O Little Hunter

[Dragna]

“Through the jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh—
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!”
-The Song of the Little Hunter, Kipling

The Third Brightening of Kalendryas
In the Season of Winter
Era XIV Post Fractum
Noon

Dragna had spent all morning tracking this one bolter and a crafty one was he. The giant had first caught a glimpse of him, ironically, while sharpening darts near a pond. He was hardly prepared, lounging in a scattered camp, but on pure luck glanced up and met stares with a five-point buck, the largest Dragna had ever seen, more brilliant than the golden bolter he’d found charred dead by dwarves last season.

The giant was immediately taken with the animal, especially for the tools and dart heads the antlers would supply, perhaps even a sugliin. He slowly reached into his knapsack for his atlatl, but the sound of shuffling spooked his would-be prey. Perhaps spooked wasn’t the right word, as the bolter had taken a long pause to examine the collection of freshly-sharpened darts. It was as if he knew exactly what those wooden stakes were used for and wisely fled. The giant quickly gathered his belongings, dropped the new darts in his quiver, and was off.

He loaded his atlatl on the way around the pond and entered the deep woods in the same direction as his mark. To his dismay, the prints quickly tapered off. In the past few days, temperatures had severely dropped, and while it hadn’t snowed yet, the ground was stiff, in some parts frozen, making the forest floor a stingy aid in hunting. Dragna was forced to look for broken deadfall and out-of-place foliage for a trail. It took time, but Dragna was ever-vigilant for details and held a tried stamina after an era in the Dolwood.

The trail ended in a large clearing between oaks. Dragna frowned, now robbed of clues in the foliage, and got on his hands and knees to examine suspicious runs of disturbed soil. A clever move on the bolter’s part, he absently thought while delicately feeling around the impression of what might have been a hoof. Somewhat sure of the bolter’s direction, given a convincing pattern of light impressions, the giant pressed forward. It was unlikely the animal was still running at this point and, with any luck, he’d make the kill before he was forced to camp.

A single flake of snow struck the arch of his nose and provoked a deep frown.

[Demda]

An entire season had passed since the story had been heard, of the twelve dwarfen farmers who'd been shot down by some untouchable, barbaric, wolf-headed demon. The report that came in was insane to hear it. This demon had eluded the twelve all throughout a night, and one by one picked them off with short spears.

Supernatural happenings were not out of place in Alleria, and Centripax was no exception. Zerdargia itself had fallen prey to arcane fallout, and as such weird happenings abounded in the city. Madness seemed to rule ever since the Dark Horde laid seige to the city and destroyed it. Had the madness spread to the outlying countryside? Or was this demon some sort of shapeshifter, a werecreature bent only on fullfilling it's base needs. Many questions were asked, and seemed to satisfy the officials for a time, until the dwarf in question began spreading the rumor of Ghostwolf. They had him promptly institutionalized, but the damage was done at that point.

They didn't conduct an investigation at first. It took them some time before they even started to really care about this local legend.

Eventually, though, when the other members of the group of twelve failed to return to Zerdargia, the officials began to lend more and more credence to the madman. By then, the story of the Ghostwolf had turned into the stuff of urban legend. Good for keeping children from breaking house rules and staying in line, but bad for the reputation of people who made a living of making the province and it's wilderness safe for dwarfenkind. It got to a point where this Ghostwolf would have to be brought to justice, if only to reign in this fear of expansion that was springing up out of the farmerfolk.

Zerdargia sent out one of their best rangers to investigate the incident. A full era later. The officials would've sent one sooner, but they'd never imagined how much damage a crazy story could do to their city's short-term aims.

Casiah Brimstone, a brown-bearded dwarf with a shaved scalp, dressed in brown, padded leathers and with numerous throwing axes attached to hoops in his belt, crept along the wilderness floor in silent non-chalance. There was no urgency yet. He was merely testing the water, to see what he'd find. The bodies had been roughly where the original story placed them, and startlingly so. So accurate that the sanity of the dwarf who'd made up the tale seemed less and less in question. It was obvious that he was telling the exact truth, at least with regards to the placement of bodies.

