The Wolf and the Hunter
Harnin Kakulin surveyed the wide-sweeping landscape and wondered if any decent game hid in the grass. He rode his white and gray dappled horse, Plana, through the ocean of golden wheat known as the grasslands of Olvin. The sun slowly climbed into the pink-hued sky.
“If I could kill a boar that would help us for a while!” Harnin mumbled to his horse who continued to canter down the narrow track; two-wheel ruts the only guide through the tall, thick grass which shimmered faintly.
The tell-tale sign of a recent Bur fall evident on the blades of grass; the fine shimmering dust- like substance known as Bur glistened on the golden wheat. Before noon the magical powder that fell from the heavens would be absorbed into the plant and the grass would glow, faintly enhancing everything about it and then when night would fall again Bur, like rain, would shower down again and continue the process. He reached out and let his hand brush it. It was surprisingly dry and cold to the touch. He quickly rubbed his hand on his pant leg not wanting the unfiltered Bur to burn his flesh like an untamed fire.
He knew deep down, though, that without his wife's efforts their family would barely survive.
That bothered him deeply.
The muffled sound of hoof falls and the gentle whisper of the wind passing through the grass was the only noise, besides Harnin’s grumbling.
After a while he stopped and rode in silence. He became lost in his own thoughts of his youth and how he used to hunt wild boar and Gwendillens in the Yolzik forest, fifteen miles down the river from Barksville where he and his family lived. Those were wonderful years. He gained a nice profit selling the silky black fur of the Gwendillens and their tender meat, along with providing the mayor a succulent boar for the Autumn feast every year. Since the accident, his hunting days ground to a halt.
The village he was heading to was Jawburns village, it had more supplies of herbs and fabrics his wife needed than Barkville supplied.
The sun was directly overhead by the time he reached Jawburns, the heat of the day in full force. Sweat began to soak into his shirt and coat his forehead with perspiration.
The bustling village sat in a valley surrounded by trees and a decent stream snaked around the settlement. Harnin let his horse walk across the river, the water reaching her knees.
“Hello there! Didn’t think I would see you until next spring,” Oltin Hagas, the villages Bur trader, stated as he rose from the ground. He dusted himself off, his wiry frame draped in blue silks and a ridiculous floppy hat.
“My wife needs some fabrics, your kind of fabrics, actually, and a bit of Ragalins herb also. You know, for her business .” Harnin grimaced. Oltin chuckled and motioned for him to follow, leaving his fishing rod which was wedged between two large rocks.
A few moments later they were at Oltin’s shop. A two-story building in the center of the little bustling village with a large porch dotted with older women rocking lazily working on knitting projects. It had large windows in the front and a sign above the door painted white with bold red letters reading ‘Oltin’s Bur goods’. After tying his horse up he followed Oltin inside.
The store was large with shelves upon shelves of books lining one wall that shared about the keeping, tending and harvesting of Bur. Bolts of fabrics of all shades of colors sat high on the shelves; their fibers reinforced with Bur to help them last longer and keep their colors more vibrant. In the middle of the store on tables sat baskets of bur enhanced fruits and vegetables that were larger and more fragrant than the normal foods and herbs grown without the substance. The strong scent of bur lavender hit Harnin’s nostrils, making him sneeze.
“So now. What kind of fabric is your wife wanting?” Oltin walked around the front counter stopping next to his son, Torik, who looked like a younger version of Oltin.
The older man produced a book from beneath the counter and placed it on the smooth dark wood surface with a loud thud.
A young woman standing in front of Torik was startled by the noise, her focus broken from the young man working on her purchase. looking at Oltin, she took a small disk with a hole in the center painted green and brown from the countertop then turned and walked out.
“That was the third person today purchasing a permit chip to cultivate a plot of land enriched Bur fields.” Torik said, bending down and adjusting something beneath the counter out of sight which clinked loudly.
“More people are moving West son.” Oltin stated placing his hands on his hips, looking at the book. Harnin rolled his eyes. The one business that got him in the mess he was in.
“Let’s see,” Harnin interrupted, wanting to avoid the topic of farming.
“She wants to make a couple dresses for winter, something light but would still keep her customers warm.” Harnin huffed scratching his head, trying to forget what Torik said. Oltin nodded as he thumbed a couple of pages back, scratching his chin “Maybe she would like this; Palena’s fabric. It’s quite light and most Northerners deem worthy to keep the bite of winter at bay. You can even wear it in the dead of winter, stuck in a bur storm and you should survive it!”
