BushcraftUk's own novel.

[RovingArcher]

The first snow of the season has left an undisturbed blanket of powder over the landscape. I could barely feel the kiss of the icy breeze on the back of my neck and a few minutes later, I could see a couple of deer in the distance as they hightailed away from the smell of our camp. The ravens played with the dogs, as one flew over them, inviting them to the chase. All the while, the other birds maintained a good distance from the now baying hounds as they met the challenge and raced after the calling bird. When the pack was a safe distance from the bin that contained their food, the other ravens moved in to have their fill of the kibble.

I turned to look into the camp and gave a small smile and felt strangly proud at what I was seeing. A few short weeks before, our small group was able to scrounge half a dozen tipi's from a manufacturers warehouse in a nearby town and the white smoke rising heavily into the cold air, hovering about the tops of the shelters, brought the ancient memories of a thousand generations, fresh into my mind and heart, as if it were only yesterday.

In the distance I could hear those crazy hounds, relentless in their pursuit of the winged joker. It is a scene that has been played out daily, ever since the day we moved our camp to this protected place. The dogs looked forward to the visit and got some good spirited exercise, the ravens got some food and we humans enjoyed a good laugh. It was a good ritual.

As I made my way back to my families lodge, I noticed David's daughter Kim, taking some wood into her new lodge. Several months earlier she had pleaded with me to talk her Dad into getting her a Tipi that she could call her own. I reminded her that she should do the right thing and remain with her father, but being a strong spirited and very stubborn young woman, I eventually gave in and did what she asked of me and I took her desires to her father so that he could make his decision. David is a good father and we did bring her a lodge and now she was happy. Well, as happy as a young woman could be, her mother and sister dead and no prospects of a young man coming into her life. She helped in putting up the lodges and it seemed like we were all walking backwards at first. But we managed and by the time we had erected the last Tipi, we were all old hands at it. Little did any of us know..........

I could hear Dave singing to his new best friend, the single surviving puppy of Ellies litter. Ellie had her pups and had picked up the first and largest to start moving them to a warmer shelter and when she had disappeared from sight, a small female bear raided her den. Ellie made her charge, but it was too little and too late. The bear had killed them all and ran off with one dangling from it's frothing and blood soaked mouth.

There was no doubt that Gabe, the puppies human name, was a blue tick hound. He was a big and plump puppy, with big floppy ears and a nose that never stopped. When it was just weaned by it's mother, I took him to David to help ease his pain of loosing his wife Sue, his eldest daughter Jody and his 6 year old grandson Jeremy. David scouped the pup up in his arms, wrapped it up in a bundle of warm cloth and hung the bundle around his neck and shoulder. Then he grabbed his pipe, wrapped his Hudson Bay Blanket around them both and off he and the pup went. As they walked the land, he showed the pup all that was his to play and eventually hunt in.

It was almost time for a specially called community meeting. We would meet in Chief Roberts lodge and as Gaye and I made our way across the center of camp, I grabbed an arm load of wood from the community wood supply to make sure that Bob would be warm tonight.

As we entered, he shot me a glance and whispered that he had had a dream. I knew exactly what he meant, because he has had many dreams over the last couple of years. One that foretold the end of greed for the Earths resources. How could we, any of us, have known that it would come to pass in such a painful way. Another of his dreams brought us to where we are today and yet another said that we would soon get a sign of our coming times.

