The Great Hunt

Rolling hills of green meadow undulated against the distant horizon like a vast, green sea. An’she’s eye looked down upon Her children and the world they had made for themselves. Camp Taurajo was a hive of activity as the gatherers came together, assembling all that they had taken from the land in preparation of a great feast. Wheat was milled into flour, flour made into dough, dough transformed into bread. Meat of kodo and plainstrider alike roasted over the fringes of the bonfire on spits tended by those old enough to stay out of the flames, but too young to really help in the preparations. The very young sat in various circles, staring in wide-eyed fascination at the eldest members of their village as the oral history of their people was told time and again; stories of the great hero Cairne Bloodhoof, former great Chieftain of the Tauren, and the rise of the might of the Horde.
 
Beneath the watchful eye of the Earthmother, theirs was a land of peace and plenty, for the Shu’halo never took more than they needed. It was their way and had been for generations: take only what is needed and give back to the Mother that had birthed them all. Workers sang their praise to Her bounty, burned fragrant incense to show Her their gratitude. For today was the greatest of days for their tribe.
 
Today was the day of the Great Hunt.
 
☼
 
“Hetty, get up, we’re going to be late!”
 
Shashona put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, rousing Het’heru out of a sound sleep. The older – though only by a year – female tauren snorted and rubbed at her left eye with a three-fingered hand. Het’heru peered blearily at Shashona’s hyper-concerned visage before faceplanting back into her pillows.
 
“Five more minutes, Shona,” she mumbled.
 
“No!” Shashona wailed, giving her friend another vigorous shake. “If you don’t get up right now, Het’heru, I’m leaving you here! I’m not going to be late for the Great Hunt! Kahota would never let us live it down.”
That goad was enough impetus to cause Het’heru to plant her hands into her bedding and shove herself up to her hands and knees. Kahota was the best weaver in the village, everyone praised her tapestries, but on top of that, Kahota was also a skilled huntress with bow and arrow. Anyone with eyes would see that Kahota would make a fine mate and a fine addition to the tribe. Het’heru wasn’t all that good with arms and she couldn’t mend a sock if it needed it. She was passable at cooking. What she did have was beauty as one of the most beautiful Taurenesses of their tribe. What she lacked in other aspects of her life, the Earthmother had made up for in natural-born aesthetics.
 
She pushed herself up onto her knees and then got to her hooves. She didn’t waste time primping or adding to her loveliness, why improve upon what the Earthmother has already created? She smiled to herself, shrugging into her hunting leathers while Shashona fretted in the background. She turned, presenting herself to her friend.
 
“Ta-da! How do I look?”
 
“As radiant as ever,” Shona said bitterly, reaching out to grab Het’heru’s arm and drag her out of her family’s hut. “You fall out of bed looking better than those of us who spend hours trying to make ourselves presentable.”
 
“I can’t help it that I’ve been blessed,” Het’heru said with a shrug. It wasn’t her fault that the Earthmother had made her beautiful and all others less so. We each must do what we can with the gifts we have been given – at least that’s what the old wives told them during their sewing.
 
Het’heru smiled. She would win today with her grace, beauty, and charm. She tilted her head upward with pride as she walked in Shashona’s hop-skipping, prancing wake. If she had to make-do with the gifts she had, then she would do her utmost.
 
☼
 
Bones rattled against the aged, oaken staff as the shaman rattled it ominously over the flames of the bonfire. Muttered Taura-he words drifted on the air like ghosts, taking on a life and spirit of their own as they passed through the smoke. Phantom images of graceful, leaping gazelle clashed with the fierce, ravenous maws of wolves, which swirled into the soaring wings of the eagle, and then plunged down into the plodding mass of a kodo. The shaman’s voice reverberated with power as his chanting rose in a crescendo of words and life. He threw his hands toward the heavens and the rising orb of the eye of An’she and the bonfire exploded in a gusset of flames.
 
