Ruler of Beasts (Delicate Flower, #0.5)

2 | The Hunt

Playlist

2
The
H u n t
~.~

"Tell me about my father, ma."
So he became eleven, and the beasts were his friends now.

His satchel was full of dead rabbits and fish, and he was counting down the minutes to finish his tasks to play with them.

His mother didn't answer him anyway, they had a lot of fur to shear, and when his ma had work to do she would focus on the work she had to do. She was frowning and she told him to help her carry the large pile on the wooden board. He had turned eleven, but he was already almost the height of his mother, and he could carry on huge weights.

His ma decided it was time for him to join the hunt and he had never been happier when she declared him that because it meant he became a man. Only men were allowed to hunt, and as he followed the elders and watched how they pulled their arrows, how they drove the knife in their prey's heart, he learned he had a secret passion.

His ma drove her needle through the bear's fur and stitched it into a large piece of cloth. It had a dark brown coat with few patches of black, and he had hunted that bear among the elders. Its thick coat would be sold inside the market, and he felt proud at his accomplishment.

None of the kids managed to hunt a wild animal, let alone a bear.

So he fixed another table and busied himself with another chore, hoping his ma would give him clues about his father.

But his ma was still silent.

She would always be whenever her inquired her this question, and he didn't really expect her to give him the satisfaction he craved. But he still waited. Perhaps she would change her mind.

She never did.

Instead she told him a story about his grandparents, how they lived far away, on top of one of the greatest Svėnian mountains. "They have a large property of their own," his ma had said, her eyes glazing as she reminisced her old days. "With an army to protect their castle of course," she smiled proudly then added-"and a vast garden never touched by snow." He couldn't help let him his mind wonder at his ma's words. They must be so great and powerful. And he had never seen a land not covered with ice and snow.

"Why can't we visit them, ma?" Of course he had to ask.

"We will, my boy," her bronzed hand caressed his hair. "When the right time comes." She had said back then, signaling the end of their conversation. Yet time never seems to come.

Later on that day, he couldn't help but kick the rocks at his feet in anger. He screamed in frustration. Of course it bothered him. But why doesn't she ever answer him?! He was a man now!

This time some kids approached him, eager to laugh at his dark eyes and hair. But he was taller and stronger. He was a hunter. A man. A friend of tigers.

So he towered over them and pushed them off him. When they tried to fight with him, he fought back. They never bothered with him again.

The eagles came second.

He was walking alone one night, a habit he developed once he befriended the tigers.

His mother had warned him of the atrocities that might happen in the dead of the night, but he'd been called beast boy, and who could not fear a man with dark eyes and hair?

He would laugh at his thoughts later on, for fear is never the result of looks, it is the result of actions and words; of wars and treason, of blood shed and lost.

But he was only a boy then, and a boy ought to think as a boy ought to be.

The eagle was injured. It was a big one, this time. Its beak the size of his hand, its wings wide and black. Or maybe they were white, he couldn't tell. It was dark, but he befriended tigers, and beasts were already misunderstood, after all.

So the eagle bit him, it scratched at his hands when he tried to release him, but he didn't care, even when red liquid poured down his skin.

It rose up and flew high, its large dark wings spread wide and flat. He was sure they were black now, because they glinted grey against the moon's light.

The eagle didn't come back.

For three days.

Then he was one day out hunting with the elders, and a large shadow landed on his shoulder. The elders screamed, and prepared their arrows at the beast.

But he raised his hand despite his pain and commanded them to stop.

They were afraid of the beast on his shoulder, but the beast on his shoulder showed mercy more than all of them, combined. They hunted to kill. He hunted to live. He saved the eagle, and the eagle came back.

He became the leaders of hunters at eleven, and he trained his beasts to protect their tribe from newcomers.

And it only then when the boy started to survive.

Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
I love you all!
–Theladyandthefox