Page 8 of Storms & Sacrifice
“Does the shaman actually live in the camp?” I ask after we’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes.
“He does.” Khazak nods to my right. “Each of the patrol camps has a resident spellcaster, typically nature-based, two shamans, a witch, and a druid at the moment.”
“Seems like it would get lonely.” I don’t think I could handle not living in a city when I’m nottraveling.
“I cannot imagine it does, considering there are always at least five other people around at any given time,” Khazak reasons.
“Didn’t think about that.” Now I wonder if he ever wishes he couldbe alone.
“I have seen him in town, gathering supplies or for the occasional celebration, but he once told me he did not enjoy living in the city.” Khazak pauses by a tree for a moment. “He feels that he fits better into the forest. I think most of the camp spellcasters feelthat way.”
I guess if you’re connected to nature the way they are, living in it full time probably isn’t that bad. Still not sure I’d want to do it. I’m not even sure I’ll be happy by the end of this week. I was just getting used to not sleeping on the ground anymore.
What? I’ve accepted that I’m a little spoiled now.
We keep walking until we come across aclearing.
“This spot will do.” Khazak examines the perimeter. “Over here.”
He leads us behind some bushes, crouching down low. I copy him, seeing that at this height I can peer through and into the clearing ahead of us. Satisfied, Khazak drops the bag from his shoulder and reaches for the bow and quiver on his back—handing them to me.
“You want me to do it?”Isn’t he the hunter?
“Worried you are incapable?” His eyebrowquirks up.
“No.” I glare, taking the bow. “What are wehunting?”
“That will depend on what comes along.” Khazak bends down on one knee, beckoning meto follow.
He has me move ahead of him to watch the clearing while he moves behind me. Khazak’s left hand comes up to cover mine as I hold the bow, helping me to position it correctly. I feel his other hand move down my arm to take my other hand, bringing them both up to grab the string.
“Good,” he rumbles low in my ear. “You want to make sure you are steady but still able to maneuver your upper body for your target.”
This is all very unnecessary—the bow might be a little big, and I’m not anexpert,but I’ve handled a bow before. Plenty of times. But when I feel his hot breath ghosting across my neck, I find myself not caring. He has me practice drawing the string back, testing its strength. The bow is a little heavier than I’m used to, but I get the hang of it.
“Very good, pup.” He sits back in a more comfortable position. “Now,we wait.”
I’m not sure how long we’re hiding in that bush for, but it’s a while. I start to get bored, knowing there’s not much to be done about it; we can’t talk because we have to listen for our prey and not risk scaring it off. We don’t really hunt for our food in Lutheria, at least not most of us.Maybe this is why.
“David, get the bow,” Khazak whispers, seconds before I hear the sounds of something in the forest ahead of us.
Grabbing an arrow from the quiver, I kneel up into position, notching it onto the bowstring. I can feel Khazak behind me, not as close as before, trying to watch for the target along with me. There are a few moments of silence, and for a second, I think that whatever we heard may have turned around and left, but then I see the bushes on the other side of the clearing move.
It sounds big.Maybe a deer?The leaves rustle again, and I see a flash of brown fur. That’s it. I pull back the arrow, aiming for the spot where I expect the creature to emerge. Then I feel a hand on myshoulder.
“Wait!” Khazak whispershurriedly.
What?I turn to look behind me, annoyed, but slowly release the tension on the bowstring, no longer aiming. I look to see what this creature I am no longer supposed to be hunting is. Then I hear a sharp intake of breath—my own.
What emerges into the clearing is a deer alright, but unlike any I’ve ever seen before. It’s a male, and everything you see about it appears normal—brown and white fur, black nose and yellow-brown eyes—until you get to its head, where it is sporting a set of large crystalline antlers. The sunlight streams through them, fracturing like a prism and scattering small rainbows across the forest floor. As it stands there, two more deer emerge from behind it, a female and what I can only assume is their fawn. It moves forward on unsteady legs, its mother watching every step. The two of us wait in silence as the happy little family passes through, never noticing the two men watching them from the bushes.
“Wow.” My voice is still barely above a whisper, even though the deer are long gone. “Sorry, but I don’t think I could have killed that thing even if you wanted me to. What was it?”
“It is alright.” Khazak smiles. “Dhur’ovuk. A crystal hart. They are very rare. Seeing one is a good omen. And killing one is theopposite.”
“I think I get why.” I’m still kind of in awe. “Those antlers were incredible.”
“They grow them at the start of spring, and they keep growing until the end of autumn,” Khazak explains. “Once they enter their rut, they will use them to compete with other males for a mate, and normally shed them by the end of winter.”