They were all badly decayed, and ill-disposed of. The fool that had left them there probably hadn't reckoned with the disease making properties of bodies that were left to rot. The bodies were well decayed, and eaten in parts no-doubt by wilderness creatures. They'd been picked at from time to time, and savaged by the wilderness, but otherwise didn't seem as though they'd been brought to that state overnight, aside from the wounds given by the spears. So that ruled out the possibility of a flesh-eating monster.

For a day or so, Casiah merely roamed the scene of the crime, taking in clues and such, until he was reasonably satisfied with the knowledge gleaned. Soon, in the gallows of Zerdargia, the Legend of Ghostwolf would see it's end.

[Dragna]

The elements were against him. Already ground not shielded by trees laid cloaked in a thin layer of snow and their prints lost. Dragna had followed the trail for as long as he could, but several blanketed clearings and a lack of other tells left him... out in the cold.

He quickly got to work on building a shelter. With the snow picking up and the sun heading down, he would need the extra protection and a dry place for a fire while there were still dry places. Already the drop in temperature was apparent on his face and hands. It was going to be a very cold night.

The longest part in the process of constructing a lean-to was foraging the proper materials. Dragna already had the hide coverings, recycled from past shelters, which helped tremendously. With a hand axe pilfered off a dwarf last year, harvesting wood was a much easier process. And quicker, which often made the difference in survival situations. He almost couldn't believe he'd endured a year ago by furiously sawing saplings with a cheap dagger. He found a dry spot nestled in the root bed of an unusually large ash and removed several thick leather strips. With the deftness of a hundred plus trials and errors in shelter construction, he bound, braced and blanketed a proper sanctum without trouble.

Dragna rummaged around the immediate area and scrounged up dry kindling. With a little help from the axe, he produced logs enough to keep it going all night and maybe then some. He checked the branches immediately above him for snow and built a pyramid of sticks. Judging by the tree's fullness, it'd take quite a snowfall to pierce the canopy and quelch his fire. He surrounded the pyramid with rocks and dirt, then began a process that still gave him trouble, even after so many successes.

Fire was a fickle element, at once man's greatest ally in the wild and his most elusive. Considering his first attempts last winter, his skill at calling fire were ten times more effective, but it still required tedious finesse. He removed his dagger and carved a groove in one of the logs. Then he got his tiny fire bow from his knapsack and a stick. Wrapping the stick in the boot-lace bowstring, he sawed and sawed till he saw smoke, adding dry bits he'd found and blowing gently. In time a fire was born and he fed it well till it roared.

Bunching the ten leather outfits he'd looted and intended one of these days to reconstruct into an outfit for himself (with winter upon him one day soon), he created a bed warmer and more comfortable than anything he'd been used to last winter.

When the sun set, bringing deadly cold, he ate a meal of bolter jerky and drank of freshly fallen snow collected on broad branches not far from the lean-to. The stars were well-hidden and the moon muted, but Dragna spent a good deal of time looking up, thinking of his progress thus far and, of course, making sure no snowy branches extinguished his fire.

[Dragna]

Dragna woke a little before dawn and collected his things under the frosty blue haze. Despite lastnight's snowfall, which left a three inch crust, the sky looked clear in the growing light. It'd be a good day to travel and, ancestor's willing, a good day to hunt. The buck might be lost, but Dragna was low on food and something would have to fill his stomach, whether it offered antlers or not. He drank from the cleanest snow and ate the last of his dried venison. Hefting his things onto his back, the giant loaded his atlatl and ventured forth for another hunt.

The snow was as much a godsend as a bane for tracking, covering old tracks but making new ones as blatant as if the animal were in sight. He saw many small prints criss-crossing his way, mostly rodents, but ignored them for a kill that would leave him feeling full. He was not above tiny meals, however, should things turn ill. Was it not just last summer he'd eaten the grub from under a log to keep from starving? And a squirrel after that?

He shivered, partially from the thought of those fat worms in his mouth, but mostly from the chilly morning temperature. He'd have to be sure not to work up too much of a sweat today, as he'd discovered the evaporation on his skin actually cooled him and made getting warm near-impossible. Hypothermia wouldn't be too far afterwards, unless he took the time to start a fire and dry his clothes. The bolter hides, loose as they were, offered a good balance between too hot and too cold. However, they sometimes proved a little too drafty, yet another reason to tailor those dwarfen outfits to his size.

