R
ReaperOfFlames
Guest
A singular buck stood in the middle of a forest clearing, its large, forked antlers glinting with dew in the morning light as it gnawed idly on a piece of grass it had found amid the snow covered ground. A small rustle came from its side and as someone had cut loose a rubber band, its head snapped up out of reflex, its wide eyes surveying the environment for any signs of danger as it moved slightly, getting ready to run at the first sign of danger.
Unfortunately, it never saw that danger coming.
An arrow whistled out of the trees from a direction it hadn't considered and struck it cleanly through the neck, severing its spinal cord in a spray of crimson blood that flecked the snow around it. The beast gave a final gasp of air before all bodily functions ceased and it hit the ground with a large thud; its death had been all but painless, having come too swiftly and being struck too well to give anything more than a moment of temporary discomfort before it peacefully passed on.
Castigarian stood from his kneeling position and put a hand to his forehead, muttering a quick prayer under his breath for the soul of the animal he'd slain before he motioned for Vrein to follow him as they made their way over to the corpse.
"What's with the prayer?" Vrein asked as Castigarian pulled forth his knife, setting about the task of gutting and skinning his kill. "T'prayer?" the hunter grunted questioningly as he carved through the buck's stomach, sending the innards spilling out onto the ground, the heat of life still fresh in them as it caused a thick steam to rise in the air; "That prayer when you kill things, why?"
Castigarian gave a small nod of acknowledgement as he cut away what organs remained attached to the inside of his kill and wrapped a rope around its legs, easily tossing the other end over the branch of an overhanging tree as he stood, hoisting it up into the air as he allowed the blood to let from the carcass. "Is'a thing o'respect. This 'ere buck had a life o'its own, mebeh even a family. Even if it were necessary, t'least I can do is wish it well in'ta t'afterlife."
Vrein showed no outwards feelings on the explanation, simply folding his arms across his chest and nodding slightly as Castigarian set about skinning the animal of its pelt and snapping off its antlers.
It had been a week and a half since the group had begun riding for Tavark, and with the layout of the land having become more and more familiar, Castigarian estimated that it wouldn't take much more than a few more days, three at most, to reach the town where he was born. He wondered, sometimes to himself, others to Vrein, how the town had fared in his absence and during all this business with magical storms and the like. It was a town firmly rooted in its community and its residents were incredibly stalwart...but when it came to the likes of magic and mysticism, the hunter had no way of knowing how well Tavark could have stood against that.
To waylay his anxiety, Castigarian had taken up teaching his smith friend the ways of the bow and arrow; and surprisingly enough, even with a crystallized hand, Vrein took to his lessons with a high degree of aptitude. After only 5 days he'd learned how to shoot well enough to hit his targets dead on, and was even beginning to incorporate moving targets into his training; it was enough to make the kindly giant proud of how quickly someone could come along with his guidance and whenever Vrein had a question on breathing or how to steady his hand better, Castigarian was all too happy to offer his advice.
For now though, the two had brought in a sizable bounty and he contented himself in dragging the skinned and gutted buck back to camp with Vrein's help. It was easily at least 60 pounds worth of fresh meat...with any luck, they'd have enough left over for his mother when they got there...she did make the best stew.
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