Be still.
Towering cedar trees stood like staunch defenders of the midday sun; their crowns, like divine shields crafted of the finest jade, were layered so tightly they formed a protective barrier, thwarting many of the heavens' attempts to cast their afternoon glow upon the earth below.
A peacefully chaotic symphony of chirps, trills, whistles, and croaks heralded the twilight's arrival. The sound both soothed the soul and drove the mind to madness. Life is often as such, unabashedly contradictory and hypnotically beautiful.
Enshrouded by a maze of branches, needles, and ferns, a barefoot youth crouched in the confines of one of the cedar trees. Wedged in a nook between a thick branch and sturdy trunk the boy, coated in mud, squatted stably like a dirty toad blending in with the tree's sturdy bark. The only flaws in his camouflage came from the wisps of silver peeking through his caked and tangled brown nest of dirt and hair, and his eyes that were more bewitching than the twilight sky.
With a focused gaze, the boy peered at the forest floor below, his furrowed brow betraying hints of anxiety. Restless fingers lightly fidgeted against the tree trunk beside him. Numb legs, sore feet, and crawling skin all contributed to his discomfort. While he didn't despise insects, the sensation of their tiny legs scuttling over his already clammy skin was unbearably irritating.
Ninmah, please let these insects be harmless. He said a silent prayer.
He had been perched in the tree since dawn but had yet to find any prey. There was little sunlight remaining. Would he have another unsuccessful hunt? He didn't know how much longer he could go without meat. The thought of returning empty-handed weighed heavily on him, especially considering his family's meager means. In the town of Byblos, meat could be bought, but it came at a price measured in iron and copper rather than the shekels of grain that his family could more readily spare. Coins were always scarce, and he hated asking his mother for such luxuries. Whenever she went overboard to indulge him, she'd work in the tavern until the early morning hours for the rest of the week to make up for the expense.
He chewed the pitch in his mouth in frustration, but it had already started to separate and crumble. He had been up in the cedar for hours, too hesitant to risk going in search of more wild gum.
Be calm.
The hunting bow on his back felt as heavy as his mood, weighing down his shoulders as his eagerness waned. His legs turned numb, but the burning in his thighs persisted, urging him to abandon his perch among the branches.
Warm light began to filter through the trees, casting vibrant splashes of amber across the forest floor, painting the world in a golden hue.
It was nearing time to head back to town; the sun would soon dip below the treetops. He had no intention of being caught in the cedar forest after nightfall. Terrifying tales of the woods circulated among the adventurers in town, whispered over tankards of ale at the tavern. Stories of formidable creatures and mysterious beings stoked the townsfolk's fears of the forest. Often, these tales grew exaggerated, morphing into cautionary legends that deterred anyone curious enough to consider entering the domain of ancient cedar trees from taking the risk. While some still dared to explore the forest by day, none dared to traverse it after nightfall—and he had no interest in being the subject of the town's next cautionary tale.
He drew in a deep breath, but a low grunt from the forest floor behind him caused the dejected sigh to catch in his throat.
His heartbeat quickened.
He let his breath out slowly.
Be silent.
He gently drew his juniper wood bow, careful not to make any excess noise.
A deep sniff, like forge bellows, came from below.
He slid a fletched reed shaft from his fur quiver and nocked it on his bowstring. The chipped flint arrowhead came to a rather distinct point, and he aimed to make that point as piercing as possible.
The boar lumbered into focus, its wide and muscular, coarsely furred head lowered as it rooted around in the dirt, searching for something to eat. Judging from the size of its head, the boar must have been an older male. Perhaps he had strayed from his pack in search of food, or perhaps he had been abandoned. But there didn't seem to be any other boars in the vicinity. As the boar stopped beneath the shade of the cedar's branches, his grunts grew more frequent, indicating that he had found something to satisfy his hunger. Perhaps he had come across one of the cedar's cones, fallen from the branches above, and decided that it would have to do for a meal.
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The boy felt a tinge of empathy, but he knew that at least one of them should eat meat tonight.
With focused concentration, he positioned three fingers on a strip of fur and delicately slid it up the bowstring, halting just beneath his arrow. He drew in a slow, deep breath, exhaling only slightly, ensuring his lungs were still full of air and his nerves were settled. He tensed his abdomen in preparation and used his back muscles to raise the bow in a graceful arc, the motion helping him to draw the bowstring back until the fletching hovered near his eye. With precision, he leveled the arrow, sighting his target—the spot just above and behind the boar's powerful shoulder—along the arrow's shaft.
As if it sensed something, the boar lifted its head from its meal and sniffed the air.
The bowstring twanged, and the dull sound of whipping wind followed. The boy exhaled, releasing the remaining air in his lungs, and his grip on the bow relaxed. The arrow was released.
The boar's muscles tensed as unfamiliar sounds disrupted the forest's natural rhythm. With a sense of impending danger, it prepared to flee, but before it could react, the arrow pierced its chest. A devastated squeal escaped its lips, as pain seared through its body. It pumped its legs desperately, trying to escape, but the agony made breathing difficult. Blood spurted from the wound, leaving a thick trail of scarlet in its wake.
As the world blurred around him, the boar's vision became hazy, the sun's evening glow blinding him with its radiance. His head felt heavy as it drooped into the dirt. Labored breaths rattled in his chest, but no air reached his lungs. His legs buckled beneath him, and his body fell heavily to the forest floor. With a final, plaintive squeal, he succumbed to the darkness, his body trembling as death claimed him.