I layed the wood down next to Bobs bedding area and took my place at the East with my wife. David and Kim came in and carried some hot coffee to share with everyone. I could see that our old Chief was in an anxious state and seemed hesitant, almost unsure of himself as he greeted that last of our group and we were all seated. Kathy motioned for Kim to offer and pour the steaming coffee for those that wanted some and then she withdrew a small bundle from her blanket and even before she had it unwrapped, we could smell the sweetness of her corn muffins. All received one and as we ate and drank, Kathy began to speak of someone that had come to her with a dream and that she was asked to speak for this person and to offer her feelings on the meanings that were held in the dreamer's vision. "We are to leave this place." she said. "We are being sent on a journey!" Robert's voice boomed from his excitement. He continued, "I dreamed that healthy people were calling to us from across the land". "They need our help! and we need theirs." Kathy continued and went on by saying, "we must all agree. It's a consensus or it is nothing." "It will be a difficult journey, because of unseen forces that will work against us, but if our people, if all people are to survive and live for generations to come, we must make this journey and we must leave soon." The silence was deafening. I stared into the fire and thought about all we had been through and all that was to come if we agreed to do this thing.

Gabe was whinning and getting restless. He wanted to eat, play and probably pee, so David put him down and he walked around the 6 of us 4 times, then walked outside through the propped open door. When he returned, he carried a white feather in his mouth, climbed back into Dave's lap and promptly went to sleep. I laughed, as did the others and we all nodded in approval. We all knew that Gabe had reminded us that our choice had already been made, long before we were even born. Our preparation for the journey would begin at first light.

 

[ronsos]

Jimmy woke up,stiff,sore ,with his sheets and duvet soaked through.The small ,institutional room he had lived in in the nursing home gradually came into focus.He could rember the nurses putting him to bed ,as his tempreture soared, vomiting so hard his top teeth had to be fished from the toilet by one of the nurses.As he stood up slowly he felt every joint creak and the dull throb from his artifical hip kick in as normal.'Jesus, Im alive'.He briefly rembered the other occaissons in his 79 years he had call to say this- buried under tons of rubble in what had been the family home in the Clydebank Blitz,that frozen winter in Korean war with the royal marines, trawlers off Iceland,whalers in the antartic and all the mad climbing and poaching trips all over his native Scotland.'Should have been deid a dozen times or more'.The clock read 11 am.The date .... he had been asleep for 4 days,since he became feverish,as did ever other resident and staff member (Jimmy had claimend to those who would listen and those who only pretended to , that this whole pandemic was b*****ks,one more way for the drug companies to make a fortune) .At this time normally the home was bustling with activity and noise.All he could hear now was a low buzz coming from the light.He tried the door .Stuck.Odd.That smell (various odours came with his present billet) thats new, but familar...... .Korea ,that village in the spring thaw that the yanks had bombed in the summer.....

Jimmy sat down,sifting through his memories,his experiences that hoping for a reference that would fit an old man trapped in a small room in a very different world.

 

[stovie]

Wow! there is some great new stuff posted here. I wonder how much autobiography people are using in these tales?

More to come from the kid, soon.....

Great fun, but with a hint of frightening reality...

 

[stovie]

Crow blinked his watery eye and looking down
saw tongues of flame leap and dance
saw the kid around the flames
leap and dance in echo.

Crow cocked his head and wondered at
the wild gesticulation
the wild excitement brewing
in one so small and strange.

Beyond the fire the world was black, the night
held crow in company
held fears and dreams and the loneliness
that broods within a child.

Crow watched and wondered and without a sound
became the unseen shadow
became the darkness of the mind
that broods within a child.

` ***

Kid threw himself ever higher, dancing first this way, then that, now over the flames and spinning around. An ecstasy gripped his very being, as he whirled with the passion of a dervish, uncontrolled, and unable to resist the feeling that surged within. For an eternity he danced within the flames, became the flames, became the sparks that rose through the trees, became the stars, became his own creator, became all life, and in the end became what he sought the most,

the blackness of eternity, and peace.....

***

Kid held the bow in his small, but strong hands. He smiled at what he had achieved. As he pulled the cord back, the curve eased into position and felt true. Any stronger and he would not be able to put it to use. He eased the cord back and the Ash stave returned without complaint. Okay, it was not perfect, but then time was not really on his side. It may not be dry, but the sap was down, and that would have to do. And the arrows. The Hazel was as straight as he could get it. The trick dad had shown him of using the fire to take out the innacuracies had worked quite well, warming and bending and warming again. And the heads...they were razor sharp splinters of glass tied into the tips with split cord. The fletching was simple, but hopefully effective. Three pieces of duct tape brought together around the shaft and cut into shape. A simple nock cut into the end of the shaft finished the job. He had six in all.

