It seemed that day turned to night in an instant as Konta entered the undergrowth of the Willow. The thickness of the foliage was unnerving to him, for even after his eyes adjusted to the lack of light he couldn't see anything moving in the thick of the branches overhead. The ground was muddy and reeked of blood, and though he couldn't be certain in the darkness, Konta was fairly sure he could make out several shapeless lumps around the base of the trunk: undoubtedly the remains of the Ravagers' last meals.
The sound of the rain had been muffled by the thick canopy, but that silence was broken quickly as a shrill cry rang out just in front of Konta. Something had dropped on Zanzu's back, and thus had the misfortune of landing directly on the arm's length blades that made up Zanzu's Razorback Mammoth pelt. The poor beast writhed around in agony, which only caused it to lacerate itself further before finally succumbing to its wounds.
The branches overhead began to shake, and Konta was just barely able to leap out of the way as several more Ravagers landed where he had been only seconds ago. Before they could regain their composure, Konta brought his great hammer round and swung it square into the middle of the bunch. He could feel as the force of the hammer's weight plowed through the tight knit group, the sound of snapping bones filling him with a rush of adrenaline.
He could hear the angry cries of the Ravagers all around him, but Konta knew at this point that numbers were just about the only advantage these creatures had. The three or four he had smashed with the hammer hadn't so much as twitched after their brief exchange. As another fell down only to be sidestepped and subsequently pummeled with Konta's special weapon, his confidence began to well up as he actively looked around for new targets to tackle.
Zanzu and Bren were having little trouble with their assailants, as Bren efficiently struck down one Ravager after another with his spear and Zanzu simply ripped them apart with his bare hands. Konta was half-musing which were more vicious between Zanzu and the Ravagers when there rose a great yelp that was all too distinct: a human cry.
Faygo had been pounced on by a lone Ravager, which clasped onto his neck with its hand-like feet and was raining blows down with its free arms. The attacks didn't seem to hurt Faygo much, but as he struggled to pull the Ravager off, about half a dozen more saw this moment of weakness and instantly focused their attention on him, leeching on and biting or clawing with their long dirty nails savagely. Even as he shouted out in dismay, Faygo reached to the mouth of his pelt and pulled the jaw of it down.
Konta had been present on the hunt for the Triceraboar that Faygo killed to get his pelt. While the piggish beast was large and muscular, its most prominent defense mechanism was a set of three bony spikes on its head that, at a glance, appear to be horns. It was only after the creature was killed and brought back to the tribe that they discovered that these horns were actually three long fangs that protruded through its skull- one near the front of its mouth that went through its nose, with the other two situated near the back of its mouth that emerged from atop its skull. This strange property gave a number of advantages for the creature, for by keeping its mouth closed it could gore prey on its snout, and by unhinging its jaw and opening wide it could extend the rear teeth from its crown suddenly for a deathblow.
This property had been preserved when the tribeswomen crafted the Triceraboar into a pelt for Faygo, and now the great fangs of the beast shot out from near his shoulders, striking and killing two Ravagers that had just been clamoring on top of him. Zanzu had already seen Faygo's distress and strode over in two steps, using his absurdly strong fingers to pry away the firm grip of the beasts, breaking their fingers in the process. Even injured as he was, Faygo wasted not a second in delivering the finishing strike to each one in turn with his knife.
The battle only lasted a couple minutes, as the final attacking Ravager was thrown by Bren unceremoniously into a heap the hunters had created. Faygo had been seriously injured, and was set at the base of the tree to rest while Konta, Zanzu, and Bren surrounded him for protection. After a few minutes of tense waiting to see if any more descended from the treetop, Konta peeked from underneath the curtain of leaves and signaled for Bobo to do the last part of his job.
The scout unfolded the wings of his Fruit Bat pelt and took to the sky, circling around the tree in great arcs while making the distinct clicks that the airborne predator normally made. Sure enough, his mimicking of the Fruit Bat drove the remaining Ravagers that were hiding high in the Willow's canopy to climb to the ground as they sought shelter from an attack, which made for easy cleaning up by the hunters awaiting them below.
