A dusty, older looking man walked through the caves with ease, climbing when necessary and not getting short of breath. Rough, but well kept, wooden stairs and a makeshift path of wood came in sight just a head of him. Ahh... I'm almost there. Just a couple more minutes of walking, he was a little surprised at feeling the need to be out in the open as he had been living in the caves for... how long have I been down here, again? Meh, it doesn't matter.
Upon reaching the steps the first bit of a breeze started to blow from the entrance that was still not visible and the man couldn't help but stop and take a deep breath. His monthly reclusive walks to the surface always made him feel as though he had never taken a breath of fresh air in years. Letting the breath out he relaxed his muscles and felt a shiver run down his spine. Muscles tightened, back straightened, and head held high, the man began walking again towards the entrance, unsure whether it was day or night as he had been in his house, deep underground unable to feel the sun on his face or the weather's sporadic temperament.
The walk was simple, as always, only stopping here and there to check the woodwork and make sure it was not rotting or loose. The weight of his pack had shifted low again so he shrugged his shoulder and hiked it up, listening to the contents clang and thunk against each other. He could see several loose boards from here that would need to either be replaced or nailed down again. This was as far in to the cave as the hounds came and for some reason loved to chew on this section of boards, as if marking their territory, or maybe trying to scare off that which lived deep within the caves. The simple work of replacing and re-fastening boards took only a few minutes, and he was off again.
A light rain could be heard and a small amount of light could be seen, good, it is day time and the weather is agreeable. He dropped the pouch on the last couple of steps and left it there, only the hammer a few nails and several boards still within, none of which he would need out here. Rain dribbled from the edge of the cave mouth into several small puddles only a few feet wide. "Sweet nectar from the heavens," it came out as a croak; the last time he had spoken aloud had been the last time he took his walk to the outside. Grunting and wheezing produced nothing but seemed to clear his throat a little, "rain rain stay this day, never ever go away. Old sir knight wants to play; rain rain stay awhile, oh how you make me smile!" He laughed heartily at his twist on the nursery rhyme which he hadn't heard in more years than he cared to count. The rain was cool, and the breeze made the temperature just right: nice and cold. At first he held his arms out into the rain, keeping his body still well under cover, then gradually walked forward until it was surrounding him and his boots were in an inch deep puddle.
Several sets of sea green eyes shined through shadows surrounding him. He dropped his arms to his sides, and completely unconsciously felt his knives laying up his sleeves. Slowly reaching within his pocket he wrapped his hand around an object. Adjusting his grip around it he covered the entire object, not letting even the smallest bit peek out, then pulled his hands out and held it out, wrist facing up. He went to a knee and waited. First one head became visible, bare muzzle with a single elongated fang, furiously working nose, and ears pointing up and slightly forward, then another head appeared, and another, each cautiously followed by a short, thick neck and forelegs that were covered in scales. The rest of the body came eventually, their noses still trying to suck up everything in the world. He twitched a finger, releasing a bit of scent from what was in his hand and a moment later the three Ruchmú hounds charged, while more eyes appeared behind them. "Halt!" The command burst forth from within, throat no longer thick with idleness. The hounds skidded to a stop, only to slide a bit in the mud. He held up is free hand repeating the spoken command with a signal, but as he was bringing it up one of the hounds twitched forward an inch. He couldn't help but let emotion fill his face with a look of slight disappointment, reaching out he thwacked the hound's nose with the same hand he used to give the signal. He spread his fingers open, still holding the object and pinched it in half, now using both of his hands. He held out the prize to the two hounds that had halted when commanded, "relax," it was not a command, but an offering to the hounds, and the two with prizes in front of their faces reached forward and gently took what they won from his hands.
"I'm ashamed in you, Thaen, you never falter," he was looking at the one that had deserved the little tap. More hounds had come from the shadows and bushes to see their friend, and now that he had said relax they started to rush forward to snoop through his pockets and see if he had more of the root that they loved so much, "easy, easy! I will have more for you before tomorrow's end."
He walked towards a rather large bush and shoved his hands into it, and with an audible 'click' released a hidden latch and pulled up on the top of the bush opening a cleverly hidden box. Within it was a leather bundle containing several cords and an ancient, but still operational, bow, and a large collection of arrows within multiple quivers. Taking what he needed he set out on his ritualistic first hunt of the month.
