Two sharp taps on his shoulder drove him from his thoughts, turning his head to see that Grim was now beside him. Grim was a man who had only lived through a couple years more than Konta, but his experience spoke volumes more than that. Like Konta, he had yet to receive a bracelet acknowledging the chief's favor, which was something that baffled the former; of all the hunters aside from Zanzu, Grim usually returned with the best catches when he went on hunts, and with the fewest injuries.
Konta watched as Grim stood there, eyeing him oddly for a few moments. The latter ran his hand through his short brown hair, kept clean and even with a flint knife. In comparison, Konta's hair ran wild and tangled, completely unkempt, though he hardly cared considering it was usually hidden under his Obsidian Panther cowl. The gesture Grim was making made him look oddly young, Konta found that somewhat funny, considering how old he felt at that moment.
After a strange interlude of the two standing and doing nothing, Grim put an arm around Konta in what seemed to be almost a comforting gesture. Konta allowed himself to be led by the hunter to another tent, which he assumed was Grim's. Sure enough, stepping through the flap brought him face to face with Grimzi, the girl Konta had helped cure of Desert Flower poisoning during Summer. She greeted Konta with a hug that could have been mistaken for a tackle, almost completely taking him off-guard. Grimzi's face beamed and she almost laughed, only stopping when Grim shot her a reprimanding look.
It was now that Konta noticed that most of his things had already been placed inside Grim's tent. He worried how cramped the tepee might end up becoming when Grima was also taken into account, but then Konta remembered that Grima was one of the tribeswomen tending to Kontala. With an insistent gesture from Grim, Konta reluctantly lay himself down on the bedroll set out for him.
If he hadn't been so weary, he would've worried about the perils of the months to come, exposed as the tribe was with no chance to relocate. He would've worried about the health of Kontala and his child, hoping that they would be able to survive the hardships of Winter. He would've mused on the unexpected kindness of Grim, a hunter whom he rarely spent time with, perhaps seeing this kindness as a form of repayment for helping Grimzi. There were a hundred things he would've thought on, but instead he slept a deep sleep, devoid of dreams and nightmares. Those would come soon enough with day's break.
The Blight Mare
Winter was a time of radical changes for the tribe, in terms of the way they functioned from day to day. It wasn't enough to take the normal precautionary measures and hope that it was enough. For the beasts that thrived in the unforgiving wrath of Winter's cold, the tribe would be like a bountiful harvest if they were caught unaware. Guard duty had to be tripled, sleep was kept to the barest of minimums, and hardly any hunting parties were sent to scavenge for food. These measures were even more crucial now that their safety had been compromised from being forced to camp in a sub-par location, with Kontala's unexpected labor.
If any blessings could be counted amongst the list of hardships facing the tribe, they had already secured a sizable surplus of food over the past year, especially during the Autumn that had just gone. With stores of preserved Fruit Bat and jerked Kogyu Cow already set aside, there was no shortage of provisions to help them weather through the tough weeks that were to come.
For Konta, Wintertime also marked a larger change in his daily routine. Of course, this time of year brought with it continuous snowstorms, blanketing the ground and making everything almost blindingly white. This was an obvious disadvantage for him, who wore the pelt of the Obsidian Panther- a creature with jet black fur. Trying to hunt during the day would make Konta stick out against the landscape dangerously, all but announcing his presence to any predator in sight. Sure, he could technically hunt without the pelt on, but besides losing the benefits of the Obsidian Panther pelt- the extra claws as a backup weapon and the tough fur for protection- a hunter who abandoned wearing his pelt was seen as being incapable of adapting to situations, and looked down upon for it. Even if it was mostly social dogma, it was so deeply ingrained in Konta's behavior from his life of growing up with the tribe that he would rather radically change his hunting strategy than be without his coat. So, during Winter, Konta changed his role in the tribe to a scout, using the cover of darkness to more effectively hide himself in the wild on the rare occasions that he had to leave the village.