It was only after they had finished piling up the last of the carcasses that they turned to assess the extent of Faygo's injury. It was far worse than they had expected: great chunks of his legs had been taken out by the shredding bites of the Ravagers, and heavy purple blotches were forming under the skin where he had been struck countless times, suggesting bad internal bleeding. His right ear had been ripped off, several teeth were missing, and his left arm was twisted at a terrible angle. With such heavy injuries, it was unlikely he would ever be able to hunt again, even if he managed to heal.
Zanzu motioned for Konta and Bren to go with Bobo and bring the tribe back, while he remained behind with Faygo to tend to his wounds. Konta felt terrible, unable to shake the feeling that he should have protected his friend better. They had been hunting partners since the day they started learning to hunt, and though Faygo often acted unruly and arrogant, he had always been a good hunter and a loyal friend. Still, the security of the tribe had to come above all else, and so Konta hesitantly left the shade of the Weeping Willow to recover his people.
Several hours later the tribe had packed itself up again and had made the slow, arduously careful journey to where the Weeping Willow stood. Bren had moved ahead and was waiting at the edge of the canopy, signaling that it was still secure and ready to be moved into.
As the tribe began to filter in, Konta rushed to the trunk to see Faygo's condition. Zanzu was standing over the injured warrior with a slight smirk, but before Konta could wonder why, he looked down and was beyond astonished to see that there was no injured warrior there. Faygo was still resting on the ground, but miraculously all of his wounds had disappeared: even his missing ear and the large bites missing from his legs had returned, all in the span of a couple hours. Konta shook his head, completely confused as to how such a feat could be accomplished. When he looked to Zanzu, who had clearly noticed his bewilderment, the massive Head Hunter shook his head and walked past Konta, clapping him on the shoulder in a brotherly manner as he left. The message was clear to Konta: Zanzu knew what had happened, but it wasn't something he had to worry about.
The tribeswomen had already gotten to work securing the tree for encampment throughout Autumn, a task that would put to use that pile of Ravager bodies the hunters had secured. They had already taken a couple of them and slit them open throat to sternum, draining their blood as efficiently as they could into large gourds which they then handed to Tamto. The scout, being well versed in navigating trees, scampered up to the top as naturally as a Ravager might have, and proceeded to empty the gourd of blood all over the leaves, doing his best to coat the entirety of the tree. This imitation of the Ravagers' territory markings would ward off a large number of predators who might have otherwise tried to take refuge in the tree as well. Combined with the thick foliage overhead and the easily covered perimeter naturally created by the drooping leaves, the Willow would make as close to an ideal settling spot as any that could be found to wait out the rains of Autumn.
That night, as the tribe celebrated another quiet Settling around the fire they had built (now safely left out in the open, as the smoke was dispersed as it traveled through the network of branches and leaves overhead), Konta couldn't take his mind off of the impossible healing Faygo had undergone as he watched the newly invigorated hunter showing off some knife flipping techniques shamelessly for a number of yet to be paired young females. Was it
something Zanzu had done, or perhaps some innate power of the Triceraboar pelt that Faygo had that only he knew about?
His mind reeled with questions, to the point that he was only awakened from his stupor after a brisk shaking from Kontala, who was wearing such a look of concern that it made Konta ashamed to have been bothered so deeply as to worry her. He decided that the best idea was to shrug off his confusion, and be content with his friend being alright, and the hunt successfully securing a place for his tribe to get some well-earned rest. The answers, he figured, would come in time.
The Filament Beetle
Getting a day of rest was a rare reward that was not taken lightly to the hunters of Konta's tribe. Constant vigilance was required on everyone's part to ensure the safety of the people, but at the same time, the chief understood the merits of a well-rested and healthy hunter. Earning a day of rest usually involved completing a particularly harrowing hunting expedition, though each hunter eventually, no matter how small their contribution, would be allowed to take time to recuperate.
