Mice and Lions
A Journey of the Mind's Eye

My stomach growled fiercely as if it were a wolf threatening to give a rabbit
chase while I sat disrobed amid a double circle of speckled, moss-covered
stones. The fasting had not been hard to undertake given the excitement built
up behind what I was about to undergo. Even the days leading up to now had been
hectic, full of tasks and preparation: a prey had to be killed and a bowl carved
from its bones, a sacred herbal brew had to be concocted, and the tribe had to
be gathered.

After much contemplation on my prey, I decided to swim the length of the Moon
River to the mouth and down a league to the icy depths of the Inner Sea. There
amid the flowing of currents, struggling against them through the waters I
sought out a quinotaur. Even here, during winter, I could resiliently nullify
the damaging effects of the frigid waters; staving off hypothermia long enough
to find my quarrel. As I came to the end of a swift undertow I could see a
massive beast, seeming to be half-fish, half-bull slowly swimming about a
bright coral; schools of peculiar fish, jet-black manta rays, and brilliant
glowing sharks all rushing this way and that to escape the grasp of the
gluttonous monstrosity.

In a single swift motion I drew my scimitars from their scabbards in an
entrancing display as nearby underwater light dully reflected off the blades,
making them seem to glow a pale silver more than gleam as they would under
sunlight. The deathly silence literally being cut in two as I did so and the
quinotaur swiftly turned to my direction as if he knew what significance the
sound held. Allowing myself to sink to the ocean floor I crouched as low as
possible, drawing my blades behind me before I shot forth like a tensed spring
suddenly loosed. In a blur of bubbles my body hurled towards the beast and at
the last moment I swung heavily into him, my blades nearly glancing off his
rigid frame and leaving only mild scratches. Roaring mightily he swished his
tail powerfully into my body before piercing me with his horns. The blow sent
me tumbling to the sandy bottom, nearly drowning me when I lost concentration
on Trout, my torso bruised and my arm viciously gored. With a casual smirk I
found my footing, clotting my wounds while quickly sipping a potion of health
before the quinotaur slammed his tail against the floor using it the same as I
had to propel himself rapidly forward. Much to his dismay I deftly dodged the
attack sending a fierce jab into his side and a swing that lopped a gnarling
horn from his head. We continued the struggle in volleys of attacks until in a
desperate act of perseverance his eyes began to glow a fierce red as a shield
flickered around him; seeing the perfect moment to strike, I razed the barrier
with my right hand before sending my left flying forward in a sudden burst of
speed. The blow connects at the base of his throat, puncturing his jugular
before severing his spine and bursting out through his back in a sickening
squish. The shock holds his body stiff for a moment before he sinks lifelessly
to the ocean floor in a cloud of blood and sand. Looking about and gathering
myself I noticed the horn not far from where we had fought, taking this up and
tucking it away in my pack before clumsily hauling the bulky remains of the
quinotaur in my arms.

Back at Mother I offered the corpse up to Lord Charune to honour Him for my
success in the hunt prior to setting out in the forest to be alone. Finding a
secluded grove, I retrieved the horn and a ritualistic carving knife borrowed
from a Druid for this very purpose. The hours ticked away as I carefully gored
the center out and meticulously carved ancient elfen runes around the rim in
this order: Family--our family brings us into this world and makes us who we
are; Bravery--through our family we find the courage to do great deeds;
Strength--from that bravery we seek to obtain the strength to protect our
family; Triumph--because by strength of limb, bravery of heart and love of
family is victory gained; Honour--lastly because by becoming triumphant through
these means we gain great honour, which in return brings honour to our family;
thus, the circle is completed and renewed all at once. Having finished the
receptacle from which to drink the tea I set out to meet the others at the
stones.

As the snow floated gracefully past, there I sat barely managing to stifle a
shiver as voices called out all around me, shouting my name and invoking
Brother Jaguar to the rhythmic percussion of drums as the Moon River swept
past. My eyes closed as I concentrated on seeing Him in my mind's eye while
slowly pulling a draught from the herbal tea. Minutes pass by, closing in on an
hour until suddenly my body swooned and I collapse. The voices becoming vulgar,
yet familiar; somehow distant and muffled all while remaining closely tied to
the fabric of my being. I can sense a growing sensation of sudden warmth and
vigor, then upon opening my timid eyes it hits me. The language of foreign
tongues had been my very own. How long had it been since someone had spoken to
me in Elfen? Twenty? Thirty years? No, it had been more, much longer: since I
was a child. Even still this was different, more coarse and unrefined. It had
more similarities to the runic language I had used earlier than to the Elfen of
my kin. Stranger still, were these people around me different than when I had
left them? They all seemed more wild spirited, free and carelessly lost in a
dancing ring around a blazing fire. The world began to tilt as I tried to soak
it all in when a swift-footed, wild-eyed elfen rushed to my side asking me:

"If you fear the mammoths in the mountains, you don't have to fake being sick;
we could just hunt them without you! Or is this about that pretty-faced Emeria
you've had your eyes on?"
"It's just... I don't... where," were all I could muster in the way of a
response before I lurched forward, hurling out the contents of my stomach.
"Here, brother," he says after pulling me to the side of a table and handing
me a skein that must have been made of cow-skin, "drink this."