The boar's body lay motionless, its limbs splayed out beneath it in a lifeless sprawl. For a fleeting moment, the forest fell into a solemn hush, as if nature itself paused to acknowledge the boar's sacrifice. Yet, soon after, the familiar melody of the forest resumed, as if the brief interruption had never transpired.
The boy scanned the surroundings, ensuring no opportunists were lurking in the shadows. Finding none, he breathed a slight sigh of relief, and a triumphant grin spread across his face. He looked down at the fallen boar, there would be meat in his home for days to come. He indulged in a brief moment of fantasy, imagining the scene that awaited him at home: the tavern women showering him with praise, their appreciative hands running through his hair, and his mother's look of pride and satisfaction as she enveloped him in a tight, warm embrace. He shook his head to snap himself out of his reverie. Time was running short; the sun had just dipped below the treetops, leaving only a fleeting window for him to exit the forest with his prize before twilight descended. With a solemn prayer, he closed his eyes and bowed his head.
"Moccus, I thank you for this bountiful harvest. I vow to honor your son's sacrifice and ensure it is not in vain. May you guide him safely to the next life."
With determination, he opened his eyes and swiftly went to work. Securing the bow in its holster on his back, he retrieved his fur quiver from the tree nook where he had stashed it, strapping it securely to the leather belt around his waist.
Gingerly, he descended the towering cedar tree, relying on both his fingers and toes to locate secure holds within the rugged grooves of the sturdy bark. Though the bark's rough texture left his skin with a few scrapes, he managed to navigate down the tree without mishap.
After descending to the forest floor, he unclasped the leather pouch fastened to his hip. Inside, he retrieved a pair of child-sized leather boots, a coil of rope, and a sheathed flaying knife. Gripping the leather sheath of the knife between his teeth, he secured the coil of rope around his wrist as he crouched to slip on his boots. While walking barefoot in the forest was possible, the risk of injury was too great to chance it.
Once his preparations were complete, he grasped the knife in his hands and approached the fallen boar. When he was a meter from the felled beast he stopped. He stooped down, grabbed a loose stone at his feet, and hurled it at the corpse. The stone struck the boar's head, but there was no reaction from the lifeless body.
The boy breathed another sigh of relief and approached with slightly less caution, reassured by the lack of response from the body.
As he neared the carcass, he noted the scarlet blood that had leaked from the boar's chest. He'd hit his target—a shot to the heart. A silent celebration ensued in his mind. He unsheathed his flaying knife, revealing a long, hooked silvery blade etched with enigmatic runes, deadly sharp and gleaming in the dappled forest light. The handle, shaped like a miniature vajra, mirrored the blade's silvery hue as if both were forged from the same steel. Nestled within its clutches was a well-cut round stone, deep blue in color, reflecting the evening sunlight with a subtle shimmer.
He looked at the knife fondly for a moment; it had been with him for as long as he could remember. His mother said that when the gods answered her prayers by sending him to her, he was hugging the sheathed blade in his tiny arms. It was his most prized possession, a trusty companion in the wild. He twirled the blade with confidence before catching it in an overhand grip, smirking at the comfortable feel of the metal in his hand.
After offering a single bow of respect to the fallen boar, he knelt beside its snout. Grasping the beast's head by the tusk, he extended its neck and swiftly sliced open its throat with a deft stroke of the blade. Satisfied that the beast was indeed dead, he rose to his feet and set about his next task.
He began by gathering slender trees and medium-sized branches, carefully selecting those sturdy enough to craft a sled capable of transporting the boar's meat back to town. After collecting all the necessary timber, he meticulously shaped each piece, ensuring they fit snugly together when assembled into a triangular structure. The frame, resting on the ground, extended just beyond his height, boasting multiple rungs in the center and two handles intersecting at its apex.
Once he was happy with the frame's stability, he sat beside it and unraveled the coiled rope from his wrist. With his knife, he cut sections long enough to secure the joints firmly, binding all the pieces together. With the sled now fully constructed, he took a moment to catch his breath and admire his handiwork. A pleased smile crept across his face, resembling that of a contented cat.
"Now for the hard part," he muttered, his distaste for the task ahead evident in his tone.
He settled beside the boar, reached into his leather pouch, and withdrew a sack made of knitted cotton. Opening the sack wide beside him, he began to quarter his kill. He ran his knife along the beast's backbone, parting the flesh like a drawn curtain. He was always amazed and thankful for how sharp and tough the blade was. No matter how much abuse he subjected it to, it always maintained a razor-sharp edge, slicing through skin and muscle like butter.
With practiced precision, he skinned the beast and sliced off the meat at its loins, ribs, shoulders, belly, and hindquarters, placing each cut into the sack beside him. Once he finished, he threaded a section of rope through the top of the sack and tied it tightly. He unwittingly tried to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand but ended up leaving a streak of crimson across his forehead instead, adding a touch of color to his grimy appearance.
He examined the empty carcass and realized there was still a lot of meat left. However, he knew he couldn't carry it all, even with the sled. He shook his head sadly, feeling a twinge of regret at the waste.
I guess some lucky scavenger is going to have quite the feast tonight. He mused.
He then grabbed his sack of meat and lugged it onto the sled, securing it to the rungs and strapping it down with the remainder of his rope. Finally, his task was complete, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, relishing in a job well done.