FSE

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Hunting Companion

By MetroFox

Sakara clutched his spear tight. Warmth washed over his crouching form in waves as the gusts buffeted the bonfire, casting embers into the air. They danced, glowing like fireflies before they flickered and died. Little Kuveli had always loved to lay his head in Sakara's and watch them. The memories caused a regretful guilt to rise from his gut.

"Sakara?" Asked a quiet, caring voice. The hyena, Conor, rested a paw on the fox's shoulder and gripped it gently. "You're thinking about your little brother again. I can tell. You're never the same without him." The hyena spoke with a sympathy in his soft tone that repelled the guilt and made Sakara feel... comfortable. It made him want to chuckle. He never felt this way without the little fox, and yet the hyena still managed to. He felt safe, at home, like all was well in the world.

"I'm okay." He sighed, turning his arctic-blue gaze to his friend, looking him in the eyes. A gentle smile formed on the fox's muzzle as he reached a paw out and grabbed Conor's outstretched arm. "The sun will be up soon. We should really get on with the preparations." He pushed the hyena's arm away, releasing the comforting grip on Sakara's shoulder.

"Of course! I don't know about you, but I'd prefer not to hunt naked." Conor giggled, gesturing to his bare body, covered by his wonderfully coarse fur. Sakara laughed at the comment, lifting himself out of the dirt and extending a paw to help Conor up.

"I should introduce you to the Vansaah, they hunt naked all year round." Sakara joked as the hyena took his paw, and with some effort he hauled himself off the ground. Conor brushed his paws against his sandy fur to clean-off what clung to him, then turned his attention to Sakara.

"How much of your fabled mushroom-infused reindeer piss are they drinking?" He laughed, reaching out and roughly brushing and patting Sakara's shoddy old hareskin loincloth. The fox laughed at the comment, his stomach feeling queasy as the memory of that foul taste filled his mouth.

"Plenty, I'm sure." Sakara let out another chuckle before he walked over to the simple hide-covered shelter sat a couple of paces back from the bonfire. Conor followed by his side as Sakara continued to explain, "They say it's something to do with the natural order of things. I can't say I see that. If Aiti hadn't wanted us to hunt with spears in warm hide parkas, why were they given to us?" The hyena nodded as he went on, entering the shelter to gather up some bits and pieces, mainly clothes and tools, as well as some bits he assumed were for the ritual. He recognised much of the ritualistic paraphernalia, such as a clay pot painted white with a black rim containing red dots.

"I don't wish to discard The Mother's gifts, especially when all she asks in return is a small sacrifice and our gratitude." He agreed, while making his point of view known. He, too, gathered up his clothes and tools before heading back outside. Sakara followed behind him, both of them having a pile of musty old leathers and furs clutched in their arms. Conor moved quickly, dropping them down next to the fire and crouching down onto his haunches. Sakara took things slower, trying to balance his things and keep the fragile decorated clay pot. Noticing, the hyena's ears shot-up, as did he, jogging over and snatching the pot out of danger.

"For a hunter, you've not got a good sense of balance, have you?" Conor taunted, going back to his spot and crouching down, holding the pot in his lap. Sakara dumped his clothes opposite and crouched down, reaching out an open paw to Conor expectantly. Smirking, Conor handed the pot back.

"Oh mighty, naked shaman, what is it you plan to do with me?" The hyena stood suddenly, throwing his arms wide in exaggerated worship of the fox. Sakara laughed, grabbing the belt of his loincloth with one paw. He puffed out his chest, clearing his throat and, with his most authoritative voice, shouted:

"I, Sakara, all powerful shaman of Tymaat, shall bestow upon you, Conor of the desert wolves, the ancient blessing of Aiti, a blessing as old as the trees and the animals themselves; the bless of the hunt, the Metsausi." Sakara threw his arms in the air, copying the little he'd seen of tribal shamans and their ways. "We sing to Aiti our desire, to hunt the wild horse and feast upon its flesh. Come, raise your voice with me." Sakara's knees were bent, he hopped and darted around the hyena like a raven that'd smelt scraps. All the while Conor covered his maw, giggling at the display.

