Konta was still confused at why the Obsidian Panther would lay down when he still held his weapon at the ready. Just to test the waters, he leaned forward and raised his knife the slightest bit. Without a moment's hesitation the Panther's lips curled back and it hissed, snapping its teeth slightly in warning. Konta pulled back perhaps too quickly, as his empty left hand slid along a nearby rock and was cut wide open. He winced, but willed himself to keep his guard up. It was his own foolish mistake; Konta knew very well that obsidian cleaved easily and was razor sharp, but he had completely forgotten in this situation that the dangerous rock surrounded him on all sides. He was effectively hemmed in on all sides by blades, with a living mass of them lounging right in front of him.
The adrenaline coursing endlessly through Konta's body helped him stave off exhaustion as the night slowly passed. Now the Panther seemed to be dozing, though its eyes never fully closed and shot open if Konta made any sudden movements. On rare occasions it would raise its head and glance over its shoulder, taking a sniff or two before returning to rest, but even with its attention diverted Konta didn't dare try to attack. Though he had managed to dress his bleeding hand with a strip of his loincloth, the wound still stung without mercy. Between that and the gash on his chest, all the lost blood was beginning to make him lightheaded. Any attempt to kill the Panther would likely be clumsy (and fatal), so instead he bid his time in hope that the creature would fall asleep and let him slink away.
Thankfully the night was much brighter than he had expected, in part due to the Moon's light reflecting off the shiny surface of the Blacklands and lighting all of Konta's surroundings. In the dead of night, the Blacklands had a haunting, quiet beauty that Konta, despite his imminent danger, couldn't help but appreciate. Even the Obsidian Panther's coat showed off its glossy sheen as the Moon passed slowly overhead, giving the hunter time to reflect on how incredible a creature this predator was. Its body was nothing but lithe muscle, twisting every time the Panther made even the slightest movement. It was little wonder that it had been able to so easily track and chase him, even throughout the thick overgrowth of the jungle and injured so.
He shook away those thoughts quickly, blaming them on lack of sleep. Why, in this life threatening situation, would he admire the animal that would gladly rip his throat out given a moment's notice? Yet the Panther still hadn't done so, even though at this point Konta doubted he could so much as attempt to fight back if it decided to strike. It was a ponderous situation, to be sure. Konta spent the remainder of the night staring at his dozing foe, so lost in thought that he didn't even bother holding his knife out anymore.
At some point Konta fell asleep, because he was startled awake at a sudden gust of wind that hit his left. Without waiting to check what it was he grabbed his knife with his injured hand and, ignoring the jolt of pain that shot through his arm, slashed out wildly.
His knife hit something hard, and an ear-splitting roar sounded from where he had randomly attacked. In a panic, Konta started to scuttle on his hands and knees, but only made it a couple paces before he put too much weight on his left hand and collapsed in pain, unable to fight through it anymore. To compound matters he landed on his chest, tearing open the clotted wound and sending a fiery sensation through his body, nearly driving him unconscious. A steady stream of blood was already making its way across Konta's chest and running in rivulets across the blackened stone ground.
He turned weakly to see if maybe his panicked attack had driven off whatever had woken him up, but instead what met his sight was a lizard-like beast he had never seen before, not even in the tribe's picture accounts. Though roughly the same size as the Obsidian Panther and bearing scales with the same glassy black sheen, it stood on two legs at a height about equal to Konta. Its small arms ended in three clawed fingers, but Konta's attention was stolen by its mouth full of tiny needle-like teeth and the massive claws on its toes that put the Obsidian Panther's to shame.
It was only then that Konta realized that the aforementioned Panther was nowhere to be found. Undoubtedly it had caught scent of this new predator and made haste to avoid the new creature. After all, the Panther had also been injured; why would it risk getting into a fight in such a condition?
As if arguing against Konta's thoughts, the Obsidian Panther suddenly lunged from the top of the ridge and began trying to maul the lizard beast. Dumbfounded, Konta could only watch as the two creatures rolled around, claws and teeth gnashing at each other as they tried to find purchase. The scales of the lizard seemed to be incredibly tough, with the Panther's claws unable to leave any more than minor gashes in the creature's skin. On the other hand, though the Panther's hide was also rather tough it failed to provide the same level of protection, and multiple bites and slashes left deep bleeding wounds in the powerful feline.
Later in life, Konta would wonder constantly what inspired him to do what he did in that moment. As the Panther lay on the ground bleeding heavily, the lizard pounced in for the kill. It was so absorbed in the fight with the Obsidian Panther that it didn't notice Konta make an insane jump onto its back. As the creature screeched in surprise, Konta wildly began stabbing at the creature's eyes, a staple weakness of any beast with toughened skin. His hand wound sent jolts of pain through his whole body, but Konta was numb to it as his knife plunged downward over and over into the rapidly opening red gash that was once the reptilian predator's eye socket. Even after the monster collapsed Konta continued to attack until the last of his desperate strength failed him and he rolled off the carcass gasping for breath.
