Searching while he walked, he managed to find a length of wood that would probably serve his purposes. That night while he made camp and ate the meagre collection of tubers and berries he had found, he used his knife to carve the wood into a spear. When he was finished, he cut strips of leather from the bottom of his breeches and soaked them in water from a nearby stream. He used these wet strips to fasten one of the arrowheads into the notch he had carved into the head of the spear.
Smiling to himself, he hefted his spear loosely in his hand checking its balance.
Not great, he thought. But definitely not bad either. It should do the job.
By the morning the leather would have dried, tightening around the wood and holding the arrowhead firmly in place.
Tomorrow, he would eat meat. His stomach growled at the thought.
If truth be told it was actually more luck than skill that finally bagged him dinner. It had been two days since he made his spear and so far, he’d had no success with it. He was getting more than a little frustrated with himself when he’d stumbled into a small clearing in the trees. Towards the centre of the clearing, grazing in the thin forest brush, was a young buck. The wind must have been blowing just right because the deer wasn’t even aware of him yet.
Logan reacted almost instantly. His throw was strong and sure and he caught the animal in the haunches even as it saw the motion and leapt away. The spear buried deeply into the deer, but was knocked free by the first tree the animal passed. This tore the wound open further and blood flowed freely as the wounded animal bounded away.
Logan charged across the clearing, gathering up his fallen spear as he hurriedly followed the deer’s blood trail. He pursued the animal for the better part of the morning before finally coming across the beast down on the forest floor, struggling to rise. He quickly brought his knife across the deer’s throat and put the wounded animal out of its misery. That’s when the hard work began.
Using vines and thin branches, he strung the deer up by its hind legs from a nearby tree. He made a makeshift bowl from large forest leaves and placed it below the animal to catch the blood, well what was left after the animal had lost so much during its mad dash. Next, he took his knife and began skinning the large buck. Though he’d seen the local tanner do this on several occasions, he was surprised at how difficult it actually was. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow as he worked.
After what felt like hours, he finally managed to separate the pelt from the carcass. He looked at the ragged pile of skin before him and smiled to himself.
The master tanner of Solan Bay would not have been impressed, but for a first time, he thought. I think I did pretty well. It was even mostly in one piece.
Logan hung the pelt over a tree to dry and began working on the deer’s organs. He remembered his father telling him that the most nutrition and energy came from these parts, so these were the parts he ate first. He washed them down with the lukewarm blood that had collected in the large leaf.
Though it was incredibly difficult, he forced himself to stop from eating too much of the fresh meat. His lessons had taught him that too much food on an empty stomach could cause serious illness and he already had enough to worry about without making himself sick on top of everything else.
The meat was warm and juicy and the blood running down his throat tasted better than anything he could remember. Normally, he would have preferred the meat cooked, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, with no flint, no steel and no real way of making a fire, he had little choice.
Unfortunately, being unable to cook his meat also meant that it wouldn’t be long before it started to turn. He only hoped that he could get a few days out of it before it went too bad to eat.
After eating his fill, or at least as much as he thought he should, he gathered the remainder of the meat in the deer’s pelt and continued north on his trek.
Chapter Fourteen: Tir’anish Tiger
The meat hadn’t lasted long in the forest’s heat and humidity and Logan had been without it for several days.
Reduced to berries and tubers again, he thought with a sigh. He would have to hunt again soon, but nothing had presented itself. Until it did, he had decided to keep moving north.
The sun was high and he was just beginning to scavenge for the berries that would comprise the day’s lunch when he heard an ear splitting roar. He froze in his tracks as his sensitive ears tracked the sound. The roar came again, from ahead and to the west. It was deep and sounded feline.
Probably one of the big cats that hunts the forest, thought Logan. Though, it was surprising to hear it during the daylight hours. The large predators generally preferred to sleep the heat of the day away and hunt at dusk with the coolness of the setting sun. Something must have disturbed it. As the roar came again, Logan decided that he felt very sorry for whatever that something was.
He remembered a few years ago when one of those big cats had come down from the forest to feed on a neighbour’s livestock. The cat was injured and had come to settled land for easier pickings. Travis Hoeman lost a couple of his finest cows to the big cat and had finally led a group of men into the forest to track and kill the beast. They were successful, but Logan could still recall the terrible wounds master Hoeman and a few of the others suffered at the claws of the beast.
He shuddered involuntarily at the memory and began debating the fastest route around the predator. He might be hungry, but he needed to eat, not be eaten.
He was just starting to veer to the northeast to give the creature a wide berth, when he heard the voice. Shrill and high-pitched, yet distinctly female, it seemed on the verge of panic. He couldn’t understand the language being spoken but it seemed to be a chant of some sort. The words kept repeating over and over again, yet the voice never lost that edge of panic. Shaking his head in disbelief and with his brain calling him a fool, Logan broke into a loping run toward the voice and toward the roaring predator.