Despite suddenly changing his role amongst his people, at this point there would be little reason for him to leave the village. He would be needed to help keep watch and there was no need to hunt for food with the stores they had, which meant mostly his change in routine involved sleeping through the day and guarding through the night. With Kontala still cloistered within the birthing tent, Konta didn't have anyone to tend to as he had these last several seasons, so his days and nights passed by uneventfully as he awoke when the clouds in the sky began to darken more, and didn't retire until well after light began to try and stream through the overcast sky.
So it was with a bit of a shock one day that Konta, trying to sleep as best he could, felt a small nudge at his foot. Normally, a tribesman who was trying to rouse him from sleep would do so with two sharp taps on the shoulder, so the unfamiliar sensation made him bolt awake immediately and reach for the hunting knife he kept close just in case. He shot upright with weapon poised to see a long snout poking curiously at his feet. The creature lifted his head, letting out a soft snort in surprise at the sudden movement. It eyed Konta warily with large, watery eyes, and now Konta could more clearly see its shimmering white short haired coat and realized that he had been roused by a Blight Mare.
Konta's heart skipped a beat, and he hastened out of his bedding and into several layers of clothing as quickly as he could. He tossed his pelt on his head on to finish before leaving the warmth of the tent to better assess the situation. Sure enough, the first thing that greeted his sight as he slipped carefully past the beast at the mouth of his shelter were several more Blight Mares shuffling about the campsite, walking from tent to tent at a leisurely pace.
Blight Mares were one of the few species Konta knew of that didn't eat living creatures. In that way, they were considerably less dangerous than most other beasts when encountered abroad. There was no threat of being attacked by them unless they were provoked; Blight Mares were scavengers by nature. However, this fact was cold comfort when coupled with the fact that the creatures were also extremely voracious in their eating habits- herds of Blight Mares were usually very large, and needed a lot of food to support their numbers. Their highly sensitive sense of smell allowed them to find potential food sources from miles away, and once they got the scent of a meal there was little that could stop them.
It was no surprise, then, that they would be able to smell the tribe's provisions and find the camp. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the tribe, but it was also normally more easily managed when the tribe was firmly tucked within its usual mountain crevice and able to drive away a herd before it could try to squeeze into their village. Exposed in the open as they were, though, there was no way to stop the Blight Mares from simply trotting in and ravaging their campsite. The strong odor of the Formaldehydra blood they had placed down wouldn't be able to mask their presence to the Blight Mare's nose. Konta inwardly cursed at their lack of Desert Squunck musk, which would've been far more effective than the blood if they hadn't already wasted the last of it during Spring.
Other hunters had already met in the center of the village, where a large fire sat burning under the tribe's Sponge Whale tarp. Two hunters stood outside the covering with sticks, making sure to constantly knock the snow that fell incessantly on the tarp so that it didn't melt and eventually drip onto the fire. The others stood or squatted around the open flame, some of them staring sternly into the fire while others looked out with dark expressions at the numerous animals lolling around the village. Konta could relate to their feelings, as this situation was one that was both dire and difficult to solve.
Whether or not the Blight Mares would attack them at the moment wasn't the concern, but rather the question of how to evacuate them from the campsite. The Blight Mares wouldn't leave on their own account until they had consumed everything in the area that they found edible, which of course would be all the provisions the tribe had collected for the season- even with their stores buried in the snow as they were, it wouldn't take the invaders long to sniff out their caches. Trying to chase the beasts off with force was a dangerous gamble: the Blight Mares might strike back if threatened, and they were known to kick with enough strength to crack stone. Even worse, they would most certainly begin to cry out to warn their herd, which would give away their position to any nearby predators instantly. To top things off, even if the herd did leave, their ensuing stampede would trample everything underfoot without mercy.
Still, the tribe couldn't leave things as they were, or they'd be picked clean of food and would have to resort to hunting during Winter, a prospect that would put the hunters in great danger and would run the risk of not being able to forage enough food for the tribe to make it through the season. There was almost no chance of getting rid of the Blight Mares without running one of the risks they had already considered, but there was no time to consider what would be the best course of action- something had to be done now.