"Desert wolves? Be careful, you insult the hyenas, dog-rat. And shouldn't you be more respectful to your Aiti?" Conor raised an eyebrow, a smug grin on his face. Upon hearing the nickname Conor had bestowed upon him, Sakara let-out an uproarious laugh. He patted Conor and the shoulder, then retracted his paw, sucking in his breath and collecting himself. He then untied then untied the rawhide cord that held a leather scrap over the top of the pot. With it gone, Sakara peeled-back the scrap, placing it on the ground. A weak, stale scent of blood and sweat emanated from the pot as Sakara dipped a furred finger into the thick, sticky crimson broth it held.

"Ugh, you're gonna hate me for this..." Sakara shivered as he sunk his fingers in. The stuff was freezing, left out in the open with nothing covering it. At least he wasn't the one putting it on.

"Sakara, I told you, I'm a scavenger, there's little that can disgust me." Conor placed his paws on his waist, grinning slightly, almost proud of that statement, even though he knew scavengers were looked down upon by followers of Aiti. It made Sakara chuckle, once he would have considered Conor, his closest friend, little more than a thief who relished in taboo practices.

"Alright," shrugged Sakara, pulling his finger free from the pool of paste, and reaching out, pointing towards Conor with two paint-covered fingers. "But I tried to warn you." Sakara smirked, waving with his unpainted paw, gesturing for Conor to show his back to the fox. The hyena giggled, shrugged, and obliged. His scruffy back-fur was interrupted by scars, bite scars and scratch scars, stab scars and burn scars. Sakara winced, scars were as common as flies to hunters like them, but this was nothing short of sadistic. He had his assumptions. Many times curiosity had overwhelmed him, he wanted ask Conor, but common sense led Sakara to let the poor hyena's demons stay buried. He sighed, and pressed his finger to the hyena's coarse backfur.

"Ack!" Conor yelped, his body tensing, his back arching to try and get away from the cold paint. "Are you painting me or pouring water down my back?" He glanced back to make sure the fox wasn't playing a trick on him. Sakara gave him cocky 'I told you so' grin, and went out again to finish his work.

"It's only three stripes. You think you can handle that, big, scary hunter?" Sakara chuckled, finding the situation amusing. Conor sighed and nodded, staring off into the distance. It was beautiful out this morning, sun just rising above the pines and alders, casting weak rays through them that began to warm the sleeping forest. The songs of the birds had grown in volume as they awoke to fetch morning meal for their young. An icy, but gentle breeze caused the treetops to rustle and sway slightly, and their furred bodies to flitter in each gust. It was a far cry from the hot, dry mornings of his birthplace, but Conor liked that, it made him feel comfortable, although he could thank Sakara for that more than anything.

Meanwhile Sakara had made swift work of the hunting mark, it was simple, and with an unpainted canvas like Conor he had no problem fitting the three vertical dashes of blue paint. Just swipe once, twice, and a third time, and he was done. He stood back to admire his work, frowning. Sakara never liked the hunting mark much, there wasn't much too it, nor could he understand how it related to hunting. Mother had told him it represented the hardships hunters faced, the scars they bore so that they might eat that night. It was noble, yes, but why not a set of antlers or arrows? He should ask Conor, maybe his tribe did something like that.

"Are you looking at my butt, fox?" The hyena asked, glancing back with a raised eyebrow and cheeky smirk on his muzzle. Sakara responded with a grumble, wrinkling his muzzle.

"Not in front of the litt-" He stopped himself, Kuveli was away with the horse tribes for the spring. How could he forget?