Harnin slowly nodded. That would be something his wife would like to use, “do you have some?”
“Yes. Right over here.” Oltin walked to a shelf with two dozen types of fabrics. He pulled a step ladder over, climbed to the top then pulled a pale rose selection down from the top shelf. Harnin squinted at the fabric. It was so, bright! Reading his expression Oltin gave him a look.
“Is this for your wife's customers, or you?”
“Huh! It's for her costumers.”
“Then she and the other ladies would probably enjoy a spot of color during the bleak winter months.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Oltin gave him a sidelong glance as he put the step ladder back in a corner.
“What’s wrong with a bit of color?”
“I’m a hunter, it matters what colors you wear. You don’t want to stand out.”
“Uh huh.” Oltin went to the herb shelf with various sizes of jars.. He plucked a couple strands of Ragalins herb- a thick, light yellow reed-like plant from a tall jar, then made his way back to the counter.
Harnin sniffed as he brushed his dark brown jacket. The rest of his outfit was of similar shades; trousers cream colored to match the grass, brown boots with extra cushion so that he may be quieter and a cream colored shirt.
“I assume you keep your hair short for hunting also?” Oltin chuckled as he began to wrap everything in brown paper. Harnin ignored that comment. His cropped hair kept him cool and free from getting snagged in trees. He balled his right fist, or what was left of it. His pinky, ring finger and part of his hand were gone, the skin pink and gnarled with scars.
“Alright. Your total is five Qinzer gilds.”
Harnin pulled off his Qinzer belt, and counted three Qinzer gilds. He sighed.
Oltin frowned, taking the gilds. He then pushed the parcel to Harnin. The hunter blinked in surprise. He began to protest but the bur trader cut him off, “now Harnin. Your family has provided me and my family plenty of meat and furs. This is the least I can do. Now come back during the spring so I can give your youngest daughter her bur eating-permit. I know she’s been looking forward to trying my wife’s Hansul berry pie!” Oltin paused a moment, eyeing Harnin then lowering his voice “Maybe I can write to the Bur molder and see if his pricing has dropped since last fortnight.”
Harnin grinned and gave a curt nod before stepping outside.
“Oh, Mr. Kakulin, tell Napril that we have more Mariton seeds.
“They are going out quickly so he better hurry!” Torik happily shared, walking past him with a broom. He briskly began to sweep the porch. Harnin felt his shoulders slump. The only son he had and he decided to be a farmer.
Harnin gave a grunt in reply then quickly stepped off the porch and jumped into Plana's saddle. A few hours later he rode through the grasslands, thinking about hunting. If he could afford a new hand he could take some time to hunt in the Lackadeen forest. He could get enough game to earn a decent amount before winter. It would take a weeks journey to reach the forest but he heard many great stories of deer, Razuls and boar teeming in that woodland!
He sighed.
“Who am I kidding? I will never be able to afford it,” Harnin mournfully whispered to himself. Plana snorted, suddenly rearing up, her eyes rolling in fear. Harnin gently patted her neck scanning the horizon. The grass swayed lazily in the afternoon breeze. Something to the right caught his attention.
A dark brown spot appeared, it seemed a long way off. He nudged Plana into a trot, hoping to calm her jumpy nerves. Suddenly the spot charged at them, it’s size growing as it rapidly closed the distance between them.
Harnin whipped his hunting bow out of its case on the saddle, He hadn’t used it in months but he always carried it with him out of habit.
He yanked an arrow from the quiver case on the other side of the saddle and nicked it. The beast was almost upon them. The fur was matted, it’s muzzle filled with sharp teeth, it’s eyes gleaming with hunger. It looked like a wolf but larger and hairier.
He brought the bow into position, his pointer and middle finger on his mangled hand trembled at the strain. He shot just as the wolf leaped, missing his target. He quickly brought his bow arm up as the wolf - creature plowed into him knocking him clear off his horse. Plana reared and screamed as man and wolf tumbled to the ground. Teeth snapping the wolf reached for Harnin’s neck. With a snarl Harnin blocked with his arm. It’s teeth sank deep into his forearm, blood gushed out. The Hunter quickly drew his side knife and rammed it between the creature's ribs.
It let go of his arm and howled in pain before dashing away.