As he neared, the chanting got louder, faster and more intense. He came through the foliage and saw a beautiful woman to his left waving her hands in the air. The chanting ceased abruptly and an intense flash of light blinded him momentarily. His hands flew up to protect his eyes. To the right he heard a roar of pain and smelled the sickening smell of burning fur.
His vision cleared quickly and Logan absorbed the scene before him. To his left was a tall elfin woman whose face was pale with fear. He could hear her breathing heavy and ragged, see her chest heaving with exhaustion. But it was the creature to the right that commanded his full attention. He had been right. It was one of the big cats. In fact, it was a Tir’anish Tiger, the biggest of the jungle cats. Standing nearly seven feet at the shoulder with eight-inch long fangs and razor sharp claws, it was arguably the most deadly predator in the forest.
Before the big cat lay several bodies. Given the weapons and spears scattered around them, they were obviously warriors of some sort.
Or at least, they used to be, thought Logan. The tiger had made short work of them. Given the severity of the wounds, Logan figured their deaths had at least been quick, even if it hadn’t been painless.
The cat itself was injured, too. Blood trickled from several wounds along the chest and flank, matting the big cat’s tan and grey striped fur. Apparently, the warriors hadn’t gone down without a fight.
Along the creature’s side was a long, smouldering burn mark. Logan wrinkled his nose in distaste at the smell of singed fur and acrid stench of magic that still hung in the air.
The woman’s magical attack seemed to have stunned the big cat, but it was recovering quickly. From the deep, steady growl coming from the beast, it was clear that it wasn’t happy. The tiger crouched low on its haunches as it prepared to spring. Logan looked quickly toward the woman. Her look of panic told him that she had very little time or energy left.
For her part, El’dreathia was closer to terror than panic. Her magical attack had left her nearly drained of energy and to make matters
worse, her attack seemed to have almost no effect on the big cat.
Yes, she thought. The blast had hurt the beast and left a nasty burn down its side, but it hadn’t stopped it. Not even close.
The cat was still up and it was recovering quickly – more quickly than her exhausted magic was. This realization drove home the terror with a deep sickening sensation to her stomach.
As she watched the cat prepare for its lunge, she realized that she had nothing left. Her gaze darted towards the weapons of a fallen warrior.
No, she thought. They’re too far away. Besides, they didn’t do the warriors any good.
The low growl from the tiger drew her gaze back to the big cat. A strange calmness filled her.
“I’m going to die,” she said softly to herself as the cat lunged. She closed her eyes.
Any moment now, she thought.
A sharp snapping sound, quickly followed by a surprised growl of frustration caused her to open her eyes. The big tiger was pushing itself up from the underbrush it lay sprawled in.
“What …?” She was confused. She should be dead by now.
Motion to her right drew her attention away from the tiger. A broken spear lay on the forest floor, cast down by a man moving into the clearing. At least she thought it was a man, though she had never seen one before so she couldn’t be sure.
Whatever it was, it was dirty and short. If it wasn’t a man then it must definitely be a dwarf, though she had never seen one of those either. Its hair was midnight black and formed an unruly mop on the creature’s head. Its eyes were the same depth of blackness. It didn’t have a beard, though. She had always been told that dwarves always grew beards.
Well, that settled it, she decided. This must be a man.
As she watched him move to face the tiger, muscles bulged across the man’s naked back as he drew a large hammer from its belt and prepared for the big cat’s next attack.
The tiger focussed on this new threat and quickly regained its feet. Man and beast circled each other warily, waiting for an opening. Their eyes were locked on each other and the tension was almost tangible.
A fierce growl rose from the big cat’s throat as it lunged at the man. In horror, she realized the man wasn’t running. In fact, he seemed to step forward to meet the creature’s charge.
For a moment, all she could see was the tan and grey of the tiger as its body completely covered the much smaller man. She saw the claws rake down the man’s back, leaving rivers of red in their wake. She sighed to herself, her would-be hero would be dead within moments.
The sickening crunch of bones shattering reached her ears. Then, to her amazement, the body of the tiger was pushed up and back away from the man. The cat impacted hard on its back, blood drooling from its panting mouth.
She looked to the man standing in the clearing. Blood seeped from a variety of deep gouges over his body as he waited for the cat’s next lunge.
As she watched him, she realized that he wasn’t just some creature from the forest. The pants he wore, what remained of them anyway, were of good quality and well stitched. The hammer he carried also looked well made, not what one would expect to find in the hands of a forest hermit.
The man stood with his legs apart, braced against the next attack. He held his heavy hammer up before him while the claw marks on his arms continued to bleed. His chest heaved from the exertion of throwing back the large tiger.
As his gaze flickered back up to her, she found herself drawn into the solid blackness of his eyes. She felt herself pulled into the depths of that gaze and was both relieved and saddened when he broke the contact to focus back on the big cat.
The tiger was slowly pulling itself back to its feet. Its chest heaved as it tried to breathe, blood bubbled in its mouth. She could tell the creature’s ribs had been shattered by the man’s hammer blow. The cat was dying.