"Heh. No little brother to shield you this time." Conor reached back and put a paw on Sakara's shoulder, chuckling. "You spend too much time cooped-up together, his spirit is practically bound to you." He added, placing his paws on his hips, wagging his stubby hyena tail. Sakara waved his still-wet paw dismissively, his eyes half closed and a half-smile on his maw.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He chuckled quietly to himself, the hyena certainly had his fiery moments, but it was his soft side Sakara liked best. Such a loving, timid person under that rough fur of his. "I'm done with the marks, just a few more things and we can set off. Do you think you can keep us out of bed at least that long?" Sakara turned back around and walked back over to Conor. He wrapped his arm around his funny-shaped hyena head and dragged him to their equipment, which still lay by the fire.

"No promises, Sakara." Conor's toothy grin beamed out from the fox's headlock. Sakara released his friend and they both sat by their things, chuckling as they began gathering their things.

Sakara tied his rawhide belt around his waist, the matted hareskin loincloth attached to it fit snugly around him. Pouches and trinkets, and a beaded leather sheath clattered against each other, dangling from the belt. The fox reached for the sheath and whipped-out a worn bone knife, the blade yellowing and the handle wrapped in tatty, old leather, divided by a tuft of grey wolf's fur. Sakara gulped, sorrow filling his heart for a moment. So old, so precious, yet he'd allowed it to fall apart. The blade, while yellowing, was precisely carved, smooth and sharp enough to cut venison steaks, not a rough edge in sight. Sighing, Sakara slipped it back into the sheath and forged on. He slipped each legging over his footpaws and rolled them up his legs, fastening them to his belt as securely as possible. It was good weather for even such basic clothing, and Sakara only expected it to get warmer as the sun rose.

Meanwhile Conor had been swifty in his preparation. With no distractions, he yanked his rawhide pants over his legs, securing them with his belt. Then he pulled his sleeveless deerskin jerkin over his shoulders, using his adept fingers to tie-up each rawhide cord. He turned to see Sakara gazing at his knife, his eyes welling-up slightly. Conor frowned, and was about to go and comfort his friend, when Sakara whipped the knife away and continued dressing. As he did, Conor sat down, picking his leather quiver out of the dirt and placing it between his legs. He flicked through his supply of flint arrows, four in total, plenty enough for the time being. He slung the quiver over his shoulder, and grabbed his longbow from where it lay. He tested the sinew bowstring, it was taught and twanged when he let go of it, bending the wooden frame back. It didn't snap, good enough for him.

"Ready?" The hyena barked, folding his arms and walking over to Sakara, who was picking his spear out of the dirt, the chipped stone point faintly orange in the glow of the fire. He turned to Conor holding one last item.

"I was going to save this to show Kuveli, but I want you to see it." Sakara beamed with a wide smile, as he began unravelling the roll of deer hide. Conor reached out and grabbed his paws, stopping him.

"Then save it for the little one." Conor insisted, staring at the fox with a pleading look, almost looking sorry. Sakara placed a paw on the hyena's shoulder.

"It's fine, he'll still get to see it." Sakara reassured his friend. Conor sighed, letting go of the hide roll and letting Sakara unravel it. As it fell-open, a pair of antlers flopped-out, dangling from the piece of hide. Sakara was quick to throw it over his shoulders and revel in his cloak. A long piece of fresh deer hide that brushed the back of the fox's legs, clinging to him by a cord around his neck, and the hood over his head. The antlers atop the hood seemed gaudy to the hyena, he chuckled at how unbalanced they seemed to make Sakara.

"How does it look? I made it to capture the deer's soul and please the hunting spirits." Sakara's eyes were wide and prideful, his smile somehow even wider. Conor managed to hold in his chuckled and scratched his chin, narrowing his gaze as he looked over his friend.

"I like it, makes you look like a fierce hunter. At the expense of you balance, it seems." Conor smirked and walked up to his friend, reaching out and hugging him tight. Sakara squeezed back, and they both enjoyed the momentary euphoria that came with the embrace and closeness with one another. "We should get going..." Conor spoke-up after a few moments, releasing the fox from his grasp.

"Not quite, we still have one more ritual to complete." Sakara said, walking back to the shelter to grab one last thing. Conor didn't follow, he waited, his muscles slightly tense. He was eager to go, but all these rituals Sakara did, they felt unnecessary.