He sat there a moment stunned. Plana snorted and pranced but she thankfully didn’t run away. He grimaced as the pain in his arm began to flare then crash over him like a wave. He inspected the wound. His shirt sleeve and jacket were ripped to shreds, blood flowed freely from the deep wound. He climbed to his feet feeling fuzzy.
He cleaned his knife, sheathed it, then calmed Plana as much as possible before grabbing fresh linens from his saddlebag and bounding his wound. He glanced around realizing he dropped his bow. It lay half-concealed in the grass a few feet from him. He walked over and picked it up, then froze.
The wolf sat about fifty feet from him. His blood coating it’s muzzle, making the fur darker. He didn’t seem like a creature that was dealt a mortal wound to the side.
“What?” Harnin hissed slowly backing up, his eyes fixed on the creature. The wolf didn’t stir, it’s intelligent eyes the only things moving, following his every move. The hunter climbed into his saddle then heeled Plana into a canter.
He was hours away from Jawburns village and roughly the same distance away from Barksville, as far as he knew; no one else would be traveling this way for days.
He was alone.
Harnin winced as his arm throbbed. Thankfully, it seemed to have stopped bleeding. He quickly glanced around, then spotted the wolf. It ran abreast of them, about fifty feet away. Was it actually going to wait until they tired? He felt the blood drain from his face and his skin grow cold. Could it actually be a Frankakal wolf?
The Frankakal wolves feed off animals who eat bur, giving them certain abilities, which in this case was healing. Setting his jaw, he continued forward.
Some time passed as they continued their strange company of wolf and hunter. Harnin frequently stole glances, constantly trying to keep Plana from breaking into a dead run. He wiped his forehead as sweat trickled into his eyes. Unclasping his water skin from his belt, he drank deeply when Plana jumped to the side, sending his water skin flying. He gritted his teeth and looked to the left.
The wolf was running alongside the left side of the horse. Harnin cursed. He grabbed an arrow and began swatting at the beast, prompting Plana to gallop. The wolf growled as Harnin nicked it’s head and shoulder but it continued alongside them even as Plana went into a full-out gallop. Harnin quickly grabbed his bow, and tried to nick an arrow but it flew out of his fingers. He cursed then leaned over checking to see where the wolf was. The dirt path was the only thing below.
Intense pressure on his right leg caused him to cry out in surprise then the world spun as he was ripped off his horse. He landed hard on his side, his head bouncing off the earth. Flashes of white light blinded his vision.
Eyes swimming he realized he was still clutching the bow, he began to swing it madly about as his eyes began to focus then he paused.
The crackling of grass filled his ears as the wolf dragged him away, blades of grass scratching his back. He looked around, all he could see was the gold of the meadow. He growled, determined NOT to die like this!
With a sudden jerk, the beast turned to Harnin, teeth bared as it slowly circled towards him. He dropped his bow and drew his knife, ready to fight until the end. With a deep throaty growl the wolf leaped on him, exposing his neck, and with all his strength Harnin drove the blade deeply into it’s flesh as he felt it's powerful jaws closing around his shoulder and neck. He drew the blade out and slammed it into its neck again and again until it was a mess of flesh and blood. Before the wolf could crush his neck, it let out a gurgling whimper then collapsed.
Trembling, Harnin rolled onto his stomach then pushed himself up. He began to stand but collapsed with a cry as pain exploded from his leg. He sat down hard.
His leg was a mess of shredded fabric and blood, his shoulder surprisingly only sustained a single puncture wound. He sighed crawling back towards the path. He came upon the parcel with his wife's supplies harkening him back to his earlier shopping expedition.
He opened it and dressed his wounds with the fabric for his wife’s dresses. He would not hear the end of this. He then looked back at the wolf which was visible from all the flattened grass. It lay still in a pool of dark blood. Dead.
He pushed his hat back, surprised it was still on his head and let out a deep sigh. Well, at least he might get a good price on the coat and meat!
After some time of mustering strength, he called for Plana.
She never came.
Letting out a deep groan Harnin grabbed one of the wolf's back legs and limped his way to Barksville using his bow as a walking stick.
The sun was on the horizon by the time Harnin spotted the village in the distance. His home sat on the East side of town, a short walk from the village. He could see his house in the fading light, a one-story building topped by a thatched roof. In a fenced pasture in the back lived a scrawny goat who kept Plana company next to a dilapidated barn where their wagon was housed.