He owed the little people much in the last year, as their supplies and clothing had shown Dragna that the wilderness was more-easily surmountable with a smart inventory and preparedness. And socks. Dragna had discovered the foot sheaths on the dead dwarves and, though a little tight, he'd stretched them over his own feet. To his supreme pleasure, they helped tremendously in keeping his feet dry and free of blisters which was often a problem in winter. Wrapped over with bolter skin, they proved nearly as sturdy as their boots. He wished a pair would have fit, sure they'd protect his feet even better, perhaps increase his overall land movement, but while Dragna could hope to reverse-engineer a new outfit from their's, he saw little chance of somehow undoing all their shoes and making a pair for himself. He was appreciative enough in what boons he'd recieved.

In all his thought, Dragna nearly missed the hoove prints. He knelt and examined them carefully. A grinn ruffled the wild tangles of his beard and mustache. The golden buck had been this way. He was sure of it. The chase was again on.

[Dragna]

The dung was cold. He couldn't have hoped for much better in this weather. Dragna stooped over his findings and estimated the bolter passed this way no more than a few candlemarks prior, due to the freshess of the pile and the fact it wasn't sheathed in snow. He rose and pushed on through a narrow corridor of autumn foliage that hadn't had a chance to die before the shock of winter. It scraped against his broad shoulders and made more noise than Dragna cared to create. He was almost as bad as a dwarf, and made a conscious effort to move as streamline as possible given the tight flora.

The animal had abandoned its previous trail, scattered with other animal tracks, and broken an exclusive northwestern run. The prints were deep and clear, easy to follow. He did so for over several candlemarks, until the morning cold became a mild afternoon. The snow started melting and with it all signs of the bolter's movement. Almost all signs, Dragna realized, having noticed nudged patches of grass and earth for miles. It wasn't much, but it gave a probable direction Dragna had little other option but to follow.

His gamble proved fruitful, leading to a clearing with not just his bolter's tracks, but dozens, smaller does and fawns, even other buck tracks. It seemed to be a bolter crossroads, so worn by traffic grass could hardly grow, the snow was muddy slush, and droppings of all ages lined the perimeter. Dragna wondered what could cause such a regular influx, perhaps a nearby watering hole or some really tasty grass.

Traces of the golden bolter were lost in the myriad of similar prints and the foliage was so tight there was little chance the giant could sneak up on any animal well enough to give him a good shot. Now was as good a time as ever to try a new idea he'd been mulling over should hunting grow scarce and more difficult.

Dragna began collecting the necessary materials for drag snares. He had the most important ingredient on him, namely the twenty boot's worth of lace he'd taken from the dwarves, but he also needed three saplings. They were easy enough to find and likewise to cut with the hand axe. Once severed, the giant dragged the trees to a removed spot and began the consuming work of braiding and knotting three nooses. Having little experience, the task took him two candlemarks, and a short time more to attached one to each of his saplings.

The sun burned with mid-afternoon brilliance, thawing large plots of grass. However large collections of thin, streaky cloud curls had grown along the horizon and moved with a northerly wind over the sky. Dragna frowned, anticipating snow by nightfall, perhaps even a blizzard. Nothing was certain when it came to weather, Dragna could attest, but he hurried none the less, planning to leave ample time to build adequate shelter.

He searched the areas immediately around the crossing, snares in hand. Moving through the thick vegetation, he caught the sounds of bolters, startled by his passing and bolting every which way. He might have seen the flit of a white tail or the glimpse of a rack, but nothing to shoot at. Dragna circled the crossing for a while, acessing which trails into the clearing were most used, before finding one suitable for a trap. He wedged his first sapling between two trees and locked it in their branches. The noose hung over the trail at about the height of a grown bolter's neck. The idea was the animal would run down the path, catch itself in the noose, and either break its neck with a jerking stop or drag the sapling through the wood until it became ensnared.

Before he could leave the drag snare to work its magic or fail miserably (Dragna still wasn't sure which), he had to get rid of his scent. From up-wind distances, stalking a bolter to the atlatl's striking distance was an easy matter, but to get anywhere close was extremely difficult. He'd often lost a meal by nothing more than a change in wind direction, alerting prey's sensitive snouts to the smell of man. So, grimacing all the while, he took handfuls of recent bolter dung and smeared them over the laces and wood. One thing he was certain of was that it would be enough to mask his olfactory signature.