"Another? Hasn't the Mother been appeased?" The hyena asked, paws on his belt, his head cocked to the side. Sakara emerged from the shelter as he asked. In the fox's paws was a rolled-up deer hide, ragged and matted, clearly well-used. Something wrapped inside of it rattled as he walked over and dropped it on the ground.

"This isn't about Aiti, we must ask the spirits to lend us knowledge. We must learn where the herd is." Sakara explained, kicking the deer hide and rolling it open, revealing a crude map of sorts. The rattling objects within lay in a pile on top of a piece of driftwood. It seemed to be nothing more than rubbish; a chip of flint, an arrowhead, a knucklebone, and some other random bits. Conor crouched down opposite Sakara, eyebrow raised.

"You don't know where the herd is? Why don't we just track them?" He asked, looking up at the fox, eyebrow still raised. Sakara chuckled, picking-up the piece of driftwood, the bits and pieces rattling and rolling around.

"We will, but the spirits will tell us where to begin." Sakara picked the arrowhead out of the driftwood and looked over the map. "We are here, in the clearing east of the Otter's river." Sakara pointed to the right of the map, where the simple representation of pines opened-up briefly. Sakara placed the arrowhead there and continued, "A little further east is the plains. It's a cold and windy place sometimes, but full of big prey. I've even seen mammoths, but more importantly it's perfect for wild horses." A wide smile came to Sakara's maw at the thought of how many horses they could catch together. Conor was too engrossed in the map to notice. Where Sakara had said the plains are was blank, besides the small, crude image of what he assumed was a wild horse.

"What's that?" Conor asked, pointing at an area towards the top of the hide map. He was curious about the image place there, it looked like it was meant to be a lake, but with trees growing in it.

"Nothing." Sakara waved his paw dismissively and stood suddenly. He flicked most of the random bits off to the side, taking into his paw only the knucklebone and chip of flint. Clenching the two pieces in a closed fist, he threw his arm in the air. "Spirits, Ancestors! We mortal creatures hunger for fresh flesh. We offer sacrifice so that you might share your wisdom with us, we will sacrifice a cut of our kill." Sakara raised the piece of driftwood, raising his head and staring at the sky. Conor watched, taken back slightly, not sure how to feel about this performance. The fox stood there, staring off into space for a good minute. Conor wanted to walk up and shake him, to stop him acting weirdly.

"S- Sakara?" He asked, taking a step forward and reaching a paw out. Sakara sighed, arms falling to his side as he crouched down by the hide again. Conor walked around the hide and crouched by his side, placing a paw on his shoulder. The fox flashed an appreciative smile as he placed the knucklebone and flint on the piece of driftwood, and flinged them onto the hide.

The flint piece landed on the edge of the forest, while the knucklebone rolled on, coming to a halt a moment after. Sakara gulped, standing slowly, a deep frown on his face and worry in his stare. Conor grabbed Sakara's legging, demanding his attention.

"Tell me, what's there?" The hyena asked, looking up at his friend with a determined stare. Sakara sucked in his breath, reaching out a paw to help Conor up. The hyena accepted the help and took hold of the fox's paw.

"The mire, a nasty place. Like the plains, but flooded, with reeking ponds concealed in the tall grass. It is a place of misery." Sakara wore a solemn look, arms hanging limp by his sides, a long sigh escaping his muzzle.

"Sounds like I should take my boots." Conor chuckled, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulder with a half-cocked smile on his maw. Sakara looked back at him, such confidence on his friend's face, he should have shared it, but instead the fox sighed and spat into the fire.

"You've no idea what you're in for." Sakara forced a chuckle, pulling away from the Hyena's grasp. He turned and patted the hyena on the shoulder. "As much as I enjoy feeling that coarse fur of yours, we should get going. It will take some time to reach the mire." He explained, smiling gently, clutching the hyena's shoulder. His coarse fur was strange, different, but it felt good to hold on to.