Snowflakes drifted into the clearing as he piled wood onto the fire and marched purposefully away from his camp, his bow and arrows clutched tightly in his hand. He had so many layers of clothing on he felt encumbered, but the temperature had dropped suddenly, and he was determined to stay warm. But before he had cleared the copse, he discarded the top two layers as he started to sweat.

The edge of the woods gave way to a field of white, soiled only by the tracks of rabbits scurrying and scraping for the green that lay just beneath. But it was not rabbits Kid wanted.

He walked a little way across the field, his boots heavy with snow, and stopped short. He looked down carefully at the marks in the snow. Deer tracks, and with very little snow covering them..."the're fresh" he said with an air of expectation, and barely supressed excitement.

Crow flew overhead unnoticed.

The tracks led into a thicket to the right. Kid turned and walked to the left, a knowing smile crept across his face. If all goes well I will be in place before they get there, he thought.

From his vantage point kid watched as the deer stalked ever closer. For days now he had watched their movements, and decided that here was a good place. He kept his chin low to breathe down into the bush. His breath rose like wisps of smoke. His heart pounded, and he felt sure the approaching animals would hear, but still they came, unaware, confident.

Crow settled on a branch in a nearby Rowan, ant tilted his head as if puzzling.

He clipped an arrow to the string and took a deep breath. Three deer came into plain view. It was now or never, they couldn't be more than twenty feet away. He drew back the arrow as he stood up and showed himself to the beasts. They turned to look as the arrow shot from the bow....

Crow took off with fright, but he was not the target.

Kid felt bad, but pleased at the same time as he looked at the hart lying on its side in the snow. It was still breathing, and kid was breathing in unison with the dying beast after the chase. The wound was mid chest, deep enough to be fatal, but not outright. He took his knife and with a clean stroke turned the snow red.

A strange feeling came over him at that moment. As the life ebbed from this majestic creature, so it felt as if life was renewed in him. He dipped his fingers into the gaping neck wound and drew them across his forehead. Kid and the beast had become one.

Overhead, crow circled, and let out a single plaintive call

***

It was growing dark by the time he made it back to the clearing. The fire was a glowing bed of embers. He collapsed by the fire, exhausted by the weight of the hart and the distance he had dragged it. As he had looked back down the hill, it was as if a single scarlet brushstroke had been scored across a massive white canvas. But this was no art, this was much more basic than that. It was a sign of life, of struggle, of survival.

***

At last, it felt as if his hunger had been stayed. The meat was good and hot from the embers, and it went well with the honey-drink he had perfected over the last week. Exhausted though he was he felt the warmth of the fire reach into his tired soul and rejuvinate him, helped, unbeknown to him, by the fermented honey drink. He threw log after log onto the fire, it roared into a life almost gigantic, and with its emerging passion so the kid felt more alive than ever before. With an intensity he began to dance, unco-ordinated, echoing the flames, trying to free himself of all pain and fear for once and all...

and above him, crow watched silently...

***

Kid felt the biting cold of winter where he lay. He had collapsed and lay in the open all night. The fire was dying, but still aglow. His body ached with pain and cold. The events of the day and night before were a mess in his head. He turned his head and sat up stiffly...

"Oh! You're not dead, then."

The voice came from a tall, well set man, with a drawn look across his unshaven face. He carried a large bergen without knowing it was there, and a staff on which he now leaned. His jacket hung open to reveal a tatty shirt with some lettering on the left breast. A solitary droplet clung to the end of his nose. The man sniffed.

"Who are you?" kid asked...

 

[RovingArcher]

ronsos and stovie, good reads. When someone eventually puts all of this together, it could be a very exciting and well written read.