Konta was tired and exasperated from both lack of sleep and the weight of the worries on his shoulder regarding his mate and child. With the stress of the task in front of them he could feel himself nearing a breaking point. More than anything, though, he was sick of the helplessness he felt from the days and nights of simply staying hunkered down in the village, waiting for a threat to strike his people. At that moment he decided that he had stood around passively long enough: if nobody else had an idea, he'd take it into his own hands.
Near the edge of the awning stood Zanzu, his brow furrowed in thought as he likely mused over the same things Konta had just been thinking of. Konta approached him and gave him a couple taps on the shoulder, drawing the giant man's attention. With only a few curt gestures, Konta motioned to the tribesmen around them and then towards the wall of the cliff, near the birthing tent where Kontala lay. Zanzu looked him in the eye for a moment, and though the Head Hunter would normally never take such rough commands from another hunter, something in Konta's visage must have convinced him. He quickly grabbed the attention of the other hunters underneath the tarp and motioned for them to group up where Konta had suggested. Meanwhile, Konta had already started to rush around the campsite, pointing every tribesman and tribeswoman he could find towards the same area. Zanzu took the hint and followed suit, and in short order the two had managed to corral the whole tribe into the area. Murg was the last to arrive, a look of confusion on his face as to what was about to happen.
While Konta had been scrambling around the camp, he had also been on the lookout for something crucial to his plan. It didn't take long to find, but he had to make sure that everyone was in place before he could move things into action; things were about to get very chaotic.
Once he was sure everyone had been accounted for, as confirmed by Zanzu, Konta rushed a short distance off towards a specific Blight Mare he had found. This one was clearly distinct from the others, as it was crossed with scars and sported a long, thick mane down its head and across its back. It stood a good head taller than the rest, and was visibly much more muscular: a Blight Mare stallion.
Oftentimes during past Winters, it had been Konta's job to do reconnaissance hunts in order to gain an experience and knowledge in a time before he had earned his pelt. One of these vital jobs had been to chase off herds of Blight Mares if they strayed uncomfortably close to their settlements. The one thing that stuck out more than anything in Konta's mind from those hunts was the formation that the herd took when on the move: one lone, powerful creature leading sometimes over a hundred of its kind in a great stampede that threatened anything in its path. For all the Blight Mares that Konta had seen, never did he see more than one stallion in any given herd, and he had witnessed firsthand that this one stallion was the pivotal member of their societies. It wasn't difficult for Konta to understand why: when almost all of the herd was a single gender, the only way to continue propagating was to protect and rally behind the few instances of the opposite sex that were available.
Now that lynchpin to the survival of the Blight Mares' herd ambled just ahead of Konta, its nose intently sniffing for anything it could eat in the camp. The animals obviously had little contact with humans, to be so fearless with so many of them in the immediate area. It was an advantage that Konta knew he would only be able to exploit once, and he wasn't about to waste that chance.
Konta approached as cautiously as he could, not wanting to frighten the creature or provoke it into lashing out at him. He was within arm's reach of the beast when suddenly Konta lunged into the air and landed sprawling onto the stallion's back.
Instantly the Blight Mare stallion reacted, rearing onto its hind legs and neighing loudly. The heads of dozens of Blight Mares rose and turned in the direction of the sound, now aware that something had threatened their otherwise peaceful grazing. Konta meanwhile was struggling to keep his grip on the beast, knowing that the moment he was cast from its back, he would be trampled mercilessly beneath its hooves. Instead, he clutched and pulled desperately at its mane, further enraging the beast as it began to buck back and forth in an attempt to rid itself of its attacker.
Somehow Konta managed to cling on long enough to tire the creature to the point that it had to stop struggling for a moment. It was all the moment Konta needed to swing himself upright onto its back. Now straddling the beast, he pulled his feet back and kicked his toes into the stallion's underside. Normally such an awkward kick shouldn't have meant much to such a brawny creature, but before he had jumped the stallion, Konta had slipped the leggings of his pelt onto his feet, complete with the finger length claws that protruded from its pads. As the dagger-like instruments dug into the Blight Mare stallion's flesh, it let out a braying cry of pain and, realizing the danger it was in, took off at a blinding speed in an attempt to both throw off Konta and put as much distance between itself and the threat of the humans as possible.