"At last. C'mon then, fox." Conor walked-up next to Sakara and awaited his lead. The fox flashed a smile and set-off, spear lashed across his back with rawhide cord. Conor followed by his side, glancing back towards the fire, worried about leaving it, but Sakara didn't seem to mind, and so why should he?

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With a sickening squelch Sakara's paw plunged ankle-deep into the muck. He grimaced feeling the murky soup seep into his hide boots. Behind him the hyena was struggling, flailing to bat away the chest-high grass. He was panting, wrenching his paws free after each step, stumbling forward each time.

"Do we need to stop?" Sakara asked, stopping and turning around, his footpaws spread apart to try and minimise his slow decent deeper into the mud. He was frowning, a genuinely concerned look on his face. The hyena simply waved his paw, dismissing Sakara's concern.

"Let's just keep going." He panted, trudging on as fast as he could. Sakara ignored him and stood there, leaning on his spear, waiting for his friend to catch up. As the hyena struggled up to him, Sakara stuck out his arm. Conor halted, staring at Sakara's arm, listening as he offered his spear.

"Here, lean on it like I was. It'll help you get unstuck." Sakara had the blunt end of his spear plunged into the murky depths of the stagnant pool. The hyena looked the spear up and down and up again. Reluctantly, he too hold of it by the neck, gripping it firmly as he leant his weight on it. The wooden shaft gave slightly, but it did not creak or show any signs of breaking.

"It's certainly sturdy. What did you carve it from?" Conor cocked his head to the side. Sakara turned and began walking, struggling with his first few steps to keep from getting stuck. Conor felt a pang of guilt in his chest. "Are you sure you want me to have this?" Sakara glanced back at him briefly, a subtle smile on his face.

"It's alright, I'm more familiar with these mires than you are." The fox reassured him as he trudged on. "But you best be giving it back to me when it all goes to buggery." He chuckled between panting breaths. Conor tried to share his companion's amusement, but he couldn't help listening to the nervous whisperings in his mind.

"Sakara, are you absolutely certain?" He asked, his voice firm as he trudged along behind Sakara, who hadn't turned to face him.

"C'mon, it'll start getting dark at this rate." He said, stomping through the mud with much more ease than Conor. Though with the spear in-paw, Conor found solid footing. He quickened his pace, leaning his weight on the spear and not sinking as deep into the filth. To the annoyance and irritation of both hunters, their swift pace did little to stop the reeking stagnant water filling their boots.

Sakara spied a small rise ahead, an island in the mire. It was overrun with hazy green brush; tall grasses and bushes, and a few birch trees. His legs were burning from the effort of trekking across this mire, and they hadn't even found any tracks to follow.

"We should rest for a bit over here." the fox suggested between exhausted breaths, glancing back at Conor as he did. The hyena nodded in agreement, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he too panted with exhaustion. And so they pushed on, separated from the island by a wide, shallow pool that wound its way around clumps of tall grass. It seemed to resemble a river, yet the water was stagnant, layered with pond scum and insects.

Sakara stopped by the edge, seemingly waiting a moment for Connor to catch up. They stood side-by-side, staring across the shallow pool.

"C'mon fox, don't tell me that's all you've got. Heheh..." Conor struggled to chuckle as he lent on his knees and stood there panting. His legs ached, his boots were soaked through and teeming with tadpoles. He was so exhausted he'd taken a moment to realise Sakara hadn't answered him. He sighed and stood up straight, turning to face Sakara.

"Can't talk through the whee-"

Sakara pressed a grey-furred, muddy finger to Conor's lips. The hyena hadn't noticed how the fox had almost transformed into another person. The carefree smiles and laid back posture replaced by a deep frown and raised hackles. The fox was hunched over slightly, ears, eyes and whiskers twitching, searching for something that Conor had not noticed.

