The Wolf and The Deer (Nazgul and MutedShades)

[MutedShades]

Anxious feet paced restlessly against uneven bark, nimble fingers clutching idly at a whittle whilst Kaya Hishu carved mindless patterns into a small slate of smooth wood. The petite wood weaver balanced with practiced ease amidst the many forked branches of her tribe's great oak, hazel eyes narrowed against the fog to the horizon in search of…anything. Movement. A sign that her father, her tribe's great chief, was returning home unscathed. Such a feat would have no avail, however; the rapidly darkening dusk offering no such answer nor comfort as the young woman let out an impatient sigh and began her swift descent down to the foliage below.

The sun had barely begun to rise when the wood weaver tribe and their best warriors had embarked on their ambush. Although prey has recently been rather plentiful, thank Arda; the same could not be said for their land. Rumors and worry still spread in hushed whispers amongst her people like a plague after the dawn patrol's return two full moons ago. Sightings of a possible new and invading adversary; ones that stank of soot and cared little for the abundance of bark clad spirits they struck down for reasons still unknown. Fury still broiled deep within the recesses of the girl's gut at the notion that her very leader had sought not to avenge the damage to their land but instead to stay his hand. To watch, wait, scout more patrols; to order their tribe to retreat their homes deeper within the recesses of the forest instead of standing their ground.

Was it not their duty to defend this territory? Their home? The grand elder had admonished her for her tongue and impatience, advising that it was better to know their enemy first before charging in blind. But what better way was there to know an enemy then at the sharp end of a spear?


Although time, scouting, and patience spared them conflict with these newcomers; its reward was land that was no longer their own.


What fear had these intruders wrought upon her father's weary mind that would push him not to counter, but instead to forcefully negotiate expansion from another neighboring tribe? Not that either had ever truly gotten along in the first place. The younger hunters described the lurkers of the plains as akin to wolves; so swift and silent in their pursuit of their targets that they need not require the cover of canopies nor dense shrubbery to make their mark. They were fierce and valiant hunters able to strike down prey many times their own size. Tales of these encounters used to wrought terrible dreams in Kaya's mind at night as a child. Wary as she still was today, she couldn't help her curiosity towards the news of their journey.

A small spark of envy had not been lost on her either; gazing at the hardened men and women alike with their bows and spears in hand, worn scars of previous pursuits displayed proudly between the deer skin and wood beaded weavings of their hunting attire. Scars brought more honor to a warrior than any extravagant carving, a permanent story etched forever within their tanned olive skin. All while her own remained as smooth as the day Kaya was brought into this world. Their chief seemed to want it no other way.


Kaya shook her head in disdain as her bare feet heavily struck solid ground, hands idly brushing fallen leaves from her buckskin tunic before darting mindlessly through the hustle and bustle of her kin. Most of the men were preparing the small clearing to the woodland center for the night's feast; dry wood and stone bordering being restocked within the underground fire pit while women gathered their younglings or prepared roots and mushrooms from the morning's foraging. Although the routine served to keep hands busy, it did little to stave the apprehension that hung heavy in the chilled evening air. It would appear Kaya was not the only one nervously waiting for the return of their hunting party. Mohe had promised to be back before sundown after all.

"Watch your step, little doe." an elder weaver grumbled as the brunette ducked swiftly under his haul of fallen branches. The girl let out a huff of annoyance at the nickname donned by nearly all of her tribe's inhabitants, stepping out of the way as the silver-haired brute carefully set down his load. "What is the point of my father giving me a name if it hardly gets used" Kaya shot back, the amusement etching into the male's lightly wrinkled face serving only to bristle her short temper more. The tribe’s deputy was always a man with a sharp tongue, back straightening as he regarded her with a keen look; right had absently stroking his long grey beard. The like was heavily braided with a variety of beads, each of which spoke their own tales. Ones of past hunts, past kills, his many children…it was a pride all men wore with age. "Perhaps you will earn your name when you learn to properly carve like a true tribeswoman." Kuruk, her father's brother; countered without hesitation; though his words held no true venom as the stump where his left hand once was gestured playfully towards her sketched art piece. The girl's face flushed with indignation at his audacity, unable to help but glance down self consciously at her carving progress before throwing it off to the side with a huff. "It's not finished yet…" Kaya whined in defeat, crouching down to help sort the branches into piles of small, medium, and large for the fire pit. "I jest, little doe. You'll find your creative spark soon enough."


