Grak is irate about having to teach hunting strategies today. Though in hindsight, it was inevitable. Soon after the tribe settled in at their new campsite, the request became persistent. Demanding, even. And he could no longer ignore it.
But Grak did try to deflect it. Initially, he insisted the strategy would only help qualified hunters. Thus, he reasoned, the new team had to first learn the basics without such distractions.
This was the best scheme he could muster at the time, given the other pressing concerns taxing the plotting portion of his mind. And to his surprise, it succeeded. Though only for twenty-nine days.
After that, Grak was forced to rely on improvised solutions. But at times like these, when he’s backed into a corner, he’s often known to do some of his best work. Thus, through sheer brilliance and quick wit, he managed to delay the request for another twenty-four days.
But, as with all good things, Grak’s ideas eventually came to an end. The constant demand for rapid thinking drained his mental stamina, and the schemes simply dried up.
He’s also fairly sure the consistent lack of food contributed to his demise. Not that he went hungry, of course. But too many in camp did, and this caused a sharp increase in their demands.
Thus, for the last eleven days, Grak has been relying on a new strategy: hiding. But the plan’s brilliant simplicity was also its most glaring flaw, and his fortune could only hold out for so long.
Sure enough, early this morning, Sabo wised up. The man noticed Frolan carrying a bowl of stew as he wandered off into the nearby rock hills to “relieve himself.” Believing that to be a strange accompaniment for such an expedition, Sabo followed. Upon finding Grak, he alerted others, and they immediately began their usual request.
But this time, Grak had no way of escape. Which is why he’s now improvising a hunting strategy in this small clearing in the nearby forest.
“Like this?” Frolan takes a deep, controlled breath.
Grak feigns annoyance. “Yes, but talking defeats the purpose. Now you have to start over. Back on the ground.”
He looks about for other ripe scoldings. “As usual, Jafra, you’re doing it all wrong. Hold the branches higher.”
She grimaces. “I’m sorry. It’s just … my arms are really aching now. I don’t think I can manage to hold them any higher … or much longer.”
Such incessant whining with this one. And she fails to see how it only makes her more disreputable.
Grak sneers. “Oh, I didn’t realize I was inconveniencing you. I suppose I’ll just have to tell our people that their starving children don’t matter as much as your comfort.”
Jafra replies with a frown. Grak smiles to himself.
Well done. One of your better exchanges, to be sure.
But he has no time to enjoy the victory, as the smell of dung is already growing too powerful. He steps farther away from the woman.
“Is it supposed to bleed so much, Grak?” Cordo asks meekly. “I fear I might be losing too much blood. I can’t even feel the pins any longer. Or that portion of my leg.”
“Yes. That’s how you know it’s working.” Grak replies, lost in thought.
He’s growing concerned about Cordo’s weakening fortitude. It took a noticeable dip after his punishment, and has yet to return. Of course, the man’s subservience has improved, but that’s still not ideal. Grak would prefer to have both available whenever he needs them.
Cordo nods at the answer. “I was wondering something else too. And please, keep in mind, I don’t doubt the value of these exercises. I’m only curious … but, well, would you explain how any of this will help? It just seems we’ve been here for quite some time without any results. And I fear we might lose the light before catching anything.”
Grak sees a teaching opportunity. “You fear too much, Cordo. Especially the dark. Before we can properly hunt the deer, we have to think like the deer. Are they afraid of the dark? Or of anything?” He leaves the subject there lest he accidentally reveal too much about his admiration for the creatures.
Fierce. Undaunted. Majestic. If only our tribe were more like that. We could learn a thing or two from those animals.
Frolan offers his mind on the subject. “They run from us … and lions.”
Grak silences the man with a gentle touch on the lips. “Shh, friend. Be the deer. Enter his thoughts.”
“So, what about the ropes?” Jafra points to the elaborate cross-rigging among the trees. “I don’t remember those when you last hunted with us.”
“The Great and Pivotal Hunt of Awe, you mean?” The name still doesn’t sound right. Grak will have to tweak it further. “You’re right, they weren’t there. The ropes are a new idea. But they won’t be useful until you all learn to think like deer.”