The hunt had gone well. Two carcasses sat beside him and his fire with an additional one hanging over the flames. The two corpses on the ground were torn apart and devoured by several of the hounds that decided to help him hunt. Each corpse used to be a living, breathing, moving giant rodent called a shobolan. The smallest of the three was the one over the fire, and while alive had weighed at least ninety pounds, and was several inches shorter than 4 feet long. He pulled a knife from one of his sleeves and poked the cooking meat and twisted, looking at how well it was cooking. White meat stared back at him, ready to be feasted upon. Turning the knife in a quick circle and jabbing it in he was able to remove a nice sized chunk, and proceeded to gobble it down. The greatest of men would not be able to finish a single one of these beasts in one sitting, unless of course he ate and slept in the same seat.
Three new leather hides sat within a sack filled with salt, the curing process already started. Sacks and salt were in yet another of his caches, and there were many more hidden stores all over the island from his past recluses. The fire illuminated the dark world of his small den, brush outside the entrance and rocks and boulders of varying sizes within. Two hounds laid fat and happy next to the dead shobolan, neither of them were the prize winners from that morning. "Peik, Vijha... how many days should I stay above ground this month? Five was too many last time, and two is too short." One grunted in a disregarding manner while the other simple looked up quizzically. "How many days? I'm too indecisive." The one with the questioning look glanced to the side in thought and pawed the ground three times then motioned towards him with it's nose, then I leave on the third night. He nodded contently, looking back at the great beasts on the ground before him he smiled his acceptance and reached out to flick each of their protruding fangs in a playful manner. "Time for sleep I suppose, need to be up early enough to stay in habit."
With that he shifted some rocks around the base of the fire causing logs to spread and the fire to weaken enough to begin to go out almost immediately. The cave began to darken and his eyelids began to fall, the rain outside gave off a soft static sound that lulled him to sleep with memories of his childhood, not all of which were good.
His eyes opened to a squint, not wanting to blind himself by the light he saw through his lids. Peeking around he saw that the hounds were gone along with the two carcasses they had been snacking on, his was still there with several chunks taken out from around the ribs where he had gouged at it with the knife. Opening his eyes a little wider he saw that there was a pool of water at the entrance to the den. Stretching his back and arms he decided to start the day and opened his eyes the rest of the way. A short couple of steps took him to the puddle where he drank a little to wet his throat then began to wash his face and try and clear the morning fogginess that muddled his brain.
The sky outside held only a handful of clouds, sprinkled across the sky haphazardly. The ground still contained puddles, and within those puddles swam herbs and plants. Walking to the closest one he bent low, took off his gloves, and began picking through the herbs that had been soaking in the water all day and night, trying to find specific ones. He had never learned the names of the roots and herbs he picked when he came to the surface, but he knew what they looked like and how big they needed to be before he picked them, what color they should be, the texture of the leaves, and even the length and width of the roots were all pertinent. It didn't matter if it was used for a healing salve or simple spices in food, if it wasn't nicely aged it wasn't worth having. Thorns pricked thick callouses, not even going deep enough to draw blood but enough for the thorns weak numbing poisons to take a slight affect. He pulled up the plant that had pricked him, not out of spite, trying to get below it. This was a spot where multiple boulders met underground, leaving small spaces between them, but still big enough for roots to grow in between and draw nutrients not just from the soil, but also from the stone. That is what made these roots desired, the fact that they pulled elements and substances from not just soil, but rock too, what it absorbed seemed to be perfect for healing, and on top of that, it tasted great. Sliding his hand into the mud between the boulders he pinched at the roots between middle and ring fingers, attempting to grab it as close to the tips as he could, but when he pinched it, it almost broke off, so nice and tender, its perfect! He got too enthusiastic and pulled the root up a little too recklessly and cut his palm and knuckles. Not caring that he was bleeding, as it was only a little. He looked at the root in his hand and smiled, as it was a color between yellow and green and even though he had pinched too hard, the tips had come with it, and he got the whole root.
Quite some time had passed since he begun his search for herbs and roots, and he felt that this was a good stopping point for the day's search. More clouds had filled the sky during the day, and now that his thoughts were not so focused on a specific task he was aware of how his body felt, and almost jumped when his stomach rumbled. He looked back in the direction he had been walking from, unaware of how far he had traveled. Stuffing his hands within his pockets he put the roots in one and pulled several herbs from the other one, looking at what he had pulled out he rolled one of them up into a small ball and stuffed it between his lower lip and teeth, letting the sweet taste permeate his mouth, and began to walk back towards the den he had used last night so he might pick at the meat still hanging above the makeshift fire pit he had built. With several hours left of sunlight he would eat a small meal and then practice with bow and arrows.