And so the hyena followed suit, swivelling his head around and carefully observing each patch of brush for a few moments at a time. He saw nothing. So, raising his open maw to the sky, he drank down the scents carried to him on the wind. Some scents were strong, such as the reek of the swamp, but others were more subtle, like the gentle scent of lavender blowing down from the mountains further north. Yet, still no sign of what Sakara was spooked by. Then it caught his attention, a rustling, snapping sound like something brushing against the grass and bushes. It was coming from the island, but Conor couldn't see where it was through the dense growth.

"What is it?" The hyena growled quietly through grit fangs. He thought to take his bow out and nock an arrow and offered the spear to Sakara. The fox didn't break his intense stare as he took the spear back.

"Something big, maybe wild horses if we're lucky." He said in a hushed tone, gripping his spear tight and pointing it in the direction of their prey.

"And if we're unlucky?" Conor mumbled, slipping his longbow over his head and clutching it with one paw as he reached back and grabbed a long birch arrow tipped with flint.

"Bears, Aurochs. Any big, angry creature you like." Sakara stiffled a chuckle as he crouched low to the ground and stepped slowly forward. His footpaw sank slowly, but silently, disappearing under the muck like a discarded sling stone.

"Rhino?" Conor asked, smirking with a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he crouched down and snuck along at Sakara's side. The sinew string of his bow was taught as he thumbed the falcon feather fletching of the arrow.

"Heh," huffed Sakara "Woolly Rhino, if you've pissed off the wrong spirits." He glanced briefly at the Hyena with an amused smirk. Though Conor forced another chuckle, his smirk had faded and, as silly as it was, the idea of meeting a woolly rhino made his heart sink into a gathering pool of dread.

Their paws cut through the murky water, both hunters being careful not to splash their paws down. They still could not see the horses, but when a gust of wind blew from their direction they were overwhelmed with the musky stench of wild horse. It made Conor's stomach grumble and caused Sakara to lick his chops.

Despite the agonisingly slow progress, they tempered their instincts, holding back from charging. Eventually their paws landed upon soft, mucky earth and they lifted themselves from the muck. Sakara took a knee, his supple horsehide leggings digging into the ground. Conor crouched down too, but he kept pushing, reaching out to push the tall grass aside. Sakara reached out and yanked him back by the tail.

"What are you doing?" He hissed, his eyebrow raised and head gently cocked to the side.

"What do you mean what am I doing? We're hunting, aren't we?" Conor growled back with an annoyed glare.

"Yeah, but we're in no fit state. We should track them and let ourselves rest a little." Sakara spoke as if this was obvious, but it didn't seem so to the hyena. Why sit around with their hackles on-end and bodies aching when they could just get this over with. Sakara was his friend, yes, but he wasn't necessarily the smartest.

"By the Mother, no." Conor grumbled under his breath, a pit forming in his stomach filled with worry that the prey would hear them. "My legs hurt, I'm soaked through, I'm miserable. Let's just fill our packs and get out of this stinking mire." And with that, the hyena yanked his tail free of Sakara's grasp and crawled up, through the tall grass.

"Conor- Fuck!" Sakara lifted himself out of the sucking mud just as Conor disappeared from sight. He too crawled out of the filth and threw himself into the dense jungle of lashing grass. Despite his desire to stay-put, Sakara couldn't help but feel excited. His heart started to beat faster, the thrill of the hunt ensnaring his thoughts. The scent of wild horse was thick in his nostrils, he drooled at the thought of devouring their roasted flesh. Then something knocked him out of it.

Conor was bashed forward, something bumping into his rear. He caught a gasp in his throat and smacked his chin into the mud with a wet crack, losing his grip on an arrow. He grit his teeth and a dull ache wound through his jaw. Behind him, the hyena's tail flopped over his head, Sakara lay there. His eyes were screwed shut and if fur could blush, he would have been as red as a fresh wound. He bit his lip and quickly tried to think of something to say as, slowly, both of them lifted their heads.

There was a startled winnie as a tan and white mare with a black-spotted back reared into the air, her forehoves kicking-out wildly. The rest of her small herd didn't even turn to see the danger, they'd heard the warning and they too reared and turned into the wind.