His vision was beginning to blur, but he could still see as the Obsidian Panther slowly climb to its feet. Konta couldn't help but smile, knowing that there had never been any hope for him to escape from this situation alive in the first place. He closed his eyes, and sure enough after a moment he felt the pressure of jaws on his throat. They continued to tighten, but the crushing pain of fangs sinking in never came. Instead he found himself pulled into a sitting position. Konta opened his eyes, an action that took far more effort than he wanted to expend at this point, and found the Panther staring at him, its eyes glinting as if examining him.
Konta tried to lay back down, exhausted as he was, but the Panther strode quickly behind him and started nudging him in the back. More confused than ever, Konta realized the Panther was trying to get him to stand up. This was something far beyond any experience he had as a hunter. From the earliest days he could remember, he was always taught to avoid all beasts no matter how great or small; that nothing other than a fellow tribesman could be trusted, and that everything was potentially deadly. Yet here was a creature that could finish him off without trying, but still he lived.
With nothing to lose at this point, Konta tried to force himself to stand. He managed to barely make it to his feet before he started to pitch forward in exhaustion, but the Panther caught him on its back. Too weary to think straight, Konta put his arm around the cat and held on almost by reflex. Surprisingly, the Panther seemed to have been waiting for this and began to walk as best it could with the injuries it had suffered. Konta normally would've assumed that it was dragging him back to its den, but with the way things were going he had no clue what to think anymore and instead let himself drift to sleep.
At one point he fell off the Obsidian Panther's back and woke with a jump, throwing his hands out to break the fall and almost crying in pain as most of his weight fell on his left hand. The Panther growled, a low and quiet call that almost sounded impatient as it nudged at Konta again and hissed. Konta did the only thing that made sense and crawled onto its back again, and once he had a good grip the Panther started forward once more. It was only now that Konta realized the beast was dragging him through the jungle that it had chased him through. He found it hard to believe that it had only been yesterday that he had found the Nuevenceratops with his hunting brethren, and now he was being hauled bodily by a creature that had been trying to kill him until just recently.
Or had it been yes
terday? Konta had no idea how long he had been asleep for. His stomach ached like he hadn't eaten in days. Could they really have been traveling that long? If that was the case, where in the world was this animal taking him?
His answer came only a short time later when he noticed some peculiar markings on a nearby rock. Hungry and tired as he was, it took him a few moments to recognize them as the obscure sketches his tribesmen made to indicate the village was nearby for hunters that got disoriented during hunts. His heart leapt into his throat, at first in fear. Perhaps the Panther had used his scent to find the village and all his people. If the Obsidian Panther's brethren attacked the tribe, even if his people managed to drive them off, the damage would be horrendous.
Yet Konta immediately dismissed the thought for some reason. He hadn't failed to notice that the Panther's wounds had not healed well during their trek, and still bled on occasion as it moved. He also had noticed that the other two Panthers that originally attacked with this particular one never returned from the jungle. Konta hoped vaguely that at least a couple of his fellow hunters had managed to stop the remaining Panthers and make it back safely.
His thoughts were cut short as the Obsidian Panther hit the ground hard. It was now that Konta realized the beast's breath was ragged and uneven, its emerald eyes rolling around glazed and unfocused. Realization washed over Konta in a great wave, and he shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the dying animal.
The Panther had taken him home.
It was such an insane idea, yet there was no other explanation. The Panther had used his scent most likely to find the village, but it was taking Konta back to his people. The why of the matter was impossible to figure out; was it grateful for him killing the lizard creature that almost killed it? Could it feel gratitude? Did it feel guilty for separating Konta from his people? How could a beast that ate the flesh of humans ever feel sympathy towards one?
Konta knew it was useless to figure out the why, but it was certain now that, whatever the motive, it had helped him. With that in mind, he didn't hesitate for a moment to pick up the great cat and throw it over his shoulder as he began to march towards the village. His body still hurt, his hand and chest gashes felt like they were reopening, and his stomach rumbled painfully, but the sleep he had caught up on during the trek had given enough energy to attempt this insane rescue. More than that, the desire to try and do anything he could to help his savior was all the drive he needed to push onward.
It was only a few minutes before the brush ahead of him began to shake. Two hunters stepped out with spears at the ready. At the sight of what Konta had slung across his back, the guards' eyes went wide and they hurried to his side. One of them took the Panther from him and hoisted it off towards the village. The other helped Konta steady himself and escorted him the same direction. Konta thought he saw a strange gleam of awe on the guard's face, but he was more worried about the condition of the Panther at this moment.
Konta had never seen a sight so welcoming as the sight of the tepees in the clearing they emerged into. Normally the tribesmen would've been bustling about their duties at this time, but for some reason they had all gathered near the edge to greet Konta as he emerged. He stood, perplexed, as hunters clapped him on the shoulder and the tribeswomen half fawned over him and half fussed over his wounds.
