Tylywoch ~ 25

 Tylywoch ~ 25  Jax Seeking Bianne

By Len Morgan

   Jax felt genuine sadness at leaving Hartwell, for almost a third of his life it had been his home.   He knew and loved its inhabitants.   It's uniquely eclectic population gathered from all over Abbalar, all drawn into a melting pot of religions, traditions, languages, and cuisine.  There are communities and enclaves within the city representing every nation in existence; it was indeed, Abbalar in microcosm. 

He left, intent on crossing the Sabre Tooth Mountains into Cheilin, and heading for the Eternal City, where he expected to locate Bianne.   He had it all worked out in his mind.   He would profess his love and they would move to a place where they could settle in peace to work on and develop a new centre for scientific learning that would prove so important in overcoming the Karaxen menace.   He would set up his own forge and take on apprentices then maybe some talented students, men of learning, would help him to build an academia through which he could pass on the knowledge.   There had to be some like minded people out there eager to learn and build for the future.   As for himself and Bianne, their life would be idyllic to the end of their days.   They would have children…?   Grow old together…?   No!   That was a fantasy they could do neither he knew, his desires were so simple yet unattainable, they would be denied.

On that first night in the Meyam foothills, he roasted a brace of hares he'd snared earlier in the day.   He seasoned them with a little of the salt Terrek had so thoughtfully packed for him together with tea, sugar, rich fruit cake, bread flour, nuts, tinder, and flint.   The food turned regularly on its spit smelt appetising, the aroma carried far beyond his simple campfire.  

"Hello the camp!" a voice called as he sat in quiet contemplation.   "We are three tired travellers with bread bacon and beans to share, can we approach?"

"Come forth and be recognised," Jax replied.

Three brothers entered the circle of the fire's glow.   The eldest opened his pack and set out cooking utensils.   The other two added their contributions; one had a wineskin and beakers.   The smell of bacon filled the glade, and soon they were eating, drinking, swapping stories, and news.   The brothers told him of the assassination of the Cheilin Empress and rumours of incursions by the people of Bluttland in the West.   He'd always thought them to be insular people who kept themselves to themselves, but their behaviour in Hartwell was obviously not characteristic of their race.    One of the brothers produced a flute and began to play.   The evening finished with singing and wild cavorting around the dying embers.   Finally with warm friendly feelings inside him, thanks to the generous helpings of good red wine, he finally pulled up his blanket and instantly fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The brothers were up at daybreak despite their previous night's drinking.   They broke their fast with the remains of the previous evening’s meal and when it was gone they bid him farewell and good fortune, sentiments he returned with vigorous handshakes and smiles.   They headed towards Hartwell, and he in the opposite direction towards the mountains, despite the dire warnings of trouble ahead.  

 An hour later, he heard the baying of wolves on the scent of prey.   Several hours later and a thousand feet higher he heard them again, closer this time, suddenly he felt disorientated and the disconcerting feeling of being watched.   As he climbed still higher the landscape changed becoming more desolate and open he could see for miles in any direction, and there was little fear of being observed closely without seeing the watcher, yet the feeling persisted.   He travelled on until midday when he stopped to eat.   The feeling was still with him a source of irritation.   He searched carefully in all directions but saw nothing, the baying was repeated it could have been closer but the wind plays tricks with sounds on these bare mountain slopes.   Suddenly his hackles rose, he dropped and rolled by instinct as a shadow fell on him.   He felt foolish when he looked up to see a dark cloud, scudding across the sun, above him.  

.-…-. 

Herra the Shewolf, tasted the air, pinpointing the proximity of a potential meal.   The brood watched hungrily, all faces attentive, their appellant eyes fixed on her.   Two short yelps and a howl came from below she conveyed an answer, in Shevix speak, providing information on the speed and direction of the quarry, to the hunters.   She held the high ground, with the two-legged creature in clear view.   He was a good size, grey pelt pink skinned with a brown coat.   She noted he was carrying a spiky stabber at his side, They could be fatal, he would be a tricky one to overcome.   She cautioned them to be wary of the stabber; it would not know Shevix speak she thought.   The hunt leader acknowledged her intelligence.   She gazed back at her three expectant cubs, asking them to be patient.   She heard the Alpha calling for further directions.   They had lost the prey, she looked and tasted the air but there was no sight or scent of it, that one quick glance had cost them, dear.   She searched for some time but could not relocate it.  

Jax lowered his gaze, and spied a small cave. He decided to rest there and observe for a while without being seen.   He slid in and settled down to wait, disturbing a hare as he did so, had he been a little faster it would have made a fine evening meal.    He heard the wolves, call and answer, again.  He watched but, fifteen minutes later, all he had observed was the wind rustling the heads of dry grasses and swift scudding rain clouds.  

Herra found the scent of a lone stag and hoped it was not in peak condition, they urgently needed a kill.   She gave cry as she spotted the beast, a wiley old one with wide branching antlers, she knew he would probably be too swift for them. 

 Jax closed his eyes and instantly felt the sensation of being hunted.   He felt exhilarated and triumphant.    Experiencing the breeze rushing past his face and through his pelt as he ran at high speed, effortlessly covering the ground.   He glanced back to see the squat shapes of his pursuers, their eyes like glowing coals, getting ever closer.   He had intentionally slowed to encourage them to redouble their efforts and use up their energy reserves.   As they closed in he simply sped up again leaving them in his wake.   He was aware that even if the seven had caught him, he would probably still have triumphed; hoof and horn are formidable weapons.   Only extreme hunger would drive wolves to chase a healthy stag.   Fortunate were they, not to catch him. 

An hour later while Jax slept in his refuge, Herra sat watching her cubs tear strips of flesh from the carcass of the hare that by its misfortune chanced across her path while she was searching for the two-legged creature.   She had grabbed it by its scruff and deftly threw it into the air breaking its neck.   She knew from experience it was dead before it landed, but the cubs pounced on it acting out a mock kill, copying the actions of the pack.   She waited patiently for them to eat their fill so that she also could eat.   Thanks to brother Hare they would survive to hunt another day.

(To be continued)

 

By Len Morgan