Konta hadn't been given a day of rest in some time, and so when he awoke the morning after the battle with the Ravagers only to have Murg pull the pelt off his shoulders and place it in his arms- the chief's signal to take a rest from hunting for a day- Konta met it with an inward sigh of relief. As dedicated as Konta was to the protection of the village, even he appreciated the odd day off to be with his mate and take care of small personal matters.
As he washed up in the communal basin, he felt something gently press against his lower back. With a wry grin, he turned to find his dear Kontala, having just risen from sleeping. He swept her into a gentle embrace with arms forged from years of backbreaking labor, reveling in the softness of her wild hair as it brushed against him. She beamed at his youthful excitement, running her fingers through the tangled mess of black that was Konta's hair. The sensation sent a pleasant chill down Konta's spine, and at that moment he didn't care that he was drawing awkward stares from the other hunters or that the tribeswomen were silently chuckling to themselves. He had been spending a lot of time out on the hunt recently, and other than when they slept he had barely gotten to be with Kontala: he was going to revel in every second of their time together.
As he stood there in her embrace, he felt a couple faint kicks from her belly. Their child was becoming more active, it seemed, and Konta knew it wouldn't be long before his baby would be born into this world. He mused upon the gender of his child, as he so often found himself doing, while he wandered arm in arm with Kontala over to where breakfast was being prepared. Of course having a girl would be great for the tribe; the number of girls being born was slowly declining, and at the same time the number of women who could bear children was starting to decrease. Without more tribeswomen being born, there'd be no one to teach the intricate arts handed down solely to the females that allowed the tribe to live as they do, to say nothing of the tribe losing its ability to procreate.
Even so, Konta was hoping to have a young son. It was the one thing he had hoped for, ever since he was a young man being taught the ways of hunting by his own father: to have a boy whom he would teach all his hunting skill to someday, so that he could become a great hunter in his own right and help usher in further prosperity for the tribe.
Konta had been so absorbed in thought that he hadn't even realized he had grabbed some food and was already eating. By the time he snapped out of his stupor, the platter he had been eating off of was already picked clean, and it dawned on him that he had simply been staring off into space, lost in thought for several minutes. He knew full well that being lost in thought was not something that hunters usually did, and the number of people who had been staring at him awkwardly had only increased from the communal basin. Feeling a bit embarrassed, Konta quickly scrubbed his dish clean in the bathing water and returned it, deciding to busy himself lest he waste his precious free time.
Some of the younger ones had been set to the task of keeping the Weeping Willow they camped under coated with the blood of the Ravagers they had stockpiled, a task that would help them build the strength they needed if they ever hoped to survive the seasons to come. Konta watched for a short time as two different groups of young men- both of which seemed to be competing with each other- used two different methods of carrying the blood to the top of the tree where it would be dispersed.
One group each took a gourd and filled them with their cargo, and then climbed as a group up to the top and deposited it on the outside leaves. Meanwhile, the other group was taking an entire Ravager body to the top to disperse its contents. Konta watched in amusement as one fledgling climbed the tree and had his partner hand him the carcass, at which point the second boy would climb to a point higher than the first and take hold of the corpse once up there, allowing the first boy to climb even higher and repeat the process.
Konta was impressed with both methods, as they each strengthened different skills that would become invaluable later in life. The first method was less strenuous but required multiple trips to empty the entire contents of the body, pushing the fledglings to move nimbly and wisely to find the shortest route up and down the tree, whereas the second method took only one trip but required great strength and stamina to constantly hoist the heavy body higher into the canopy, and constant awareness of their surroundings to make sure the branch they were on didn't give out from the weight or the Ravager body didn't get snagged on something.