"Shit, Sakara!" Conor snarled, grabbing his chin with one paw as he pushed himself out of the mud with the other. As he got to his footpaws, he reached for another arrow, but as he took hold of one he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Sakara sprinted past, panting, chest heaving, a spear raised high over his head in one scrawny paw. The mare too turned into the wind with Sakara barely a few paces behind her. She began to bolt, but not before the fox loosed his spear with all the effort his tired limbs could muster. With a hissing snarl of a warcry, the spear slipped from Sakara's fingers, bending and wobbling as it sailed through the air for what felt like a full minute. It's razor point finding its mark and cutting deep into the flesh.

But the mare kept running.

Meanwhile, Conor drew his new arrow and knocked it to the bowstring. He sucked in his breath, he needed to focus. Sakara was too close, the wind could carry the arrow into his back. His heart beat quickly, but he steeled himself. With great effort, he pulled the string of the huge longbow taught. He exhaled, then loosed an arrow.

It sailed through the air cleanly, flying to the side of Sakara and striking the mare's shoulder, ricocheting off the bone. He cussed between panting breaths as the horse crashed through the tall grass. The hyena pursued, passing an exhausted Sakara.

"C'mon, I'm not cleaning this mess!" Conor shouted, his veins full of adrenaline. Quickly his aching body faded into the back of his mind as he grabbed another arrow from his quiver. This time he'd make it count for something.

Sakara was running behind him, swinging his arms. He managed to overtake Conor without the weight of his spear. He thrashed through the grass, gritting his teeth every time a stray strand lashed against his body and stung him with a cut.

Eventually they burst out of the grass again and back into the muck and stagnant water, where Sakara beheld the mare. She bucked wildly, kicking up torrents of water that drenched Sakara and Conor as they trudged back into the water. Conor stepped back, wiping his eyes, but Sakara pressed on. He needed his spear, and right now it was embedded in the rear of a pretty pissed-off mare. He was sure that, in her pain, the mare hadn't noticed him, and so he approached, arms outstretched. He needed to be swift, grab it and step back.

With all the strength he could muster, Sakara grabbed hold of the wooden shaft and began to yank, yet it didn't slide out as easily as he had imagined.

Shit shit shit, he cursed under his breath, the mare swaying and spinning, Sakara being dragged along wherever she went, no matter how deep he dug his footpaws into the spongy earth. Then, with a pained wailing winnie, the mare kicked her back hooves out.

Sakara heard a mighty crunch as the unstoppable force of two hooves smashed into his ribs. The pain shot through him like lightning, causing him to let go of the spear and his whole body to contract into a ball. He wanted to yowl as loud as he could, but he felt breathless as the kick knocked the voice out of him.

Sakara watched his friend fall backwards into the water. His heart sank. In his time with Sakara and the Lentavohi, he'd learnt how dangerous a horse's kick could be. They said it had killed unruly children or unlucky elders. Sakara was neither, yet the horrific crunch was unsettlingly familiar. He could feel a phantom pain that mimicked his crippled friend.

Gritting his teeth against the chaos, Conor took aim again. The string was heavy to draw, but he drew it tight. With masterful aim he loosed the second arrow. And he caught the mare in the skull.

And as quickly as the hunt had begun, it was all over.

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Crickets chirped in the long evening shadow of the forest. The crackle of a fire soothed Conor's unease, it's warmth swaddled his aching, tired body.

The trek back to camp had been long with a wounded companion, but he daren't compain. Sakara could have died from that blow, but it seemed as if the spirits had other plans. That or he was just lucky. And all the better too, he didn't want to have to tell Kuveli he let his big brother get killed by dinner.

With a sigh, the hyena put down the great hunk of horse he was carving, instead replacing it with one of the slices, about the size of his fist. He skewered it onto the end of his knife and held it out toward the fire. It immediately started sizzling, and the smell was overwhelming. A pleasant aroma of a hard-fought meal that would last a good long while.