He remembers to be angry with her. “And you, Jafra, are disrupting that process. How is anyone supposed to think like a deer while you’re asking so many questions? I’m taking your speaking privileges.”
Jafra nods and casts her eyes to the ground. “Ok. Until when?”
Grak is astonished by her defiance. “Do you not understand the concept of lost privileges? You’ll be notified when you have them back!”
She certainly shouldn’t be missing the point. Grak made the policy quite clear and has reiterated it a number of times since. She gives a slow, sad nod to signify repentance.
Or rather, to feign it. Insists on questioning my leadership, this one. And while I’m trying to teach her something new. So ungrateful! But even if she can’t be helped, I can prevent her defiance from spreading to these others.
Grak lifts his voice to address the whole group. “So many questions from all of you today. But that won’t help you think like a deer. Do they ask questions? Of course not. They just kno—”
A sudden wind blows Grak’s hat off. That’s the fourth time today, and he’s starting to get annoyed. Even more so, given this embarrassing disruption of his speech.
In many ways, Grak feels the thing is almost too tall now. Though he really doesn’t feel he has a choice in the matter. Further copies in camp threatened the height of his previous cap, forcing him to have Frolan make another one several days ago.
But Grak was tired of having to replace his hat every few days, so he also decided to enact a “height limit” policy. In it, he took care not to mention head coverings while also avoiding any ambiguity in the wording. And he’s quite proud of that feat. “My clever policy,” he calls it.
Of course, Grak also made it clear that this policy only applies to “standard members of the tribe.” Which, of course, does not include him. He reasoned that anyone wishing to find him for help or directions should be able to spot his hat from any distance with ease.
But despite the thorough nature of this announcement, confusion still arose. Many felt the wording might mistakenly ban future members of the tribe who have natural height tendencies.
As a result, Grak considered altering the policy. But in the end, he settled instead on suggesting that such members crouch “for the sake of all.”
Besides, it’s not even realistic. Frolan is the closest in height, and he’s still a good two hands shy. Maybe if he mated with an exceptionally tall woman. Or a bear.
Grak allows himself a chuckle at that thought, oblivious to the concerned stares from everyone around him. He picks up the hat and returns it to his head. To his chagrin, he finds that perfect positioning requires both hands, forcing him to loosen the grip on his cloak. The cold seizes this opportunity and wafts in, sending a shiver through his entire body. He hurries with the cap, then renews his grasp on the fur.
Doesn’t seem like it should be this cold yet. There’s still quite some time until the snows. I hope. That would be a truly awful addition to all my other troubles. If the snows began earlier than usual.
But either way, that’s far from his most urgent responsibility at the moment. His focus returns to the hunters. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Think like a de—”
“Wait! I can hear them!” Frolan’s ear is pressed to the ground, and he’s wearing an excited grin.
“What?” Grak hides his disbelief. “Good. Good.” He’s stalling while deciding how to proceed. “You’re learning.”
Maybe I’m actually onto something here.
“I can hear it too!” Sabo is holding an ear to the wind.
Jafra assumes the man’s pose for a moment. With sudden realization, she nods and points excitedly.
Should probably remove the rest of her communication privileges as well.
“No, Jafra, you’re doing it wrong. You have to place an ear to the grou—” Grak freezes. He hears it too: a noise in the distance, growing louder, clearer.
All have stopped their exercises now to gawk at what this might be. The sound grows louder. And louder. It quickly grows into something akin to a heavy thunder. Memories of a similar noise tickle the back of Grak’s mind, begging for attention.
“That’s the herd!” Cordo points to the far line of trees where dense brush is waving violently.
“Stampede!” Jafra sounds the warning as the deer break into view.
Grak recognizes the opportunity to lead. “Cordo, kill some! You too, Jaf—”
The wind rushes out of his lungs as Jafra crashes into his chest. She pulls him behind a nearby fallen tree, and they stick tight to it. Surprisingly, this does the trick. Deer race by the spot, but hooves never touch either of them. It’s over faster than Grak realizes.
He opens his eyes and peers around. The tail end of the stampede is disappearing through the next line of trees. To his left, Jafra rises to a seated position, staring at him as though expecting congratulations.