He positioned the other two snares in similar places just as evening set in. In the failing light, winter returned with all its chilly bite. Overhead, the clouds looked heavy, and Dragna hastily dashed away from his traps to find a camping spot before the first snowflakes fell.

[Demda]

After the scene of the crime was thoroughly investigated, and the method of death of the dwarves ascertained, Casiah moved on to actually finding the near-mythic manbeast.

It took some time, but eventually, after a few days of searching, he found signs of the wood being lived in. At first they were subtle, mere footprints in the snow that were of no animal. Then he came upon a frozen latrine, with the excrement of an individual piled into it. He could tell that the area had been lived in for a few days, merely for the level of the latrine. Another thing that struck the dwarf as odd, and possibly foolish, was the fact that the camp was built closely to the latrine, too closely. If the manbeast was trying to avoid detection, this was not the way to do it. Perhaps he was oblivious, a sort of idiot? That wasn't entirely out of the question. While Casiah had met smart humans, the bulk of them were nonsensical creatures. Not that he knew for sure that this was a human. Judging by the tracks, it was either that, or a very small giant. Right now Casiah was leaning toward the former, though.

The skeleton of the shelter lay nearby as well, and gave further clues to the size of the man that he was tracking. Judging by all of the clues gathered thus far, he judged the man to be around nine feet in height. No larger than that. How a human got the right to grow that tall Casiah would never understand. Perhaps it had something to do with the amount he ate. Another factoid that brought Casiah's thoughts back to the latrine.

And still he continued to track the manbeast.

[Dragna]

The storm had blitzed the sky like some elemental army. Risen from the northern horizon, it rode fast, reaching out with wispy scouts. Then came the mercurial vanguard, low-flying tufts of gray that brough spats of snow. And finally the main force, massive stormheads that enveloped the airy plain, launching a million and more missiles of hail, snow, and frozen rain. Occasionally, a commander would bark an order, bringing thunder and flash lightning.

Dragna hadn't seen the sky so menacing since his first night in the Dolwood, which left him wet to the bone, sick and miserable. Now in winter, things promised to be much worse, sickness and hypothermia flying suredly on the brutal northern winds. They struck the giant with enough force to whip his bolter hides like flags on a storm-bound mast, even with the cover of the trees. Every gust blew under his loose flaps and sent shocks of cold to his body.

The wind motivated like a whip, especially when hail stung at its end. He kept his head, though, no longer the panicked animal of last era. In his many times scouring the wood for a place to rest, he'd come up with BLISS. It was easy enough to remember and was the ultimate aim of a shelter, an acronym that stood for Blend, Low, Irregular, Small, Secluded. Taking these words to heart, he saught through the woods until he found an area just to his specifications. It was a slightly-sunken ditch, half-covered in raspberry brambles (which Dragna had found over the era just refuse to die and had subsequently become his favorite plant). The brambles blended well with the surrounding flora; The ditch rested low and irregularly shaped so as not to be spotted easily by errant howlers or branch-breakers; The area was small; And secluded enough away from any trail, run or crossing that it'd be stumbled upon. Of course, he made sure to check for tracks and droppings before setting camp, just in case it was dumb luck he'd stumbled on another creature's home. Luckily, he hadn't.

He removed his recycled bolter hides and threw them over the brambles. Raspberry brambles were very strong and in winter hardened into a thorny vine capable of holding a shape. The hides were heavy, but the nexus was so thick that it held to make a perfect roof. With only minor adjustments, the spot of ready to live in, and Dragna threw down his ten cold weather outfits for matting and warmth. Hugged on either side by earth and almost entirely shut out from wind, he found the temperature much more bearable. He had his doubts starting a fire, but within a dedicated candlemark had a small one lit in the sheltering ditch. It burned on only two logs at a time, but supplied just the right amount of heat. Dragna, for all the bluster outside, had seemingly tamed the Dolwood for the night. His stomach growled, reminding him perhaps tamed was too strong a word. Hopefully those drag snares would survive the storm and prove fruitful, or it was a menu of squirrel and rodent tomorrow.