 

[Grooveski]

On the outskirts of town the big outdoor superstore and it's neighboring shops had fared better than most. There were no food or alcohol outlets on the estate so it had seen no real fighting or territorial feuding and while there was plenty of evidence of looting, most of the shops were best described as smashed up rather than cleaned out.

Gary had participated in the food riots. He wasn't proud of the fact and genuinely believed he’d been left no choice. Had there been cashiers there to hand money to he’d have paid....
....but it was obvious that everything would be gone by the morning so he'd donned his coat, tossed an empty rucksack over his shoulder and helped himself to whatever had fallen within reach during the heart racing experience of hundreds of sick, desperate, people stocking larders before taking to their death beds. Folk had been hurt in the process but he'd played no part of that. Quick-in, quick-out, try to ignore the horror and interfere with no-one was the order of the day. The other "customers" were more advanced in the disease at that time although the symptoms had been starting to show so he had no real fear of contagion. Every face however was a terrible glimpse of what was coming his way and the night had shocked him deeply.

"Is that why I survived - because I caught it later than others?"
He sat in his car in front of the huge plate glass facade of the outdoor store. Somewhere during the short drive the mirror had shifted position and he'd been making nervous eye contact with himself throughout the journey, voicing an indecisive conversation about why there were so many abandoned vehicles on the roads.
"No idea buddy! You gonna do this?"

Half a tank of petrol. It had been there before the panic and he now remembered news reports of fuel riots. At the time the thought of leaving home had been so alien to him that he couldn't have cared less if someone had drained off his tank. It hadn’t gone that far in this town though, those with a serious need for fuel had acted early and were long gone.
There had been rumours of folk heading off into the wilderness all around the world from almost the moment that fowl were declared a public health hazard. Gary wished them well even though at the time he'd hated them. Some of them truly were prepared for the recent events, a thought which left him slightly dazed. Who would prepare for this kind of nightmare? Who in their right minds could even envisage this kind of nightmare?

He left the headlights on and the engine running. Walking towards the store the shadow cast before him shrank, but also changed slightly in posture. It’s shoulders drew back and head lifted slightly as he crunched over the carpet of shattered glass which had once been a door.

-------

Earlier that evening when he had first thought of leaving town, his initial image had been of a house...
....on a hill, ....or in a valley, ....or in some other remote, isolated, idealic environment. It would be perfect, it's own water supply, everything going for it, perfect. Just find it, walk up the path and settle in. There must be thousands of empty places now out in the country.

"Me in the country, there's a laugh!"
Unable to sleep he'd eaten tinned fruit by candlelight then lay on the couch with an old sleeping bag for warmth.
Would simply leaving town be enough? Could he assume ownership of this perfect home even if he could find it in the first place.
"They're all tombs after all...."

"What then, go camping?"
Recollections of the South of France - Lisa lying by her tent, glass of wine within easy reach, book in hand.....
"No, come on, keep it together" he mumbled, forcing his thoughts back into line. She had succoumed to the flu early and while there would never be enough time to mourn her he was feeling the need to do something constuctive so he replaced the mental image with one of the only other tent he could remember offhand.

Another campsite, another decade. He hadn't thought about Roy's stag night in years but now it all flooded back. Twelve young men celebrating another step into adulthood. Roy had either “Got lucky” or “Fallen for it” first, depending on who you cared to listen to at the time.
The farmer had been happy enough to let the group pour themselves back to his lower field after their formal binging for a few nights. He had even appeared on the first evening atop a little red tractor, unhooked a trailer piled high with firewood then sat drinking with them for an hour or so. His deadpan witisisms as individuals emerged from tents wearing suits had entertained them all and set the mood for the night which followed.

Late on after the pub as the last of the group sat round the fire, a cry went up. "Wahay! The stripper's here!"
Roy's head had emerged from one of the tents wearing a look of tired, baffled inhebriation. He glanced in the direction indicated by a couple of the revilers and saw a sheep which had wandered up to the edge of camp.
"Seperated at birth!", one of the guys said as Roy on his hands and knees looked at the sheep and the sheep looked back. A flashbulb went off. The party collapsed in laughter. Roy threw them a dark scowl, muttered something under his breath and ducked back into the tent.