For her error? Such gall!
Grak decides on a loud voice to make matters clear to the others. “Jafra! I had a plan! We could have killed some deer.” He rises to his feet. “But now we have nothing. Nothing but hunger.”
Grak turns away, but can’t resist one final comment. “And just so you know, you stink! You weren’t supposed to use that much dung. It’s one mistake after another with you.” He didn’t want to have to resort to personal attacks, but his anger got the better of him.
“I’m so sorry.” She averts her eyes. “I was trying to keep you from danger.”
“That’s it! Your speaking privileges are gone for twice as long now!”
The stubborn fool. She forces these punishments on herself.
Grak glares at Frolan. “And why weren’t you there to keep me from danger? Isn’t that your job? Maybe if you had been doing it, Jafra wouldn’t have messed everything up so badly. It’s good to know I can count on you both when it matters most!”
Frolan winces as Cordo pops the brute’s shoulder back in place. “Sorry.” He rotates his arm timidly. “I should have been closer. It won’t happen again.”
Grak is taken aback. He hadn’t expected quite so much obeisance. Nor did he imagine his fury would fade so quickly.
Well … he seems sufficiently penitent. Perhaps kindness is in order. Or at least a change of subject. No sense dragging him through it when he’s already lear—
A sudden commotion seizes Grak’s attention. Several hunters are making their way toward a badly wounded deer some twenty paces off to the right.
Oh my …
It only takes Grak an instant to realize his opportunity. He races off to join the others, arriving a moment later and in desperate need of air.
“Good …” He breathes deep. “The strategy worked …” Another breath. “Of course, we could have had more kills. I gave you a perfect opportunity, after all. Don’t know how you failed to take advantage of it.” Unsure of what other criticisms to level at them, Grak lets the topic trail off and seeks out a new point of focus.
He looks down at the injured creature. Judging by the two broken legs, it must have missed a step and taken a bad fall. The deer blinks at Grak and attempts to stand, but its legs give way, and the animal collapses. Still, this doesn’t deter a second attempt. Or a third.
Grak has to turn away from the sight, masking his emotion with indifference. “Some—” He clears his throat. “Someone finish it off.”
Jafra steps up. Her ax falls swift and heavy. The resulting sound sends shivers through Grak’s body. He’s never gotten used to it. Or the resulting splatter—some of which is now coating the leg of his trousers.
“Jafra!” Grak just had Brak remove a pesky grass stain. “Have you no contr—” He goes silent and ducks down, motioning for the others to follow.
While confused, the team obeys. Grak raises his head just far enough to see over the tall grass. His people look to each other, hoping someone else might have an idea of what’s going on. Frolan tries to follow Grak’s line of sight off to the far tree line, but only ends up more confused. Grak pushes the man’s head down farther.
With his view gone, Frolan resorts to whispering. “What is it, Grak?”
“People.” Grak’s whisper is more of a loud, rasp. He’s never been able to get it quite right. “Strangers. Over by the trees. I saw them just a moment ago. They appear to be hiding now.”
Frolan abandons the silent approach. “Oh, I thought it was something dangerous.” He begins to rise.
Grak shoves him back down. “It is dangerous, you buffoon!”
Frolan takes that surprisingly well. “Oh, sorry.” But he looks confused again. “Wait, why is it dangerous?”
Grak fails to find suitable words for this flagrant ignorance. In the end, he settles on thick sarcasm. “Does the name ‘Lago’ mean anything to you? And he was a part of our tribe. We knew him. Why would we assume anything other than danger from someone we’ve never met?
“And why am I telling you all of this? You’re the chief of tribe security! And my personal buffer of protection! A fine mess you’re making of that job so far.”
Frolan looks ashamed. “I’m so sorry, Grak. Twice I’ve failed you today. I understand if you need to choose someone else to take over my position.”
Grak rolls his eyes and calms his tone. “Look, Frolan, I didn’t me—”
“Hail there! You with the pointy hat! Are you alright?” The group of strangers has emerged from the trees and is heading their way.
Grak’s team looks to him for orders. He replies with a rapid series of hand gestures. But to his dismay, their confusion reveals that they’ve already forgotten those lessons.