Breath out, steady, notch, raise the bow, aim, breath in, fire, draw an arrow, repeat. Twelve arrows already bunched together on the tree, thirteen, draw and repeat. He was calm, muscles relaxed, these motions long ago became unconscious actions, fourteen, simple muscle memory. It was something he did now to relax, like some would read a book or fish, mhmm, fish. The arrow flew wide of its mark as his eyes focused out of thought and the bow lowered. I should go... "I should go fishing tomorrow." He looked off to his left at the hounds lounging, watching him shoot arrows, "what say you, want to join me?" Two of the hounds nodded their heads towards the den, three of them towards the docks, and one walked forward and nudged his hand with its muzzle. This was such an unusual thing that he almost missed what it did next, it pawed the ground four times. "Uh, what in the... No, I shouldn't stay another day. We already agreed on three days, and after it is decided we never changed it." The whole time he spoke the hound stared at him in the eyes with sentient understanding and when he finished it nodded then nudged his hand again this time it also stabbed the fat part of his palm with its single large fang, drawing blood. Although it hurt he didn't flinch away as it would probably tear open pulling the hounds head and then startling it, his hand would be in shreds split between the knuckles, unable to do anything ever again. "My blood, what about blood, I don't understand." With that the hound shook it's head as if giving up on him, and walked away.
Confusing, no hound had ever tried to speak directly to him like that. He shook his hand and blood droplets flew, it was trying to be gentle but he was lucky the fang did not go all the way through. While deep in thought about the hound he had started to walk to the tree with the arrows so he could retrieve them. One hand was cut from rocks and the other had a hole in it, now he felt he might have no choice and do nothing the next day. He slung the bow across his shoulder and neck so that the string was in front of him and bow behind so that both his hands would be free to pull the arrows from the tree and put them back in the quiver at his hip. He would have to put these away and search for his cache in the morning containing his fishing rod. Worms, I'll need to dig for worms too. Damn, I'm out of flint, I forgot. Looking around his feet he would need to find several decent sticks and useless plants or weeds, this was going to be a long night.
"You, boy, are hopeless," his father was lecturing him again. His eyes sprang open and he found him self looking at his father across the table. I must've fallen asleep. His father had turned the page in the arithmetic book, and placed the quill back inside the tiny bottle, blank parchment placed in front of the book. "Ahm sorry, its just that ahm so tired," the weak reply came as he was rubbing his eyes trying to look apologetic. Reaching towards him his farther thumped him on the forehead with two fingers and said "pronounce it correctly, I am, or I'm. It is not supposed to sound like a yawn. Now, if you are too tired to continue today you will do this first thing in the morning, I will hear no 'buts, now off to bed with you." With that, his father made a loose fist and pushed him backwards, rather rudely, but his body didn't give way as there was something solid behind it. Again he pushed this time seeming to put his body weight on top of it, not in a push, but in a heavy touch. He had not closed his eyes but he could no longer see his father or anything else, until he opened his eyes, again.
A heavy paw was upon his chest and a huge muzzle was inches from his face breathing a breath heavy with the scent of a recently killed animal from a mouth with congealed blood and chunks of meat hanging from teeth and fang alike. Pale morning sunlight came from behind the hound's head, a soft gray-blue that hinted at a slightly overcast sky. "I suppose you want some fish," the hound bumped his head with its brow in a friendly manner of acknowledgment then backed away to give him room to stand. He pushed himself up feeling the cuts, hole, and how raw his hands had become after starting the fire the previous night, the wood now laid dormant in charcoal piles in mock shapes of logs and sticks. He looked down at himself and saw what a mock of a man's body his had become. He had a bit of a gut and his arms were wiry now, as opposed to when he was a young man and had a brutish look to him. Brushing his beard with his hand he ended before the tip and held it into view, it was severely streaked with gray hairs but still retained more brown than gray. He wore green robes tattered at the hem and sleeve and tied at the waist with a braided length of brown leather. I must look a pathetic old beggar, I wonder why it bothers me today and not yesterday, or the days before. Brooding could wait as he had the rest of his life to feel sorry for himself, today he would relax and try and catch some fish.
After gathering fishing pole and having dug for worms he made his way toward the docks when the most startling thing that could possibly happen, happened. A very feminine voice sounded deep within his thoughts, but not born from his mind spoke, "it is time Greiger, stand guard at the docks, a messenger comes." So shocked and astounded at hearing the voice and his own name, he simply stood poised on the heel of one foot and the ball of the other, holding his breath. Something terrible must have happened to be contacted in such a way, or if not terrible then extremely important. He thought about what was said and knew he had to act, he began breathing normally again, tossed the worms on to a patch of soil they might inhabit, and turned to run towards supplies he had hoped never to have to use again.
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