Twelve young tauren stood before him in a straight line, a mixture of male and female. None were excluded from this rite of passage. He walked over to the first in line, still muttering in Taura-he as he sprinkled fine sand over the head of the youngling. He dipped the fingers of his right hand into a bowl he carried in his left; the bowl contained a paste of kodo blood and wheat chaff. This paste he drew onto his fingers, then swiped across the cheeks of each young tauren in turn, leaving twin smudges beneath each eye.
 
“By the blood of the land, you have been marked. Today marks a day of passage for each of you, the shedding of your childhood irresponsibility and your acceptance into the folds of the tribe as a hunter and adult.” Rattling the staff and its bony decorations once more, each tauren brave marked, the shaman turned once more to the flames and threw the bowl and all that remained within it into the bonfire’s heart. A pillar of blue flame flared toward the heavens, bright as a new-made star. “Earthmother, hear us! Guide these young ones to their proper paths, as you have always done for our people. Watch over them with your bright eyes, An’she and Mu’sha, as they go forth in the Great Hunt!”
 
A raucous cheer went up from the assembled tauren, fists pumped toward the sky as ululating calls of triumph filled the air.
 
☼
 
Het’heru snorted as Shashona elbowed her in the ribs. The pretty young tauren opened her eyes from the doze she’d fallen into since the shaman had marked her. She glanced at Shashona and her friend inclined her chin toward the bonfire. The shaman had finished his speech about the rite of passage and the Great Hunt would soon begin. Het’heru felt her stomach knot itself up with nervous tension.
 
She watched as the shaman turned to the assembled camp, his hands upraised in supplication to the Earthmother. It almost didn’t register in her mind when she saw the enormous crossbow bolt embed itself in his midsection, driving him back into the bonfire. It wasn’t until he was set aflame, screaming in agony as he flailed that her mind registered that something had gone horribly wrong.
 
Screams and cries of outrage filled the air, warriors rushed for weapons, hunters for bows. Females and their offspring ran for the nearest scrap of shelter. Het’heru stood frozen, staring around herself in stupefied horror. What’s going on? What am I supposed to do? I don’t want to die!
 
Panic gave movement, if only the instinctual need to get away from the disaster. Het’heru turned, shoving Shashona ahead of her. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
 
Shona nodded numbly and the two friends turned to flee. They ran for the edge of the village, behind the blacksmith’s shop, but the enemy had the camp surrounded. Humans on white horses charged forward, swords glinting in the sunlight. They roared their battlecries in their strange, harsh tongue and rode down upon the two young tauren females. Even at a distance, Het’heru could see death in their eyes. She grabbed Shona’s arm and swung her friend around.
 
“North! Flee to the north, away from the fighting!” She heard someone cry over the din.
 
Her hooves knew where north was, even without conscious thought. She took Shona’s hand in hers and pulled her friend northward. “We can make it if we run!” She gasped between frightened breaths.
 
Behind her, Shona screamed and Het’heru’s ears flattened against her head at the sound. She pulled her friend more insistently, but Shona’s hand in hers had become heavy, weighted. She looked back to find Shona stumbling to her knees, the bright blue fletching of three arrows protruding from her back. The sight didn’t even register in Het’heru’s mind. She tugged on Shona’s hand, trying to urge her friend onward to safety.
 
An equine whinny shrilled overhead and Het’heru looked up to see the hooves of one of those white chargers come crashing down at her face. She threw up her arms at the last minute and was thrown to the ground. Pain lanced up her forearms, but she still had enough sense to roll out of the way. Hooves smashed the ground behind her. Gasping for breath beyond the pain and a grief she could not yet comprehend, Het’heru stumbled to her feet.
 
Her eyes swept over the ruin that was Taurajo. The leatherworker’s hut was nothing more than a burned, gutted skeleton. People she had known all her life lay sprawled in the dirt like the discarded dolls of some heartless giant. Looters, human looters, ran between the buildings, stealing whatever they could: food, weapons, and armor. Thick gouts of smoke drifted in the air, commingling with the putrid scent of burned hide, and fatty meat. Het’heru felt the bile rising in the back of her throat.
 
Earthmother save me…