Grak attempts his whisper again. “Just follow my lead.” He’s both surprised and pleased at managing something quieter this time. “Be ready to attack if I give the signal.” He receives earnest nods all around.
“What signal?” Obviously, Sabo was bobbing his head for no reason whatsoever.
Grak looks to the others, hoping someone paid attention. Nothing. Only empty stares and timid shoulder shrugs.
“Does anyone know any signals?” He’s almost pleading now.
Frolan perks up. “There’s the one where you point at your ear.” He tends to be the most attentive during classes, though that isn’t saying much. “Was that the signal to listen?” It really only serves to show how poorly the rest of the group focuses.
“No!” Grak takes a calming breath. “There’s no signal to listen. That should be natural to you by now! What else would you be doing while hunting?”
He clenches his fists in frustration. “I give up! You see? This is why we can’t have nice hunting strategies!”
Grak takes another breath. While he finds his anger understandable, he’s worried that getting too riled will give away their location.
After another moment, he proceeds in a calmer tone. “Alright, I’ll go over it one more time. Please pay attention. The signal to attack is if I clap.”
Cordo looks confused. “But wait a moment.” He’s always had a nice whisper: clear, crisp, and quiet. “How will we know if you’re telling us to attack or if you’re just applauding something?”
Grak is amazed by the question. “Why would I start applauding in the middle of a hunt?”
“You started chuckling for no reason just a bit earlier.” Sabo brings up a decent point. As much as Grak hates to admit it.
“Also, what if you only have one hand free?” asks Cordo.
Grak rubs his brow in frustration, desperate to find a resolution before the strangers arrive. “Alright, fine. Attack will be … if I start snapping my fingers. You can’t possibly confuse that. Everyone got it?” This time the nods seem genuine.
“Should I rise first?” asks Frolan. “To draw their aim? If they attack us, I think it’s better if their arrows are pointed at me rather than at you.”
“Whose arrows?” comes a strong, throaty voice.
Grak reels about, prepared for the worst. But the newcomers only appear confused. And none have weapons drawn. Plus, the strangers are outnumbered fourteen to eight. Quickly taking all of that into consideration, Grak opts to restrain himself for the moment.
Still, best to keep a watchful eye. These people are far too silent in their movements. Could be surrounding us as we speak.
“Oh my, there are quite a few of you crouching down there. And you all have pointed hats,” says the voice, now connected to a man with blond hair and a harsh, thick face. Harsh except for the man’s eyelashes, that is. Those are long and delicate, contrasting sharply with his other features.
Like a woman’s lashes. Still, a striking effect. Almost enviable.
The remainder of the group looks much the same. Minus the luxurious eyelashes, of course. And they’re dirtier than Grak’s people, though he can’t tell if that’s grounds for suspicion. Nonetheless, he feels more comfortable taking his “suspicion is the best policy” approach.
The stranger appears confused at the lack of a response, but quickly forgets in favor of a new focus. “Those are nice. Your hats, I mean.” He adopts a look of confusion. “Um … might I ask … what are you all doing? Crouching down like that, I mean.”
Grak stands cautiously. “We were hunting. Hunting our herd.” He motions for the rest of his team to rise. “Might I ask what you’re doing following our herd? And what you’re doing so close to our campsite?”
“Oh, was that your herd? I apologize. I thought it wa—”
“Kunthar!” interrupts a woman with a wide, flat nose. “Where are your manners?” She turns to Grak. “Please forgive him, friend. He can be forgetful. I am called Dernue.” The broad-nosed woman gives Grak a crushing hug.
Kunthar wears obvious annoyance. “Yes, Dernue, I was getting to that. If you had just let me finish, you would have known.” He moves in to embrace Frolan. “I am pleased to meet you, friend.”
Frolan forgets his training and returns the embrace. “And the same to you! Wow, we haven’t met another tribe in … well, in a very long time. I can’t even remember how long it’s been. Can you remember, Grak?”
Grak puts on the most annoyed face he can muster. “No, I can’t.” He increases the disdain in his voice. “A long time, indeed.”
It’s too late now. The flood can’t be stopped. Each stranger approaches, announces his or her name, and gives a strong hug.