Cautiously bringing the bladder to my mouth when a waft of the rich, earthy
aroma hit my nostrils and I nearly lost it again before sucking down a stout
portion of what must have been a crude version of Choleric, though not nearly
as mentholated and smooth as what I am used to. Laughing heartily before
slapping me on the back the wild elf told me to retire before the big hunt at
dawn. Instinctively I found my way to a tree-lodge that I assumed must have
been mine before crawling between layers of wolf fur and lamb skin for bedding.
My mind, now at ease and accepting of my surroundings, quickly went to sleep
only to be roused slowly a few hours later by the same wild elf who had sent me
off. The stars still lingering in the sky, hanging on to every moment before
being ushered away for the new day, just as a child refuses to go to bed until
he absolutely must. Sitting up I rubbed my eyes to notice that the elf was
smiling at me and talking in a friendly manner, before I can make out what he
is saying, he tapped me on the shoulder as if to urge me onwards.

"What is taking you so long? A few days ago you were eager to go on your first
hunt, to take your first kill and taste his warm blood; now you cast about
lazily. This is not like you brother; I trust all is well," he spoke through a
smile but there was sincere concern on the edge of his voice.
"I am well enough to enjoy the day, but it is not day yet!" I replied sharply
though still groggy.
"Sister Moon has blessed us this day, brother! She has given us the full light
of Her face to show us better the paths that lead to the hidden valley. The
star-gazers say this is a good omen indeed, and an elder has seen Brother Stag
stand alone upon a hill before rushing off through the woods. Truly, we are
blessed this day and it will bring a profitable hunt for the tribe," his face
lighting up under the silvery light as he hands me a large parcel wrapped in
rough paper and fastened by a string of leather.
"A casting spear and long-knife," he blurted out excitedly before I can get it
half-open, "I have been making them for you for a year now. They are better than
what any other brave has, and better still than what half the elders hunt with.
Well, heft them, tell me what you think!"

Standing upright I hold the spear up to feel how well it is balanced only to
find that it is amazingly better made than any spear I have ever held with my
own hand. The wood is smooth and richly coloured, perhaps of oak or maple; the
shaft feels flexible enough to not break under even tremendous force, yet stiff
enough to deliver a blow that would pierce any hide. It is tipped with a dark,
mottled iron and though simple in design it is deadly sharp; on the butt of the
spear is a ball that serves as a counterbalance. Along the length of the spear
are carved designs made to look like braids that serve as both guide and grip
for where to hold the spear given different situations. For casting one would
hold it near the center, whereas for keeping a quarrel at bay one would hold
both near center and towards the rear. A few bands of crimson cloth had been
wrapped around the top and tied off, leaving a streamer the length of three
hands. Next I held up the long-knife to test it for balance as well, only to
find it spectacularly well-balanced just as the spear was. The haft is made of
a similar wood, if not the same, and is of a design matching that of the spear.
Holding the blade up to look down its length I notice that, while curving
inwards slightly at first before swooping back out to a sharp point, it has an
even thickness along the edge and tapers off only at the tip. Certainly, these
were great gifts, given with a great love; I could only thank him profusely as
the words choked in my throat.

"You needn't say anymore, only tarry no longer! It may be daytime soon and we
must get to the valley as quickly as possible, brother," he said diligently
after giving me a hug and patting my back, "Today you will know what it is to
taste the fruit of labour! Onwards, we must be setting out."

As such the hunting party set out into the brisk summer twilight, humming and
singing songs of game until we reached the northern mountain range that many
generations later would come to call Avechna's Teeth. It was quite a shock to
see them as they were, so pristine and vibrant. More full of life than I have
ever seen them and completely without Taint. It was not until then that I
realized just how long ago this was for I had never seen life without it and
neither had my father. For a brief moment I was filled with a tremendous
sadness, knowing that all of this would be lost one day, only to be corrupted
or otherwise destroyed and twisted by the Taint in all it's horrendous nature.
As we rounded an eastward bend that lead us south the party quickly became
somber and our pace slowly greatly to that of a careful stalk. At the head of
the party was a tall, raven-haired elf with silver beads in his hair, who began
to look back at us while motioning to order into a file. Shortly after we came
to a break in the trail where one path led southeast and the other down a steep
decline to the east. Taking the overgrown path down into the marshy draw we
began the ascent up the other side, and at the top of the hill we stood,
looking down into a secluded dale. Just on the eastern side of the mountains
was an alpine grove of lush evergreens, their limbs coated with a heavy snow.
Separating that and a flat steppe of snow-covered wild grass was a small
tributary frozen over with ice and shining like a diamond serpent in the sun.
As we made our way into the valley below, the snow crunching quietly beneath
our careful feet, we came to a halt and crouching low, the party leader began
to instruct us:

"I want all the elders to take lead of party where you will form a spearhead
with Athmar on point;" he said with a motion of his hand that indicated my
brother, "I will be five paces behind that with the braves to my back in a
second wedge."
"Are we to surround the mammoth then and keep him at bay?" one older elf
asked.
"Yes, while we do that, the braves will flank to the left. When they are set
we will maneuver an opening to their side allowing the mammoth to go that way
only to be met by casts of the braves' spears. If all goes well we should be
home by noon;" he finished with this warning, "take care to watch your rear.
This area is known to have sabre-toothed lions lurking about. While not as
strong as a mammoth they can surely catch you off-guard and tear you to shreds
before you know it."

At last the party got into formation and continued on with hunting at a
snail's pace as we stalked through the valley. When we had passed through the
valley, having found it empty of quarrel, it was decided that we would have to
cross over the frozen river. It did not take long before a suitable point was
found where we could cross without fording due to the ice. While similar to the
Serenwilde, this forest was somehow different. On the floor were thick,
shimmering mosses instead of foliage; in place of underbrush were ferns all
shoulder height; further in the canopy of the trees began to blot out the sun
so that anything might be lurking within, and we did not dare to encroach that
far. Ahead of us in a clearing near a massive tree was an equally impressive
mammoth whose yellowed tusks shot out from behind a ruddy carpet of shaggy
wool. Crouching low we panned out, the elders circled around and we braves
stayed in the rear as planned. At first sight of us the mammoth stood there
dull and dim-witted without a care in the world. No sooner than a spear was
cast into its rear did it lower its gargantuan head, slamming it in the rank of
elfen before it. The sound of broken ribs, dislocated shoulders, and snapping
limbs was nauseating. Another spear cast out piercing the thick wooly, hide as
the mammoth wrapped its trunk around an elder, sending him flying head over
heels through the air. A toss of the head impaled yet another before a
earth-rattling bellow shattered the near-silence. It nearly deafened me, I
cannot imagine what the elders must have been sensing. It was then that the
merciless fear gripped me and I could not budge a muscle.

As clear as day I saw it out of the corner of my eye: a sabre-toothed lion was
skulking in the grasses not far off. As I turned it pounced upon me with such a
ferocity that my wits left me. No quicker than it had happened was it
overâ€"for you see, I had raised my spear, dropped to my back, and rolled with
such a momentum that the cat was thrown a good twenty paces from me. Then,
having gained my footing I looked on, stunned as a guttural growl emerged from
behind me. Before I could even twitch into action I ate a mouthful of snow and
mud, wincing in agony as a searing pain burned through my back. A yelling and
flailing of limbs found me face to maw with the beast, her mouth agape with the
stench of death from that morning's meal. My courage fled from my body as fast
as the swiftest summer gale. Out of sheer fear alone my trembling hands found
the wooden grip of my long-knife. Drawn back with mouth as wide as any canyon,
the lion lurched down for my face, when at the last moment I jarred to the side
and its bite sunk deep into my shoulder so that my arm went numb. Having found
the knife free I darted it into the side of the beast until it let go of my
shoulder. Desperate to live my knife found new flesh to sheer again and again
and again, until all that was left was hollow husk of a lion, laying limp upon
my chest in a bloody heap. In this moment my courage returned, I shoved the
corpse off into the snow, and clamored clumsily to my feet. My eyes darted
about until they found the spear I sought nearby, hefting it up strong and
proud I reared back, and sent it whistling of death through the air.

Suddenly, I gasped a breath of frozen air and my eyes shot open to find that I
had not moved from the spot where I sat earlier that day. Night had fallen over
the Serenwilde yet amid the crickets' song I could hear the distinct breathing
of a patient warrior. Steady, calmâ€"almost eerily placid with the sort of
quiet that only a hunter of the highest skill has. I knew immediately that it
was Master Eurytus, who had ventured out of the Serenguard Lodge to witness
what one does so rarely these days.

“Come, young elfen” he said with a lukewarm smile as he extended a hand to
me, “tell me what you have seen and I shall interpret it the best an old
centaur can.”

So we went into the night to the Lodge, where a young elfen would tell all to
a wise Master of the Hunt in hopes that some lost bit of knowledge would be
revealed unto him. It is all that we can hope for, that our hunts will provide
us with more fruit than mere skins to warm us and meat to fill our meager
bellies. Perhaps, they would prepare us for a future as of yet unforeseen, or
maybe that is the wishful thinking of a foolâ€"only time may reveal what is in
our stars.

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