As the tribeswomen dragged him away from the throng and towards the medical tent, Konta wearily wondered if they were trying to tend to the Panther at this moment too. It wasn't until he saw Murg approach and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder did Konta see the chief's feathered pelt, and all at once a wave of realization and nausea washed over him.
The next couple of days seemed to pass in an unreal rush for Konta. His wounds were cleaned and dressed, and at some point he had been led back to the fledgling's tent to rest, but all he could do was stare blankly at the ceiling until another uninitiated hunter came in sometime after dark and pulled him to the communal fire. Most of the village was milling around the blaze, sharing food and some sort of fermented drink they kept saved for special occasions. Konta was sat in the middle of the circling throng of villagers, who immediately started forcing different delicacies in front of him and not leaving him alone until he at least tried each one.
After a short time everyone suddenly stopped moving, their heads turning expectantly to the back of the group. The crowd parted to admit a wizened old tribeswoman who was carefully carrying something dark and folded towards Konta. He knew perfectly well what it was long before it was set into his arms.
A tight knot formed in his stomach as he looked at the Obsidian Panther's face, which had been cured into a hood for his new pelt. Its eyes were perfectly preserved, a deep green that danced with the light of the bonfire. Slowly he turned the whole pelt over in his hands, noting the claws that were fastidiously woven into the sleeve-like paws, giving him an extra weapon if he so wished; the strong pads still attached to the paws that would keep their grip on any surface; most notably, he realized how strong yet beautiful the Panther's fur was, glassy and shimmering as the communal fire danced.
He already knew what was expected of him next, though he was loathe to do so. Slowly he unfurled the pelt in its entirety and draped it over his shoulders, making sure the hood rested snug on top of his head. Though he couldn't see what it looked like for himself, he noticed some of the younger hunters he shared a tent with recoiling as if in fear, and he knew it must have struck a very intimidating pose on him.
Of course, this ceremony was the beginning of a whole new chapter of Konta's life. He was now a fully grown hunter in the eyes of the tribe, and would be given all such amenities like his own tent and the consent of the chief to take a willing wife. More than that, a beast as rare and strong as the Obsidian Panther would give him considerably more status than the average newly pelted hunter; he would undoubtedly be considered one of the best among his fellow tribesmen.
And he knew that he hadn't earned any of it himself.
It was a futile effort to try and fight it, of course. There was no way he could communicate that he hadn't killed the creature but rather had accepted its help. Even if he could convey the message, it would be seen as a farce. The pelt was already on his shoulders, and little could be done to revoke it at this point. It simply never occurred to Konta that he could be so revolted from receiving what he had wanted so badly for so long.
As Murg led him to his new tent, Konta knew that the only way he could ever accept this gift of life and status he had received was to become the hunter the tribe now thought he was. No matter what happened in the future, however, he promised he would never forsake the pelt of the one who saved his life. That much, at least, he owed his strangest of friends.
Epilogue
Life is a precious thing that is often taken for granted. In the hustle and bustle of everyday living, most people just don't realize how their every action is, in fact, a fight for survival. But this wasn't always true.
Once, people cherished every moment that was given to them as they struggled to live to see just one more day, one more Sunrise. Sometimes, the cost was excruciating, and at times even unbearable, yet still they fought on in the face of overwhelming forces. In the end, they knew that no matter the pain or hardship, life always granted the chance at better days; death offered no such possibility.
As Konta walked among his people, the plant life rising all around them in warm welcome to the Spring of a new year, he realized how grateful he was to be alive. Here he was, against all the odds that had sought his destruction at the behest of numerous other creatures vying for survival, and he had managed to defy them and continue on regardless.
He had seen his fellow tribesmen fall to the same circumstances that had tried to claim his life. Each of these carved a deep wound in him that would one day scar over, yet never completely heal. Even so, now as he held his young pup Kontaren in his arms and strode side by side with his dear wife Kontala, he couldn't help but feel elation at the chance to be able
to experience every single moment, to be allowed to see the fruits of his twenty plus Winters' experience desperately trying to survive.
As his tribe crested a hill, Konta paused for a moment at the top and let the wind brush across him blissfully. Kontala paused beside him and gave a small, puzzled smile. He grinned back and simply inhaled deeply in reply, taking in every little detail of the world that lay before him. It was a silly thing, a foolish thing, and no self-respecting hunter would've been caught dead doing something so strange.
But Konta wasn't like the other hunters, and he wouldn't want things to be any other way.
Tomorrow brings a new day and new challenges.
About the Author
Hey there! My name’s Joshua, and I’ve been fascinated with storytelling practically since I was old enough to talk.
A bit about myself, I suppose. I’m in my early 30s, born and raised in Sacramento (that’s the capital of California, in case you’re confused). I’m the second of five children, and I. Love. Fantasy.
Growing up I was one of those kids who would blurt out the first thing that came to mind and got all the awkward stares. Even at the age of five, I could go on tangential rants for almost an hour that went nowhere.
In elementary school, I had my first brush with the dark side of fantasy: fan fiction. I spent several of my formative years writing stories based off of favorite tv shows and video games of mine.
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