"Oh no, don't tell me you're going to try and cook." The tired, strained voice of Sakara. The tent flap was whisked aside as the fox crawled free of its confines, puffing out his chest as he drank in the sweet, clean forest air. "Gods it's stuffy in that thing." Sakara chuckled and stood, squinting as pain shook through his chest as he tried to stand.

"Hey, y'know you shouldn't be up-"

"Come now!" Sakara dismissed Conor's concerns and continued to limp over to the fire, clutching a leather sack under one arm. "Nothing broken, no harm done. I'll be fine."

"You are so stubborn sometimes." A long sigh escaped Conor's muzzle. He rubbed his paw across his sleepy eyes and went back to roasting the horse cut. Sakara chuckled and knelt down next to him.

"Now you know what it's been like living with you." He joked, chuckling again. Conor smirked and stifled a giggle, putting a smile on Sakara's face as he put his arm around Conor.

"Funny fox, are we?" Conor responded, reaching out and hugging Sakara back. They rested their heads against each other and stared into the dancing reds and oranges of the flames. "So what's in the sack?" Conor asked, looking down at the bulky, leather wrapping. It was round and something stuck out the side. Maybe a drum, but what was the bit sticking out?

"A gift, for not skinning me alive after I stuck my head up your ass." Sakara smirked awkwardly, surely blushing under his fur. Conor stretched-out his arms and laughed.

"Heheh... Yeah, please try not to do that again." Conor tensed-up slightly, forcing himself to smile awkwardly back at the fox.

"Oh don't worry, I promise. It stank of month-old fish guts down there." Sakara pinched his nose and pretended to gag, making Conor chuckle.

"Yeah, and now you know what it's like living with you." The hyena quipped, patting Sakara's back, who in return laughed and put on an exaggeratedly snobby expression, staring down his nose at Conor.

"Aye, and I'm sure you love being in its presence." They laughed again, and made themselves comfortable. Conor handed Sakara a piece of sliced meat, which the fox skewered and cooked much the same.

"Go on then, what's the gift?" Conor reached over to grab the bag, but Sakara reeled back, wincing as he strained his aching ribs.

"Ah- Hey! Have some patience." The fox giggled, a wide smile on his face. His gaze was softer than normal, his eyes less intense.

Conor refrained from trying to grab the sack again, worried he'd cause Sakara more pain. So he sat back and awaited the reveal of his gift. While he waited, he reached out again and held the meat over the fire, cooking it further. He wondered if Sakara had anything that would stop Conor needing to cook his own paw while he made dinner.

Meanwhile, Sakara placed the sack in his lap, untying the rawhide cord that sealed it. As the sack came loose it slipped down, revealing its contents to the hyena.

"Oh, by the mother..." Conor smirked, burying his face in his paws. Laying before him were two large objects; a drum of buckskin stretched across a wooden frame, and the hollow, severed head of a horse. Sakara picked-up the latter by the neck and offered it to Conor, who simply stared at it from between his paws. "And what I'm I supposed to do with this?" He mumbled.

"We celebrate!" Sakara chriped, placing the head in Conor's lap. The hyena pulled his head out of his paws and placed one on it.

"Is the skull still in there?" Conor grimaced, hoping it wasn't so for it would sharp and dig into his head. Sakara merely shrugged.

"Part of it, else it wouldn't keep its shape." He picked up the drum and got to his footpaws, offering a paw to the hyena.

"You have strange tastes, fox." Conor chuckled, cocking his head to the side and raising an eyebrow. He took Sakara's paw and hauled himself off the floor, horsehead under his arm.

"Aye, but it's not me wearing it." Sakara smirked, patting Conor on the shoulder. Then he sighed, his gaze growing soft. "Come, I want to enjoy this night with you, as friends. How long do you think you will stay?" He asked, followed by a moment of silence that stretched into minutes for the fox. Conor fondled his chinfur, staring off to the horizon. Then he offered the fox a warm smile.

"Who said I was leaving?"