[Demda]

The dwarf wore his thickest furs as the weather took a turn for the worse. For a while, he'd debated the idea of making camp, if only to ride it out. But doubtless so was the barbarian. This storm was the kind of headstart he needed to close the distance, and capture the Ghostwolf.

Once, in the past days, he'd considered returning to the outpost for a couple of dogs for the purpose of tracking by scent, but decided against it. He didn't want to risk going back for the means to make his victory certain, when it might give the barbarian time to hatch some sort of snare, provided that rumors of his prescience weren't deeply exaggerated, as Cosiah somewhat suspected them to be. Besides which, and it might seem foolish, Cosiah wanted this to be a purely dwarfen victory. He was confident, with the tracks that his quarry was leaving, that he'd close the distance within a day or so.

The dwarf noted the snares that had been set up, likely with the hope of trapping some poor little animal such as a cabbit. A few of them, he noted, had even caught something, which hung, frozen to death in the cold of the storm.

This seemed the perfect opportunity to Cosiah. He could wait here. It was very likely that the barbarian would return within a day to this location, to see if his snares had caught anything.

In the meantime, Cosiah crouched in a hiding spot, nursing his hipflask that contained the strongest dwarfen whiskey to chase off the cold. It was going to be a long night, he thought.

[Dragna]

Dragna woke to clear skies, well after sunrise. Apparently the storm had blown out as quick as it'd blown in. It'd left nearly a half-foot of snow, though, which brought mixed feelings to the giant. Traveling would be bothersome and he'd surely have to change his socks several times throughout the day, but at least any fresh prints would be remarkably obvious.

A slight thrill hit him, followed by a hunger pang. He'd almost forgotten about his drag snares. Eagerly, he collected his things and made ready to leave. But before setting out, he performed some simple hygiene: washing his face, finger-scrubbing his teeth, combing his hair, beard and mustache with a suitably-shaped raspberry vine, and changing his socks. With his feet re-wrapped in hides, he left with a sense of optomism. Those traps had to have worked. At least one should have caught something.

Backtracking was a bit tricky with his lack of markers or past tracks, but general areas felt familiar, and though it took much more time then he might have anticipated, Dragna was back to the crossing within a few candlemarks. Barely containing a smile, though he wondered if he wasn't setting himself for some heavy dissapointment, he circled the area, visiting the first of his snares. The sight of a frozen bolter hanged by a shoe string spurred him into a run.

[Demda]

Cosiah could hear the giant from well a ways off. Not that Ghostwolf was poorly intuned with the sounds of the forest, but something tramping snow was bound to be heard, however much the sound mixed with the regular ambience of the forest. Cosiah was ready, with a throwing axe in either hand.

He'd made a sort of igloo from the snowfall, waking up periodically to punch holes through the walls that were forming, making it easier to breathe. but still colder than it otherwise would have been. Even so, he had been well enough off to survive the night.

Just as Cosiah expected, he awoke to find the giant man running toward the scene. The dwarf took two throwing axes from his belt, and clutched them tightly as he rose tentatively to sit upon his feet. He resisted the urge to immediately throw them at his quarry. Instead he waited, waited and watched, and hoped that the giant man's gaze wouldn't fall his way, lest he see the vaguely domed igloo that stood just a few yards off of the path.

[Dragna]

Success! Dragna approached the bolter, fringed with ice and obviously dead. He brushed a little frost off its hide and decided its condition was all for the better, the cold an excellent preservative. Judging by the condition of the neck, the doe had done just as the giant hoped, ran down the path, roped herself and broke her own neck. It was the more forgiving way to have ended, considering the other option would have been freezing to death in ensnarement.

He loosed the noose and let the bolter drop to the ground with a stiff thud. Then he examined the drag snare, finding it suitable for reuse. Pleased beyond words (not that he could have formed any), Dragna hefted the snare over one shoulder and dragged the bolter behind him with his free hand. He knew checking the other traps was the wisest course, but his hunger got the best of him, and he searched out a nice spot to build a breakfast fire.

And then he noticed it on a quick scan of the surrounding area, a white dome that stuck out from the rest of the foliage. Curious, but fearing it might be some kind of den for howlers or branch-breakers, he chose to move on.

He hiked for a short time in the same circle he'd placed the traps along, suddenly not so sure he wanted to remain near the crossing. If he'd sniffed out an easy source of game, so could have other predators. Hustling to the second snare, he found it empty.