He saw a group of people standing outside the house, torches flickered in their upraised hands as the shadows grew long and the light began to fade. A girl, his daughter Darhela, stood next to Plana, holding her reigns. She turned then spotted Harnin in the distance. The girl cried out then began to run towards him, dropping the reigns and leaving the horse to graze. The group of people turned then followed suit. She reached him first. Her brown hair lay limp about her thin shoulders. Her face was wet with tears.
“Papa!” she cried then buried her face in his wounded shoulder. He winced, dropping the wolf's leg. His wife, Shatala, slowed a few paces from him, her face a mask of horror as she took in his wounds and the wolf on the ground. Harnin sagged, all his strength seeming to have left him all in that moment.
“My dearest, what has happened, Plana returned but you. . .” Shatala's voice faltered as she knelt in front of him, their daughter sandwiched between.
Harnin weakly explained all as the rest of the group caught up. They listened in fixed wonder and fear when his son, Napril appeared. He was sweaty and breathing hard.
“Father, what. . .what happened?” Napril gasped, leaning forward.
Harnin stared at him a moment then opened his mouth to respond when the village healer arrived.
He shooed everyone away and with the aid of Harnin’s son and two other young men, they carried Harnin and the wolf back to his house.
The next day, his wounds clean and wrapped, and given plenty of bur medicine he sat next to the fireplace. A small blaze crackling in the hearth, morning sunlight streamed through the windows. His wife was upset about the cloth but the women of the village offered to clean the fabric with Hihat root which was said to restore fabric to it's originally clean state.
His daughter sat on the floor braiding her hair. His son, Napril, sat in a chair across from him, deep in thought. He stayed the night, for Shatala's sake, his neighbors offered to keep an eye on his farm until he returned.
Harnin stared at him. He didn’t say much after he shared about the wolf.
He seemed to realize Napril’s features were more man than boy as he stared into the fire, his clothing dirty from working the earth.
“Father, I. . .” Napril swallowed as Harnin leaned forward. “I don’t think I should be a farmer. With you losing your hand to that damn machine. . .”
“Watch your mouth, Napril Kakulin!” Shatala yelled from the kitchen where she was cleaning the wolf fur. Napril looked towards the sound of his Mother's voice, then back to his father who motioned for him to continue. Darhela meanwhile continued to braid her hair. She began to hum quietly. “Anyway I can’t stand to see you and Mother and Darhela suffer under these conditions. No. I will figure something out, maybe sell my farm.” Napril leaned back. Harnin stared at him for a moment. He never understood why his son wanted to be a farmer but he didn’t mean to discourage him from doing it; or did he? Shame welled up as he remembered that day.
He remembered wanting to help his son bring in the harvest and was warned about the speed and sharpness of the machine they worked with but he didn’t listen, until he lost part of his hand.
“No son. You are a great farmer. Don’t give it away because of me. We will get through until we can afford the surgery.”
“But father, how can you possibly afford that?” Napril asked, concern and relief written on his face.
“Harnin! You are not going to believe this.” Shatala yelled from the kitchen.
Harnin winced as he stood and hobbled into the kitchen, Napril and Darhela climbed to their feet and followed him. His wife sat on a bench near the back door which was wide open letting in all the sun and the chill morning air which washed over Shatala as she cleaned the fur which was draped across her lap, they sold the meat and entrails to the butcher earlier that day. Harnin frowned.
The coat was muddy brown in most spots but the parts that his wife was scrubbing gleamed a deep gold, reflecting the morning light. She looked up, a grin on her face.
“Look at this!” She held up the fur. “I’ve heard tales of Frankakal wolves having coats that were as bright as the sun because all the bur infused animals they would eat, but I didn’t believe it.” She laughed, dipping the fur into a bucket at her feet.
“This will sell for a good price.” Harnin grinned. He wouldn’t have to worry about his family not having enough for a good while. His wife sniffed, a tear escaping her eye, “Harnin, this will help pay for a Bur molder to fix your hand and possibly have enough gilds to get us through five winters and then some.” She laughed, stroking the shimmering fur.
“What would Oltin think of this when I see him next time?” Harnin chuckled, a grin on his face. Darhela gasped and Napril quickly ran to the front door exclaiming,
“ It looks like we will be visiting Oltin’s shop sooner than expected!”
He then dashed outside, heading back to his house.
Harnin's grin deepened as he hugged his daughter. He wouldn’t mind going back to Jawburn's village with his son.
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