Whatever retort the brunette had at the ready to strike back was quickly stifled at the distant yet familiar cry of whistle woods. The camp's border scouts answered the signal with falcon-like calls of their own, a message that their party had at last returned.

Kaya perked up at the news, her frame easily pushing past the steadily forming crowd of welcomers at the carefully curved oaks that served as the camp's entrance before her gaze could finally settle onto her people's return. Their current state was less than ideal; most were bruised and battered, bearing deep lacerations throughout their limbs. Yet it appeared the majority returned with their lives. Or so she could tell so far. Most importantly Mohe, their chief; who strutted forwards with both weariness and exhaustion echoing within his emerald eyes much to Kaya's relief. Behind him his entourage brought with them the literal fruit of their pursuits; herbs and other perishable supplies for their sick and young. Much as the young woman wished to eagerly welcome the middle aged warrior's return, it was what he forcefully pulled behind him in tow that made the girl halt in her tracks.


Wrists bound tightly behind his back in bark rope with another bound around his neck to use as a lead, it didn't take much of a glance towards the unknown male's attire and facial paint to realize he was meant to be a spoil of their raid. Much of the surrounding party kept their spears aimed in his direction, ready at a moment's notice should the prisoner attempt any effort to flee. Hushed whispers already began to spring forth, curious children that attempted to inch closer to appease their curiosity were promptly yanked away and ushered to the edges of the clearing towards the safety of the woodland shadows. The entire tribe was in an uproar, scoffing and hissing in his direction while all eyes glanced between him and their chief, waiting to see what was to follow.


Kitchi Nodin, the village elder; paid the unknown man a wary look. Her long silvery locks adorned with many intricately animal-carved beads clinked quietly with every shuffle as she moved towards the front of the crowd, frail worn hands sifting through the haul to sort out its use to the rest of the tribe. Always a woman of work and few words.


Kaya stepped back in surprise, a questioning look adorning her face as her father proceeded to pull the unknown captor in her direction; giving her a nod in greeting before glancing back towards the unknown male. "My daughter, Kaya Hishu. In exchange for the welfare of your tribe and its remaining land…you will see to her safety and bidding." The young woman could barely contain her scoff of annoyance and disgust. That's what this was about? A prisoner meant to follow her around?


"Why not just kill him and be done with it, I don't need a youngling sitter." Kaya argued, caring little about their audience and staring daggers at this intruder that had no right to be here. "I have no use for him."

 

[Nazgul]

