Hero Historia: Jericho Rising

Chapter Two

Three winters later, Clay found a leopard print the size of his own hand. A man's hand, not the hand that had nervously clung to the spear at his first battle so many seasons ago. He had grown into his adult body, tall and fit, though still skinny by the standards of the Bear Clan.

Hunter's lore told that a leopard could be hunted with difficulty if one were hungry enough or far from home, and Clay had ranged days from the hills his people traveled, all the way to where the trees ended and the Sea of Grass began. Hunting had become his second nature. It was rare that he didn't return with meat to share, and he never failed to find enough for himself, not even in the deep of winter. He strayed from camp for longer and longer periods, returning with more and more to show for it, passing it around freely like the older hunters did.

In his basket he already had the butchered meat from two voles, a rabbit, and a small boar. Enough to return with, if he found nothing else.

He put his hand down alongside the track, comparing them again, then stood, a gleam in his eyes, senses straining.

This leopard had to be twice as large as any he'd ever seen. They usually weren't dangerous, not when you hadn't injured them, more apt to flee than hunt the flesh of man. If he could find it, if he could kill it, if he could drag its carcass back to camp, it would not only feed the clan, but it would be a feat worthy of being told around the fire every night, worthy of being taught to his children's children. Worthy of reaching his father's ears.

He crouched again, feeling the mud alongside the print. Still wet. It was fresh.

Clay set off, spear gripped tightly, eyes casting along the ground for more spoor, and along the tips of the long chest-high grasses for ripples of movement. More than anticipation for the kill, he felt the exhilaration of the challenge to his skills. It was only while hunting that Clay felt truly alive, and the promise of such a crafty and dangerous prey was particularly exciting.

***

The Sea of Grass was a strange place, unlike the forested hills that the Bear Clan called home. There were trees but they were few and far between, and there was no canopy above to shade Clay from the harsh sun. As the afternoon wore on he had been compelled to leave his furs near a boulder shaped like a wolf's skull, and now walked only with his spear and knife.

He felt exposed. He could see much farther than he could in the forest, and the Sea of Grass seemed to flow on, unbroken, until it met the cloudless sky. There were no trunks to hide behind, no ridges to crouch along, no higher ground from which he could survey. The leopard, even one as big as this, would have no such problem, crawling low through the tall grass, hidden from a hunter's senses.

Clay tried to use the grass to his own advantage, crouching low to follow the tracks as he spotted them, but this only further limited his vision and created in him a terrible anticipation of the unknown and unseen. He tried several times to mimic a cat's crawl, but each time was compelled to rise and look around himself.

Of course he was. He was no member of the Cat Clan. He was a Bear.

The tribe had fought another battle since his first, against that very foe. Cat had not invaded their territory, but word had come that one of the Bear women, exchanged at the last moot, was being mistreated, beaten by her husband. Though living among the Cat, Slenderfoot was a Bear, and would always be kin. The Bear Clan had demanded she be returned, the Cat Clan had refused, and there was nothing left to do but raid their camp and rescue her.

The Bear Champion had engaged the Cat Champion in a battle that seemed to take hours. The faster Cat harried Bear, slicing into the man's flesh with cruel curved claws, tiny cuts that were individually no threat, but when applied repeatedly drained the massive man's strength.