But Grak isn’t fooled. He finds their close mannerisms suspect. Also, the way they avoided his question leaves something to wonder about. Though posing it again should clarify the matter. “So … Kunthar … you were saying? About our herd?”
The man responds with exuberance. “Oh, yes. Your herd. Again, I apologize. Things have been rather off lately.
“Some days ago, our own herd changed their usual travels while heading south. Then they just stopped and waited around Redhand for days on end. As though afraid to cross the trail. We almost set up camp there, but then they set off again. Entirely new path. Not sure what’s gotten into them.
“But these ones, we thought they were from our herd. Just more of their strange behavior. Didn’t realize they belonged to another tribe in the area. Our apologies once again.”
Grak finds the stranger’s groveling nature endearing. Still, he steps back in hopes of avoiding the spit being propelled by the man’s powerful inflections.
After a moment of consideration, Grak decides to avoid conflict at this time. “Well, I suppose it’s not a problem if you didn’t kill any.” He realizes something. “Although, are you the reason for that stampede that wounded some of my team and nearly killed me?”
“Oh my, I’m afraid we are. We were trying to make a kill—a real beauty of a male—and he got wind of us. He took off running back to the others and got the whole group spooked.
“They tried to run west, but there were spikes in the ground … so many spikes … and many with deer heads on them. Very strange.”
Grak feigns ignorance.
“That spooked them even more, so they turned east. But then they ran into this whole series of ropes. You wouldn’t believe how extensive it was. They couldn’t get through. So they headed north. And into you, it turns out. We’re so sorry for any trouble caused. I hope the injuries weren’t serious.”
While pleased at the effectiveness of his traps, Grak refuses to drop suspicion toward these people. “So how do we know you were actually hunting?”
Kunthar looks around at his tribe. All are lost for answers. Dernue even sets down her deer while she thinks. But no ideas appear forthcoming.
After another moment of this, Grak finally takes pity on them. “Your kills would be a good way to prove it.”
Kunthar gets excited. “Oh, good point.” He grows confused again. “But wait, if you knew that, then why did you ask?” His eyelashes flutter wildly as he blinks in confusion.
Grak is unsure how to answer that, but settles on simplicity. “I just wanted to see if you knew.”
Kunthar smiles. “Oh, I see. That makes sense.” He shrugs. “I suppose.”
Grak presses on, eager to resolve his remaining suspicions. “I’m curious about something, Kunthar. Like Frolan mentioned, we haven’t seen strangers in a long time. And yet, you weren’t surprised to meet us. In fact, you almost seemed to be expecting us. Why is that? How did you know we’d be here?”
Kunthar shakes his head. “Oh no, we weren’t expecting you. But we did see one of your people several days ago. Called out to him, and he got real skittish and ducked out of sight. Pretty sure we saw him running away a few moments later. So we assumed we’d bump into the rest of your tribe before long.”
Grak feels the need to refute that. “No. Wouldn’t have been us. Our people never run. Maybe you saw a deer. Deer run. Or maybe a bear.” This brings his earlier thought to mind, and he fights the oncoming grin.
Dernue cuts in. “No, it was a human. Had clothes and everything.” She thinks for a moment. “But his hat wasn’t pointed like yours. Thin fellow. Older too.”
“Ah, there you go. All our people have pointed caps. Couldn’t have been one of us. Must have been one of yours, then.”
In truth, Grak is pretty sure they’re describing Sando. Though why the man would change his hat and go for a stroll is baffling.
Might be losing his wits. Well, no matter. The cause is moot. The old fool’s in for a scolding tonight. Both for not informing me of these events and for making the tribe look feeble by running like a coward.
Fortunately, Kunthar accepts Grak’s answer. “That’s possible. I suppose. Don’t know why we wouldn’t have recognized him. Or why he wouldn’t have recognized us. But maybe.”
Grak is getting uncomfortable with this subject. And with these people. “Hmm. Well, who can know. Anyway, if you don’t mind, we really must get back to our hunting. I hope you find good fortune with your own.” He tries to casually look from them to the tree line as a suggestion that it’s time to part ways.