Torg spent the morning like he did all others in recent memory; wake up, eat whatever remained of their food, and go out to find new food. The arrival of foreigners and neighbouring tribes into their lands had pushed them to their physical limits as far as the hunts were concerned, with prey spread thinner than ever. While normally the roaming aurochs in the purple heath fields were enough to sustain them twice over, the sudden arrival of strange four-legged animals pulling wooden machines with people on them had caused most of the aurochs to disappear, afraid of these animals and their riders. While open conflict had been avoided so far it seemed like it was but a matter of time until the foreigners - or the other tribes fleeing them - would stake a violent claim to the tribal lands of the Faol tribe - the wolves that roamed the heath. Their tribal encampments were set up along the forest lines that ridged the heath, to make use of the shade to hide them while overlooking the most beautiful part of their lands. This day, however, was different. Scouts entered the camp excited with a certain whoop in their voice and as Torg drew closer he overheard them talking about the deers. "They are close and do not know we know," one of the scouts said cryptically as they headed for the center of the camp where people gathered to hear news of the night hunters. These men stayed out at night to both look for sleeping prey, and to scout out the border regions and ward off any invaders - of which there were many this season. Torg was not able to discern what type of deer they were talking about, as the voices drew away, and he was only able to follow them excitedly, hoping that soon they would hunt for deer. But as they drew closer to the center of the tribal encampment, with a large bonfire at the center, it soon became clear they would not hunt the four-legged sources of meat and instead fight the two legged encroachers that sought to push them out of their territory. It was a well known fact for the tribes in the region that the tribe clad in deerskin and the Faol, clad in wolfhides, were rivals and at times even enemies. For them to enter the Faol tribal lands so easily and without any regard for their own safety meant that the threat of foreigners was even more dire than previously assumed. After all, for the deer tribe to fight them, one of the most feared warrior tribes, meant that the foreigners must've been an even worse choice. "But why do they come here? Why not south, to the weak owls, who will flee to their trees at the first sign of conflict, and only come down when you shoot them with arrows or they die of starvation? Why not go north to the crab people, or the hated crows? Their path takes them straight through wolf and bear territory!" one voice cried out as the news of incursions from the deer tribe started spreading. The people argued amongst themselves until finally their leader - Eksana, an old wise man with many battle scars and a wolf-headdress to signify his status in the warrior caste of the tribe, raised his hand and beckoned everyone to quiet. "They come here because they do not wish to fight the neutral tribes and we have a history of rivalry and warfare between us - to kill us now is to find one solution to two problems. We must move quick if we wish to make sure these remain our lands," he spoke, his words calm despite the fact that he was in a sense speaking about life and death. Not for himself, not for the warriors, but for all the tribe. If they saw defeat at the hands of the deer tribe, the men would find slow deaths, and the women a fate worse than that. Not to speak of the reputation of the survivors, who would be exiled from these lands and be condemned to a lonely existence in the wilds. Torq steeled himself at the thought of this - he was a nobody in the tribe, in a way. His mother was a forager, his father was dead. He himself had only barely managed to join the warrior caste, and did so only recently, as a scout. And here he was, thrust into the dinn of battle so soon, his role uncertain, and even more so his experience. He was a capable hunter - preferring the spear and knife, like most of the wolf tribesmen - but had truthfully never drawn blood from a fellow human. Eksana gestured to the forest. "The scouts will root out where the deer people are hiding, and we will ambush their scouts so they cannot relay information -- and then we strike, to kill them and rid the world of this problem. May the sky wolf protect us!" Rather than a festive cheer, the warriors howled loudly as they jumped around, mimicking the movements of playful wolves jumping around, howling at the sky and make-belief enemies. Except the enemies now were not make belief and, instead, very real. There was no time to feel shaken or scared for Torq as he rushed to his hut and grabbed his spear and stone dagger, and then joined the other scouts, splitting into groups of three to go seek out the deers. They were given some small instructions by the veteran warriors and the night hunters who had originally seen the deer, but were then released onto their own. The group Torq was in, he was unfamiliar with. He knew them by name and look, but had never worked with them - a problem that was admittedly not at the front of his mind as he tried to keep up with these more veteran scouts, who seemed excited, not scared, to fight in the forests that were theirs by right. Every summer the tribes came together for a great feast and to celebrate life, death and everything in between -- and at these same summer feasts the tribes made agreements. The agreement on the boundaries of the tribal lands had long been agreed on, year by year, and so this incursion by the treacherous deers was not only a matter of honour and reputation but also a matter of maintaining the law of the summer lawspeaking. In the back of his mind, Torq wondered if they would not do the same were they placed in the shoes of the deer tribe, and faced with a foe they could not beat. The answer found him quickly: no, they would stand and fight. A solution that would maintain their honour but cost them their lives, Torq knew. "Shhh," one of the scouts suddenly hushed, holding up his hand and then lowering it to gesture for them to kneel down. The three warriors slowly moved forwards in the shrubs as they stumbled upon a deer hunting party. Six men strong, armed with spears, bows, daggers, and their standard tools. A tough fight but.. with the element of surprise on their side, they could even the odds before the deer were even aware of their presence. Slowly the first man in line went for his bow, nocking a stone arrow and drawing the string back, while the second man gripped his throwing spear to launch it towards the strongest looking men. Torq felt his knuckles whiten as he tightened the grip on his spear, prepared to rush forwards. Throwing was not his strongest suit. He preferred to be the one driving the boars and aurochs, cornering them before impaling