “Don’t you dare!” She squirmed in his grasp, but to no avail. He looked down at her with a haughty expression.
	“And why shouldn’t I? What could you possibly offer to dissuade me?” Vilvi stopped struggling and looked up into his eyes, breathless. His grip slackened and he felt a pang of longing shoot through him. She looked magnificent, hair plastered to her forehead and skin shining. Her mouth opened as if to speak and he leaned in to listen. Without warning she darted forward and suddenly his mouth was on hers. Something exploded behind his eyes and a sudden heat crept up his neck and filled his face. Her mouth tasted of figs, and her lips felt like the finest velvet. After a moment, that at once felt like it stretched on for eternity and as if it were over in the blink of an eye, she drew back.
	“Are you dissuaded, master Caile?” she inquired softly. He straightened, shifted his grasp, and pulled her into his chest. Her arms wrapped around his waist and they stood, embraced, for a long moment. When they broke apart both wore smiles and still held hands. The pair looked about sheepishly, suddenly conscious of the audacity of their display. Vilvi cleared her throat and pointed to the buck. “I suppose you’ll want to take that to Father?” Caile nodded and closed his tunic as he spoke.
	“Aye, if he’ll skin it quickly, he can keep the hide free of charge,” he said. Vilvi raised an eyebrow, so he added, “A donation from the order. Meat for the festival.” He bent down to retrieve the carcass and his javelins, then took her by the hand. He clicked his tongue and the dog bounded over.
	“Yes, he’ll go for that,” she said. The pair had stepped off, Mascius trotting behind, when she added, “Very pious, my father.”
	“Very frugal, you mean,” Caile snorted, “he’d skin Nethuns’ hounds if he got to keep the hides free of charge.” She gave him a playful jab to the ribs and laughed. He admired her smile, the small imperfection of the incisor that sat just barely askew, the wideness of her mouth, and the single dimple that appeared on her right cheek. He squeezed her hand and she drew close. They continued on in silence, enjoying the light of the sun, the bustle of the village, and, most of all, the company of the other.