"Camping it is then”.
Pushing aside the sleeping bag he rose from the couch. The sense of relief that a decision had been made was immediate and immense - he wouldn't have to enter another building, not if he didn't want to!
It would feel more normal to not meet anyone in the middle of a forest than to not meet anyone on the high street. Perhaps after a while the phobia would fade and he could walk through streets without the spectre of death at his side. Perhaps he would find somewhere comfortable and live a happy life. Perhaps a relapse of the disease would claim him days from now....
Uncertainty still played it's role but now he felt in some kind of vague control. He walked to the bag of tins and dried food which lay on the kitchen floor where it had been dumped following the night of the riot. These few stolen meals were all he could think of which would be of use to him, the other possessions around him belonging now to a life gone forever. Stopping at a sideboard he laid the bag on the floor, opened a drawer and lifted out a photo album.

A single picture slid from the plastic folder.
Lisa lay by her tent, glass of wine within easy reach and a book in her hand.....
He didn't bother to lock the door when he left.

 

[rich59]

Grooveski - thank you so much for this. A very good read.

 

[Grooveski]

Cheers Rich.

Must admit I've wondered for a while what it'd be like to write something longer than a signature.
It's entertaining stuff, although I'm beginning to worry about where it's going after all the character-building(Gary ain't the only one who doesn't know what's going to happen to him ).

I'm enjoying all the plot lines. Got to wonder though how much of the kid's story is autobiographical?

 

[Womble]

A LITTLE CONVERSATION

Pleased with ourselves - are we?

Leave me alone.

If that's what you want, I can do that..

Yes please.

Okay then.

Thanks.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I don't mean to pry, but you're not looking that good.

Oh really?

No, you're looking undernourished, dehydrated, and in the latter stages of exposure.

Yeah, well; that's just how things are. Go away.

I don't think so. Are you really that keen on death?

...

Well?

What if I am? It's my choice. It's not as if I seem to be able to make any more worthwhile ones.

Hmmm… your species on the verge of extinction, and you want to consciously reduce it further. Smart move.

Let it die. We don't belong out here, it kills us anyway. All of us.

We don't? It does? If that's the case then frankly I'm surprised we even made it this far. I mean, it's only in the last couple of hundred years that we've been serious town dwellers. Prior to that it was all... I don't know... rolling meadows, buxom milkmaids and misty, moisty mornings.

Heh… you been peeking at my daydreams?

In a manner of speaking. I know you pretty well.

Well I don't know you at all, not your voice anyway; and I'm afraid my eyesight's a bit blurred.

Who do you think I am?

I dunno; you're…

you're…

...oh sh*t. I'm dying, aren't I?

Yes, you're dying.

Heh, I'm not that religious, and you don't look like Death. If you are Death I've been totally lied to by my comics' collection.

Is this any time for frivolity? Face it - you want to die. You've let people down in the worst possible way, and you don't know how to live with that OR yourself. As far as you're concerned, you're scum.

Well, I…

No, don't deny it - you think the world's better off without you. And you're right.

Yeah - I don't want to live anymore and I… what?

You're right. You don't want to live anymore? You've never lived in the first place! You've always been mired in a past, chained down by events you've had no control over. You've been beaten down and ignored and had the raw deal. EVERY SINGLE TIME you've tried to break out of the cycle of guilt and denial it's always backfired in the worst possible way and dragged you further down. Or that's how you see it. You don't know life. Life looks forward and sees possibilities; all you do is look backwards and see manacles. The world's better off without such a loser.

Hang on, I…

Why bother hanging on? You haven't eaten for days, and you haven't had any liquids for a similar time. It's almost over - just let go.

I HAVE lived! Who are you to judge me or my life?