[Demda]

Cosiah himself wasn't quite sure what to do about the situation. There were any number of ways this could go ugly. If the slaughter an era ago was any indication, the barbarian before him was no one to be trifled with. He'd have to bring him down quick. Fortunately, for the dwarf, his quarry made a large target. Unfortunately, he'd probably prove harder to bring down. Cosiah might've considered himself professional in the use of those axes on his belt, but even he was hard pressed to make a running headshot.

In the end, he settled for pure dwarfen determination, regardless of the merits of the plan that had formed. He'd burst from the igloo, utilizing his immense strength to shrug off the iced over snow, and then launch a couple of throwing axes at the larget target on the giant's body that he could find.

He burst from his hiding place, and hurled one axe, then the other. One made it's way straight for Dragna's belly, the other for his knee. The giant had only seconds to react from the moment he heard the sound, to the point where he'd find himself severely wounded.

[Dragna]

Snow erupted from the left. Dragna didn't even need to guess it was that damned dome! Instinctively, the giant crouched, and pulled the frozen kill up toward his body protectively. In the span of a quick second, two heavy thuds struck the carcass. The slivers of axe edges glimmered through the ribs and thigh of his meat shield.

The giant's heart pounded, all thoughts of optomism vanishing, and adrenaline surged with his bounding strides toward the cover of denser trees. He needed protection fast, then he'd worry about losing this...

Dragna snuck a quick-as-a-blink look in the direction of the attack, fearing he already knew what the projectiles belonged to. To his grim fear and anger, it was another of the stout folk. This one moved with deftness akin to Dragna and with a speed that betrayed every notion he had of the little ones. The half-foot snow drifts slowed him a little, but another flying axe whirred past him and buried itself into a trunk, proving he was well within range. Was this the fear bolters felt at the whiz of the atlatl?

The giant zig-zagged so as to not be such an easy shot. It'd cost the giant his footing last year, so he made sure to mind his steps as he exploded into thick foliage, fumbling for his atlatl and a dart.

A mad idea suddenly struck him... Was a dwarf near-enough the height of a bolter? Dragna intended to find out, circling towards his two remaining snares.

[Demda]

Dragna would never know how fruitless his search for the other snares was. Cosiah had seen them, and memorized their location in the event that this ambush didn't go as well as it could. The meat shield of a deer proved an unexpected diversion, but not one that would prove to be useful to the giant in the long run. He had to drop it to make any kind of speed.

Unfortunately for the Giant, he found this dwarf a much more agile opponent than the ones he'd slaughtered last era. The dwarf had short legs, but like his compatriots, had momentum to make up for it. But this dwarf had a strange way of dealing with it. Instead of following a straight line, he kicked up and off the path as needed, forming a sort of zig zag pattern as the Giant was employing. He practically sailed through the forest in this way, trailing Dragna just behind.

Of course, the zig zag pattern they were both using made it doubly difficult to land any axe throws on the giant. So the dwarf refrained after the first failure.

Eventually they both came to the spot where his other snares were set, and the dwarf snorted as they came to it, "Fat chance, giant man." That said, the dwarf sent another two axes flying, each one aiming to disable the snares that had been set. They hit with startling accuracy. The dwarf drew another couple into each hand, and charged for the giant man.

[Dragna]

The carcass was a heavy burden, and slowed Dragna in a chase where a few feet could mean life or death. However, he balanced it over his shoulders like some macabre collar and pushed on through the growth. He'd stumbled upon a narrow bolter run and decided to take it, weaving in and out between cleared ground and the dense foliage on either side. This further hampered his movement, but the giant had realized a while back that outrunning his opponent wasn't an option. All that mattered was that he didn't get struck in the back before he could counter attack.

So as the dwarf quickly gained, Dragna loaded his atlatl in front of him, not an easy task considering the running and the extra weight. And as the sounds of snow-trudging crashed with each of the dwarf's footfalls till Dragna could almost feel the dwarf about to step on his heels, the giant ground to a halt and used all his might to shrug the bolter corpse off behind him.

Hoping the bolter toppled on his pursuier, or at the very least caused him to pause, Dragna didn't hesitate in turning to face his enemy and launching a dart with the focused precision of a tested atlatlian.