In the precarious position he was in, Konta didn't dare loosen his grip for a moment to look behind him, but in the end it wasn't necessary, as even with the thick snow blanketing the ground he could hear the sound of hundreds of hooves as they began to pound the ground together in unison. The Blight Mares were following their stud's lead, even if it meant leaving such a plentiful food supply behind. Likely they were trampling tents underneath as they moved, but Konta could at least breathe a sigh of relief knowing that all the tribesmen were safe against the wall of the cliff. Now he had just one problem to deal with: how to escape with his own life.
Being scavengers as they were, Blight Mares could never go head to head with the terrible carnivores that hunted during Winter, so the only other option when encountering these creatures was to run, and they were amply capable of this. Their long, powerful legs propelled them through the snow banks, kicking up a huge cloud of frost as they thundered onward. Konta knew that if he were to try and jump off now, he'd undoubtedly be trampled by the innumerable Blight Mares following close behind their stallion leader, but he also knew he couldn't hold on for much longer, and every moment he remained on the horse he was being pulled further and further from his village with only the flint knife strapped to his side and the claws on his pelt to protect himself on the trek back.
There was a sudden burst of snow to Konta's right, followed by a bellowing roar. The Blight Mare stallion startled and made a wild and sudden turn that Konta wasn't ready for. He toppled off, thankfully cushioned by the snow as he rolled a short distance and finally came to a stop. He instinctively winced, preparing for the pounding hooves to pummel him to death, but after a few seconds passed without event, he braved a glance around and saw the herd swerving sharply, still following their leader's charge with
out so much as a glance at him.
It was then that Konta also saw what had erupted so unexpectedly from the snow: a Polaroar, a giant bear that, like many other predators, claimed Winter as its hunting grounds. The massive carnivore was hot on the heels of the charging Blight Mares. One of the horses turned too quickly as it tried desperately to escape and slipped, falling on its side. The Polaroar was on it instantly with razor sharp teeth and claws, its immense strength crushing its prey's bones with every swipe of its powerful forelegs. The Blight Mare barely had time to cry out in terror before it was silenced, flesh being ripped from bone as the great bear wasted no time in beginning its feast.
Konta had already pulled his Obsidian Panther pelt from his shoulders and flipped it inside out, stowing it safely inside his wraps in a desperate attempt to make himself as invisible as possible. He had to make his next move slowly and carefully, for drawing the attention of this predator would be the end; he'd have no chance of outrunning a Polaroar, and the weapons he had on him were woefully inadequate for defending himself against such a monster.
As Konta slowly crawled away on his belly, doing his best to ignore the biting cold and avoid cutting himself on the claws of his pelt that were pressed uncomfortably close to him, a terrible sound rang through the air: a high-pitched howl that seemed to continue lingering long after it had stopped. It was the sound of a White Wolf.
If the Razorback Mammoth was considered the king of Winter, then the White Wolf was surely the prince. It was a creature of ferocious grace and cunning, hunting in tightly knit packs that together rivaled all but the most brutally efficient predators. Few beasts would try to take on a White Wolf, as there was no such thing as finding one on its own: for any one Wolf seen, there was sure to be a group somewhere nearby, waiting to strike.
Though the howl had been a distance off, there was every chance that the Wolf in question had been calling to its comrades near Konta's location. The Polaroar hadn't missed the call either, its head turning sharply as it looked for any impending danger. Nothing had crept into sight yet, but no creature was stupid enough to wait around to see whether or not a pack was on its tail. With a grunt of irritation, the Polaroar stood and loped away, leaving its hard earned meal to likely be stolen by the White Wolf pack. In the end, it was better to sacrifice a meal in hopes that it would distract a predator than to try and take the prey along and weigh itself down.
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