Who are you to do the same?

IT'S MY DAMN LIFE AND I'LL LIVE HOW I DAMN WELL CHOOSE!

AND YOU'VE NEVER, EVER CHOSEN TO LIVE! Yes, it's painful. They all died & they're all gone; and you can't rise above it and you can't live with being the survivor. You're a coward and a fraud and you're just running away ALL OVER AGAIN! Face it - you've been running all your life, always away & never toward. So just get on with it... get it over with and die.

Go on, die.

DIE, YOU COWARDLY PIECE OF…

"SHUT UP!!!"

The cry leaps from my raw throat and shatters the silence of the forest. For a brief moment of clarity I'm awake, and alive: - really alive for the first time in what seems like ages. But I'm still weak; my vision blurs, and I lapse into unconsciousness once more. As I do I seem to hear that voice again, but now I recognise it for what it had always been - my own.

"Live - for their memory, for yourself. Live, damn you."

 

[stovie]

Nice one Womble. Punchy!!!!!

 

[stovie]

I'm enjoying all the plot lines. Got to wonder though how much of the kid's story is autobiographical?

About this much

 

[rich59]

I know Womble has worked hard on that one. And it shows. Very well done.

Shades of Death in "Discworld"?

 

[Womble]

More an anthropomorphic personification of either a slap on the face or a bucket of cold water, really.

 

[rich59]

I'm beginning to worry about where it's going after all the character-building

Well, I think more than one writer is working towards journeys and meetings up, building communities. The scientist in the bunker has a mission to save the human race. Buck has a mysterious past that may need to come out. There is a hint of journeys across the sea still to come? There is the relationship of different sorts of survivors to work on.

There is the possibility of a time shift by 10, 100 or even 1000 years to get a peek at the long term outcomes.

If anyone wants to suggest some other ways forward then please do.

 

[Womble]

In the bits I'm doing, I'm focussing on the concepts of guilt, survivor syndrome, and what it actually means to be alive in these circumstances: How do you live when 99% of all the people you've know are dead? How deep is a persons need for other people and familiar society structures? Where's the hope - when everything seems to have fallen apart?

Terry's had some hard lessons to learn, and whilst the immediate crisis may have passed (assuming he survives) he's still got a rocky road ahead of him.

I have to say, there's a lot of me in Terry, but I hope to God that I'm never put through what he's enduring...

 

[Womble]

There is the possibility of a time shift by 10, 100 or even 1000 years to get a peek at the long term outcomes.

If anyone wants to suggest some other ways forward then please do.

it's an interesting point - in this scenario (and assuming that the fall of society is irrevocable), has the human race got a future? Are there enough humans remaining to viably continue the species?

 

[rich59]

it's an interesting point - in this scenario (and assuming that the fall of society is irrevocable), has the human race got a future? Are there enough humans remaining to viably continue the species?

Didn't I read somewhere that a group of about 10 individuals (and may be only one man?) may have left Africa to populate the rest of the world? Of course they probably weren't city gents fallen on hard times. They were hardened survivors

 

[RovingArcher]

Rich59, I believe I saw something similar on the discovery science channel. There was also a show on super volcanos and they were looking at one in particular that erupted 10s of thousands of years ago. They stated that the estimated population on the Earth was into the millions, maybe 100s of millions, but I don't remember exactly. Anyways, after the eruption, the population had a steep die off to about 15,000 people. I would think that these people must have been in the same general location, so that the survivors could come together into groups larger than 50 persons and would have to live in close proximity to other such groups for trade and finding mates, to keep inbreeding at bay.

Twists and turns that can take place in each storyline are endless.