Feeling a little boisterous at the sight of the competition, Konta walked to the pile of Ravager bodies and slung one over his shoulder effortlessly. For the young men, its weight was fairly considerable, but to Konta such a small creature was so light he hardly even noticed. Then, with the skill borne from a lifetime of training and life-or-death situations, Konta scampered up the trees with as much grace and foresight as the Ravager he was now carrying once had. In seconds he had passed up both groups and stood at the highest branch, giving a teasing grin to the fledglings below as he waved the Ravager above them as if it were weightless.
As he sat at the top, egging on the groups to strive harder simply with his presence, he noticed the faint odor coming off the dead Ravager in his hand. Even though it was so faint that it was almost imperceptible, it was a scent that Konta was well acquainted with: the stench of death. Already the Ravagers they had saved were beginning to decompose, and before long that precious supply of blood they carried would go just as bad. Autumn had just barely begun, but their greatest safeguard against potential predators would soon be unusable, yet he had no clue as to how the tribe had handled such affairs in the past. Even though Konta knew there were ways to preserve such things, he had only gained his notoriety as a skilled hunter a few seasons ago, and was still learning the inner machinations of how the tribe dealt with these problems. In the back of his mind, he hoped such a plan was in motion now.
After emptying the crimson contents of his carrion over the leaves, only lingering enough to make sure they thoroughly spread across the tree, Konta hustled back down the Willow as easily as he had climbed it, leaving the fledglings in awe of his dexterity. He tossed the emptied Ravager corpse in a different pile that had been erected, where they would be used for food later on. As he walked back towards his tent, thinking to spend time honing his weaponry some, Konta felt a powerful pressure on the back of his neck.
He turned his head, startled, only to realize that it was Zanzu, the Head Hunter of the tribe. Konta had never taken a close look at the behemoth that was Zanzu, but now that he was looking directly into the massive man's eyes he realized for the first time how startlingly cold and blue they were and how emotionless his expression was, though it was hard to read through the scruffy beard the giant hunter wore.
More intimidating than his stare, though, was the lack of scars on his body. Most every hunter who had a pelt bore some trophy from their past hunts; even Konta bore a few, not the least of which was a massive jagged one that crossed his chest- one that he got from his encounter with the Obs
idian Panther. Looking so closely at Zanzu, Konta couldn't make out a single line or blemish that looked like a former battle wound. It seemed unreal that a hunter as distinguished as Zanzu, who had slain a Razorback Mammoth, could not have even one scar visible on himself.
As the two hunters locked gazes for a moment, Zanzu's beard crinkled the slightest bit as if he were smirking, then gave a firm push and began to lead Konta by the scruff. Konta wasn't quite sure what was going on, but there was no way he could struggle against the giant. It was the first time he had experienced Zanzu's strength personally, and the overwhelming power he felt pulsing through the Head Hunter's grip made him momentarily flash back to the Tortoasise. Never before had Konta felt so nervous simply being in the presence of a fellow clansman.
Oddly enough, Konta found himself being led back to his own tent, where he had been going in the first place. Zanzu didn't let go when they got to the entrance, though, and instead continued to push Konta all the way to his bedding. He finally released his hold, and with a firm gesture motioned for Konta to go to sleep. It aggravated Konta to be commanded to rest in the same manner that the children were treated, but he wasn't about to protest against the man who had just proven to him firsthand that, so he chose, he could snap Konta's neck with a flick of his wrist. So Konta complied, and once satisfied, Zanzu left the tent in a hurry.
Konta lay there for a few minutes, mulling over this strange behavior, when Kontala entered carrying a small cup with something steaming in it. He looked over the contents of the cup as she pushed it into his hands, a strange bluish mixture that he had never seen before, but though he was wary to drink something as mysterious as this, one imploring look from his mate was all it took for him to down it in a single swig. It was only mildly warm, which made him worry about why it had been steaming so much, but just moments after finishing the liquid a powerful sleepiness overtook him. His sight began to blur and his head started to spin, but he could tell that Kontala expected this to happen, as she softly brushed his hair and planted a small kiss on his forehead before leaving the tent.
Against All Instinct Page 7