But Kunthar doesn’t get it. “Oh we have! Great fortune, in fact. Some in the tribe even think we have too much meat right now.” He slyly motions to Dernue. “They think we won’t be able to use it all before it spoils. Or before we have to move again.”
Dernue cuts in. “Hey, there’s an idea. Would your people like to come for a feast? We’re camped not far from here.”
Grak is wary of that offer. The strangers are still far too suspicious for his liking.
And yet, the tribe’s hungry. And irrational. I could see them getting upset at me for rejecting this offer. Although … if there’s a reason beyond my control, then they can’t blame me.
Grak thinks quickly. “Ah, well, I believe we have something else planned for tonight. We’re pretty busy much of the time. Usually need several days’ notice to adjust for something as time-consuming as a feast.”
Frolan shakes his head eagerly. “Oh, no, there’s nothing planned. Not for the tribe at least. You had me schedule a foot rub, but that shouldn’t take long. We could easily attend the feast.”
Grak leans in to the brute and whispers a reply, once again oblivious to his limits with that skill. “I cleared my schedule for the purpose of relaxing! And this feast won’t be a relaxing event. I’ll thank you not to volunteer me for such idiocy in the future!”
Grak dons a pleasant facade and turns back to the strangers. “Actually, I just remembered something else. We’re quite low on meat at the moment. Dangerously low, in fact. Certainly can’t spare anything for a feast right now. So we’ll have to decline. I hope you understand.”
Dernue waves dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry! Like I said, we have plenty. We can provide enough meat for both tribes. Would your people be able to bring fruits? Perhaps some olives? Those are always a treat.”
Frolan leans in and whispers, “Brak says we’ll need our olives if we’re to survive the winter.”
Grak nods to the brute, then turns back to the strangers. “No, sorry. None of those either. It’s a shame, though. That would have been great. Maybe next feast.”
“Oh, well don’t let that stop you from joining us.” Dernue seems overly eager. “We can provide olives too.”
Grak is out of ideas. “Oh, so good … I’m glad this is all working out … Nothing’s stopping it … Good …”
Kunthar grins. “Wonderful! Then we’ll see you at dusk. Well then, if you’ll excuse us. We need to go prepare.”
With that, he gives quick directions for finding their camp, and the strangers head back toward the tree line.
Once Grak is certain they’re out of earshot, he checks his shadow. “Not enough time left if we’re to gather the tribe for a feast. I suppose that’s the end of our lessons for the day.”
At least the strangers are helping me get out of that. Which gives me a chance to think up more strategies. Or excuses. Whichever comes to mind first, I suppose.
Grak claps his hands together. “Alright, let’s be off then.” He turns to Jafra and gestures toward the deer. “Well?”
She silently picks it up, and the team starts for home.
“That was pleasant,” says Frolan.
Grak shrugs. “I’m not so sure. I still wonder if they were actually hunting.”
Frolan grows confused. “What? What do you mean?”
“Just think. They were a bit too slow to respond when I asked about it. And really, we don’t know where they got their kills. What if they keep a supply of animal corpses on hand for deceiving unsuspecting strangers?
“Might have been after our supplies, for all we know. They were awfully quick to invite us back for a ‘feast,’ after all. It’s possible they just go around tricking other tribes like that. Then they invite them to a meal and kill them.”
Frolan’s face shows astonishment. “Wow, that’s a pretty smart trick.”
Grak shrugs. “Sure, I suppose. But it takes a smarter mind to see through it.”
“Well, good thing we have you, Grak.” Frolan suddenly grows confused again. “So, how do you suppose they keep the dead animals looking like fresh kills?”
Grak thinks on that one for a moment. “I don’t know. Perhaps the trick is so elaborate that they make fresh kills before beginning the day’s treachery.”
“Oh.” Frolan ponders the answer. “So then why wouldn’t they just live off of those kills? They wouldn’t need to take our supplies.”
Grak hadn’t considered that aspect. “Good. You’re starting to think for yourself. That was a test. You’re learning.
“And you’re right. It would make more sense that they’re telling the truth.” Grak thinks on it further. “But we should still be careful. Just in case. We should go to the feast armed.”