Story by  antarticfox

Perhaps going nomadic wouldn’t have been the worst thing for it. Isiat grumbled in his mind as he stalked forward through the trees, the broad Arvian carrying his spear in a low ready. Moonlight speared through breaks in the canopy, giving everything a soft, pale glow.

Despite his size, he made no more sound than a trail of ants as he prowled along the narrow game trail between the brush, crouched low, massive shoulders hunched over his slender spear. Rain dripped from his dark feathers and pelt, his vivid red hackles kept low against his back.

Around him, he could hear the sounds of the rest of their hunting party. Himself, one other old hand who had undergone the changes long before Isiat himself, and three fledges, still discovering their newfound strengths after the ritual and stumbling like newborns in adult bodies.

They made more noise than a heard of wild-beast through dry scrub, a steady stream of undisciplined chatter, breaking branches, and unruly curses coming perhaps fifty meters to his right. He rolled his eyes, and lazily, almost mockingly shifted his spear, weighing it in his talons with a gentle roll.

Trees notwithstanding, he was certain he could have hit one of them with a good throw if he wanted, guided just by the ruckus alone, even concealed behind the brush and brambles as they were.

A sudden, flickering mist congealed into a bounding spring-like form, glowing faintly in the moonlight as it sprung first from the underbrush, then up onto his spear and shoulders, the shift from formlessness to a slender fur drake as natural and elegant as the rising of the moon. Isiat's dreampal Raru Raru slung itself across his shoulders lazily, as weightless as mist.

They’re not worth the effort it would take to cast it. They will learn when their stomachs teach them patience.

He pressed on through the trees, following the scent of a buck. He’d tracked it for the last two hours since he found the trail and scent, his beak clacking softly as he mulled it over some more. Sharp, hawk-like eyes traced the underbrush and located the nearest tracks. They were fresh, within the last few minutes and no more. Even now, moisture from the recent rains and muddy earth was still pooling at the bottom of the cloven hoof marks.

It was close. He could feel it, and a primal thrill made his hackles raise and quake with excitement. Raru gave a soft rumble upon his shoulders and inched forward along his outstretched arm, bounding across the air as if skipping over stones upon a river. His muzzle gestured down towards a standing oak ahead, and almost as quickly, his dreampal vanished back into nothingness. He'd be nearby no doubt. The little spirit creature had a penchant for mischief since Isiat had bonded with it on his third hunt.

He spotted it's pronged horns before the deer itself, sheltering beneath the low beaches of an oak, and gave a low, chirruping trill, their designated signal for found prey. Around him, the fledged foolhardy chatter continued.

Idiots. If they startled his prey, he'd fix to eat one of them instead.

He drew his spearback, flexing his wrist as he aimed with his free arm to balance his stance. With a motion as quick as a lightning strike, the spear shot from his arm. The shining obsidian spearhead took the mighty prey beast beneath the shoulders, both lungs and heart, and impaled itself five fingers into the trunk of the tree from the force of his throw.

The buck shuddered and twitched as it died silently, stuck upright, but hanging limply now, like a grisly trophy hauled into the branches by the local hunting felids.

"A good kill." A walnut feathered Arvian said, emerging from cover nearby. Still as he had been, it would have been impossible to distinguish the elder hunter from the surrounding woods. He was fully a head taller than even Isiat, and at least half again his age. Isiat just nodded his head respectfully at the compliment. It was likely as good as he was to get from the stubborn bird.

He retrieved his spear, tugging it from wood and flesh, and hauled the deer over his broad shoulders.

"Luck only, that the fools didn't startle it." He gestured off to the distant voices, still chattering away like a flock of sparrows.

"Then let us thank luck and moon, and take this one back to camp for us to share. I've a good mead that will pair well."

Isiat chuckled at the suggestion, shifting the weight of the beast on his hackles.

"And the fledges?"

The elder shrugged nonchalantly, a feral grin splitting his sharp, hooked beak.

"Let them stumble their own way back once they realise they missed their chance tonight. Our stomachs will be full, and they'll have learned a valuable lesson."


More about my Arvian borbs <33333