 

[rich59]

While for most the coming of the great flu event meant severe disruption and hardship, for a very small number it meant heaven. A few souls found more meaning in life from watching a sunset, killing and eating a fish, lighting a fire, or listening to the dawn chorus than from any single thing offered by humanity – warmth and comfort included. Whilst most who survived gradually gathered together in mutual support that other handful of individuals lived more solitary lives, mostly nomadic, skirting signs of the old civilization and encampments of survivors alike. Many had left towns and cities long back – tramps and vagabonds, others left at the first sign of the epidemic. An immunologist could tell you that quite a number of them were not immune to the flu virus. They were in reality saving their lives by their very isolation. But they and the other survivors were oblivious to that. Others had been among the tiny number who survived the infection and recovered.
------------

Buck (he felt comfortable with that name now) ranged far and free. When food was plentiful and the weather good in the summer and autumn he needed little time to hunt and would travel far and wide. 20-30 miles a day comes naturally to those free to use our underlying abilities, and Buck would cover the length and breadth of England and Wales and even into Scotland within a season.

Skirting civilization he would, rarely, come across signs of individuals or small groups making an existence here and there. Distantly curious he would sometimes watch them for a while, taking care never to be seen or tracked or even smelled. Once in a while he was the unseen helper on a hunt – gently and deftly driving game into the path of a desperate and hungry huntsman. On one occasion he observed a child, away from the edge of its protective adults cornered by an enraged bull, and distracted the animal with an unseen precisely aimed sling shot from 60 yards.

Without maps he was never lost – knowing by the sun, wind, moon and stars where north lay – and knew and loved intimately the forests, hills and mountains.

In the winter months Buck would renounce his nomadic life for a while and settle into a cabin built from felled pine close to a good fishing river.

If he had a favourite place it was the ancient forests of the Wye valley in what was Glaucestershire. Falcons inhabited the steep cliffs around the deep cut river. Deer and sheep populated the steep slopes. Wolves had made a reappearance – perhaps escaped from a zoo or animal park. The unmistakable track of a bear surprised Buck on one occasion. The river teemed with life and a salmon run was beginning to build again.

The plains around the forest were becoming populated with roaming herds of cattle. Protected by great bulls they were untouchable, although there were now signs of an occasional successful attack on a calf by the wolf pack.

High on the slopes on the edge of the ancient forest are two great ancient stones – the Harkening Stones. Used by Neolithic man each of the stones had been carved into great sideways facing bowls pointing away across the plain. A man listening there could hear sounds from up to 15 miles away to the North West.

Buck liked to hunt. He needed to hunt. He developed the habit, first thing in the morning of crouching in each these two bowls to listen for sounds of the herds. This would tell him where they were, how many there might be and on the hormone state of the lead bull. If everything was favourable, including the wind direction, he would then run down onto the plain and bare down on his quarry armed with longbow, atlatl and spear, and sling.

One morning, looking out over the plain he saw some carrion crows circling near the line of hearing of the Near Harkening Stone. Some animal was clearly sickening or was now dead and the birds marked the spot while biding their time for their rightful meal. Buck scrambled up to the stone's ear, crouched and listened. The warm, friendly echoing sounds of the forest disappeared. They were supplanted by a rustling of grass in a soft wind that could not be felt in the forest edge. The sound of the crows could now be heard. Was that the soft bark of a vixen to her cub? Something else – breathing – rapid, through a dry throat could just be heard. Then a sound so loud and penetrating that completely filled Buck's senses and he fell to the ground hands clasped to his ears "SHHHUUUUTTTT ……UUUUPPPPPPP!!!"

Reeling for a moment Buck got back up unsteadily. The sound had penetrated more than his auditory cortex. It touched memories and feelings, stirred parts of him that had been long forgotten or suppressed. There was a pain, an anguish that lanced through his very existence. Look about. See the green trees. Move away from the rock. Listen to the call of the wood pigeon and the knocking of a woodpecker. Plan a day of fishing for salmon. See the blue sky, breathe the air. He was moving away now. Happy.

But, there had also been another sound carried to him in that moment at the rock. Put away the forest. Something, someone out on the plain needed him. And the need was urgent.

 

[nooky]

Ok Rich when is the next instalment Im on the edge of my seat waiting.
Great reading.