in tenebris est veritas.
They had hoped to witness some instinct to hide, to stalk, to harness some skill that might aid in a young hunt. But this injured bird proves to be even more of a fledgling than she initially seemed to be, leaving Chaele to do the deed with haste and without complaint.
Zamara’s questions are answered by the silent unclasping of the shaman’s cloak and the careful steps that carry them toward and past her. Chaele uses the soft tufts of grass within the slick mud to quiet their progress until they are about a man’s length away; the knife is outstretched warily ahead, beside an empty hand that reaches just as far. Once they are close enough, the carved runes on their forearms seem to deepen with dark shadows, which rise like ink in water from their flesh and snake through the air toward the unwitting animal.
It sees the magic in its periphery, but by then it is too late. The squeal of surprise subsides into an enervated groan as its knees buckle and its hooves slip in the riverbank, its life force dispersed into exhaustion and entropy. Then the huntress descends, straddling the faltering creature and opening its neck in a single, practiced movement. A curtain of blood pools in the water before Chaele manages to pull the fresh corpse further ashore, muttering.
“I take this life from the land, that it might nourish and aid me, as I nourish and aid the land. May its spirit join the spirits of the land, that it might guide and protect me, as I guide and protect the land. Life to earth and earth to life. So is the circle drawn.”
They wet one hand in the warm blood, drawing a grooved circle around the space where the boar gave its life. Then they grasp their own neck, painting it in reverence, before turning the animal on its back. Standing, they turn toward Zamara in quiet triumph. “Can you help me carry it? My camp is not far.”
Zamara’s questions are answered by the silent unclasping of the shaman’s cloak and the careful steps that carry them toward and past her. Chaele uses the soft tufts of grass within the slick mud to quiet their progress until they are about a man’s length away; the knife is outstretched warily ahead, beside an empty hand that reaches just as far. Once they are close enough, the carved runes on their forearms seem to deepen with dark shadows, which rise like ink in water from their flesh and snake through the air toward the unwitting animal.
It sees the magic in its periphery, but by then it is too late. The squeal of surprise subsides into an enervated groan as its knees buckle and its hooves slip in the riverbank, its life force dispersed into exhaustion and entropy. Then the huntress descends, straddling the faltering creature and opening its neck in a single, practiced movement. A curtain of blood pools in the water before Chaele manages to pull the fresh corpse further ashore, muttering.
“I take this life from the land, that it might nourish and aid me, as I nourish and aid the land. May its spirit join the spirits of the land, that it might guide and protect me, as I guide and protect the land. Life to earth and earth to life. So is the circle drawn.”
They wet one hand in the warm blood, drawing a grooved circle around the space where the boar gave its life. Then they grasp their own neck, painting it in reverence, before turning the animal on its back. Standing, they turn toward Zamara in quiet triumph. “Can you help me carry it? My camp is not far.”