Her gaze fell back to the man with the hammer. A look of great sorrow had crossed his face, a tear rolled down his cheek. They both new what must happen, but that didn’t make it any easier. The life of such a regal forest creature would be lost, a life that she had failed to protect. Just like she had failed to protect the lives of her own people who now lay dead on the forest floor.
The cat’s last attack was a feeble swipe of its claws. With its rib cage shattered and the big cat bleeding internally, Logan wasn’t surprised.
He easily sidestepped the attack and brought his hammer up for the final strike. It seemed like such a waste, but he knew the cat would never survive its injuries and it wasn’t right to let it suffer.
No, he thought. Better to end this quickly.
As his hammer crushed the tiger’s skull, he heard the woman cry out.
Chapter Fifteen: Haven’t You Ever Seen A Woman Before?
The woman was jabbering at him and she seemed to be getting quite animated. Logan sighed heavily and sat down near the fallen tiger. His back and arms were starting to ache from the big cat’s claws and the blood was already starting to dry on his arms. Painfully, he pulled the remainder of his mother’s salve from his pack. The woman continued to jabber at him as he applied the salve to his cuts. He ignored her.
When he was finished and had put the salve away he finally looked back toward her. The first thing that struck him was that she was rather attractive.
Hades, he thought. She makes Seli Tanith seem plain.
She was quite tall and slender with bronze skin. Her hair was gold, not merely blonde but a metallic gold, and her eyes seemed to match. She wore her hair pulled back in a braid that nearly reached her waist. He could see that her ears ended in a slight point and her features were delicate in their composition. She was dressed in a simple tunic of forest green and wore slightly darker coloured breeches.
It dawned on Logan that she must be an elf. He’d never seen an elf before though his father had often spoken of them.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked.
The elf stood with her hands on her hips and spoke in slow halting Low Tir’anish. Her Low Tir’anish might be broken, but the edge in her voice was still quite clear.
Logan blushed with embarrassment and quickly apologized.
“I ... I ... I’m sorry. I’ve never seen someone like you.”
She raised her right brow as she answered, the words coming easier now.
“You’ve never seen a woman?”
Logan thought he could hear a slight laugh in her voice. He blushed darker.
“No. I mean ...” Logan stammered.
Fighting the tiger had been easier, he thought.
“I’ve never seen an elf before.”
The elf snorted through her nose and moved toward the body of the Tir’anish tiger. She looked at the beast’s crushed skull and sighed in sadness.
“You’ve killed it.”
Logan scratched his head in confusion, before finally speaking.
“It would have never survived with the injuries it had. Letting it live would have just extended its pain and suffering. It’s better this way.”
He paused for a moment studying the elf maiden closely before asking.
“What were you doing with it anyway?”
He watched the girl pace away from the tiger. If this woman was typical for an elf, then Logan decided that they made absolutely no sense to him. Finally, the woman turned back toward him.
“We had to prove we could survive in the wilderness. It’s a right of passage in my culture.”
“We?” asked Logan.
She gestured toward the fallen men.
“It was for them to prove themselves as warriors and for me to prove myself as a mage. To prove that one day we could take our places as protectors of the forest.”
Logan rose slowly to his feet and studied the carnage littering the forest floor. He sighed deeply. He’d seen too much death. He spoke softly as he knelt by the fallen cat, stroking the matted mane.
“I hate to break this to you, but I think you failed.”
The e
lfin girl frowned darkly at Logan’s back. Her voice was decidedly chilly as she answered.
“I’m aware of that.”
Logan ignored it as he stroked the cat’s fur.
Such a waste of a beautiful animal, he thought. Logan rose slowly to his feet and faced the elf.
“So, what went wrong?”
The elfin girl knelt beside one of the fallen warriors and gently brushed the hair from his face.
“I don’t know. The tiger was on us before we saw it coming. It killed or wounded half the warriors in its first strike. We never managed to recover.”
“My father always told me that the elves were one with nature. Shouldn’t you have been aware of the tiger before it attacked?”
A tear slowly trailed down her lovely cheek and Logan felt genuinely sorry for the girl who softly wept before him.
“I thought I felt something, but I wasn’t sure. Then it attacked and I froze. I … I … couldn’t get my magic together in time. I couldn’t think, and now they’re all dead.”
The elfin girl began sobbing into her hands. Logan was at a loss. He moved closer and gently rested a large hand on the girl’s shoulder. He was amazed at how fragile, how delicate, she seemed. He spoke quietly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … I … I’m just sorry.”
He didn’t know what else to say. This wasn’t a hunting party gone wrong. It was just a terrible, terrible accident. He felt awful about what he had said earlier but he had no idea how to make up for it. He had no idea what else to say.
She didn’t give him much time to come up with something. She pulled herself together quickly, wiped the tears from her eyes and stepped up and away from Logan. He watched her take a few steps toward the west and begin chanting in that strange language again.
After a few moments, she turned back to Logan. She seemed to be in control of her emotions again as she looked directly at him.
“I’m very sorry you had to see that. My name is El’dreathia. But you can call me El. Everyone does.”
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