them with his spear. Thwang. The arrow flew loose and hit the warrior in the chest, who immediately slumped over and began crying those harrowing cries of pain and fear. Ghtwack, the spear flew, catching a second victim, followed swiftly by the war cry of the wolves, howling, awoooooo, that slowly turned into guttural warcries as they closed the gap. Torq clashed with the hunting party first, driving his spear through a young hunter, 18, maybe 19 summers old. He tried to pull his spear back but it was stuck, and before he was able to kick the boy away to give his pull some extra strength, another deer was upon him, swinging his stone axe wildly. No, was all Torq could think, as he let go of his prized spear and instead allowed himself to fall backwards, scrambling further into the leaf-covered floor until he hit a stump. The warrior still approached him, preparing the death blow when another arrow flew and struck the man in his neck, causing him to fall over trying to reach for his neck. He was dead before he could find and touch the arrow. No time to thank his saviour, Torq thought, as he quickly rose to his feet and grabbed the axe. "Regroup!" he yelled, realizing that they were getting too separated and breaking into their own little duels. Left was the archer - Yorikk - who had been caught off guard by a hunter after he loosed his arrow, and right was Tere, the javelineer that had now started using a club to batter two men at once. And then there was one deer right in front of Torq, who seemed about as distraught as Torq was. But the numbers didn't add up. Six deer had turned into eight, and in the distance Torq saw yet another three deer approach rushing through the shrubs. "Yorikk, Tere, run! It's an ambu-" before he could finish his warning, another assailant had turned up and punched him in the back of the head. The world went silent. The great sleep approached. Was this it? At least he died honorably... his ancestors had nothing to be ashamed of and the sky wolf would welcome him to forever roam the sky, hunting stars for an eternity. ... or would they? A few seconds, minutes or hours of complete darkness were followed by a rough moan, and then Torq spitting out a mixture of leaves, dirt and blood. He yet lived. "This one's still breathing," an unfamiliar voice said, the crunch of leaves underfoot betraying his approach. "Let's kill him and string him from a tree -- make sure these wolves get the message." For a second, the other voices seemed to be in agreement, until a stern voice called out from far away. "No, not him," the voice said, "we'll take him back to camp." "But what if he escapes? He's going to tell them where we'd staying, and the next thing you know they're--" "He won't. We make a deal. His life in servitude for the safety of his tribe." Slowly, Torq pushed himself up off the ground. Who did this man think he was, making deals without his approval? He tried to force a laugh to let these deer know he wasn't going to make any type of deal, but all he could muster was a single ha before his voice rasped, his throat heaved and he coughed up even more blood. "I... I won't.. make any deal.." he managed to push out before his right arm gave in and he collapsed onto the floor again. "Hng, they weren't lying about these wolves' desire to fight. Shame that what they have in ferocity and fearlessness, they lack in the brain. Didn't even stop to consider this was an ambush," the original voice that wanted to hang him from a tree noted. Torq managed a grunt in response. "And yet this young wolf killed one of ours, and if we hadn't showed up, would've probably killed more. The other two killed at least three more before we took them down. Does that sound like a good trade for you, if we have to fight them like this several more times before we even find their encampment? No. We must deal with them. But we do it our way," the older, stern voice said. "Maybe they will bargain for this boy -- though I've never seen him at the summer feasts, I am sure they'd like to return one of their own." No power to fight back. What a disgrace, Torq thought to himself, as he was dragged away. It wasn't until halfway through the journey that they let him stand up on his own and stumble forwards. He could scarcely make out where they were headed, but from the tree offerings and markings on the trees he knew they were still in wolf territory. Of course they were. They were camped out right in their backyard. As they arrived at the deer camp some hours later, the deer people gawked at him like he was some sort of freak animal, an auroch borne with two heads or no tail. He did not have the energy anymore to intimidate them, barely managing to wipe his hands on his wolf fur covering, covering it in a mixture of mud and blood -- his blood, the blood of the deer he killed, who even knew at this point? It became clear soon that the man that had saved him - or at least, had presumed to have saved him - was the tribal leader of some sorts. Maybe the leader of the warriors? Deer tribal customs confused him, and from what he had seen at the summer feasts, it was likely that this wouldn't be the last confusing part of their meeting. The daughter naturally revolted against the idea of a prisoner following her around to 'protect her' - rightly so. Knowing what the man had planned now, Torq had already formulated that he'd stab her in the neck and dig out her windpipe the first chance he'd get. Her refusal, at least, was amusing. She seemed more wolf than deer. "She's right," he coughed, "should've killed me." He knew that even if he was released, returning to his tribe was impossible now. Capture by the enemy was dishonorable, and he should've gone down fighting. Not that there was much chance for that, but his fate was sealed, and his only way to survive now was to serve this deer tribe as a prisoner - whatever they had planned for him - or as an exile. "Don't think the Faol will be dissuaded either. This was just the first party we found. We killed our share." He wanted to continue speaking, but coughed loudly suddenly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand before wiping it on his tunic, staining it with more blood. "You trespass our lands. Why? You have ample hunting grounds, we agreed in the summer. Now you come to our lands, hunt our prey. Why should we give up our lands for you? You've already killed two of us, and doomed me to exile or death. The Faol will want vengeance for their dead and your trespassing now." He groaned slightly as he leaned on his other leg to wane off the pain he felt through his body. He was noticeably worn by their skirmish, though he was also obviously trying very hard to not show it. Not yet quite a hardened warrior, but the makings of one were showing already. He realized full well, however, that they'd never let him go, and would just kill him. "Why make me watch her? What danger is she in, what makes her so special? Are you scared of the foreigners on their wooden aurochs?"