Mao left home once the last daylight had faded past the horizon. He crept up the stairs behind his and Josei’s home, sunk his fingers into the gaps in the stone wall of the Droopy Swan, the noodle hut nextdoors, and heaved himself up onto the red roof. From there it was a sprint and a leap onto the neighboring roof, a quick scramble up the second floor’s outer wall and onto the roof a level up.
He put his mask on as he leapt for the cookery, a rather large building overlooking his home street from a level above. One could argue that taking the stairs right next to the entrance of the medicine shop he called a home would have been quicker, but anyone that claimed that had not enjoyed the thrilling danger and challenge of traversing Redlog vertically.
The mask came alive as its cool, painted wood touched his skin. It hummed with the same eagerness that tugged the fox upwards, climbing ever upwards. Then the change started as Mao willed the mask do more than simply sit on his face.
His Skin prickled as fur sprouted from it, then his muscles began flowing like water. Swift and graceful, strong as a current, they changed from the tall, sturdy build of a human and into the sleek elegance of a black fox. Slowly the winter chill - even weak as it was now that spring was taking over - faded as his thick winter coat warded it off. He felt lighter, quicker, and energized enough to set his tail to swishing to and fro in anticipation of tonight’s run.
The familiar weight of the mask soon faded, melting off his face like a mirage. As if it had never been there to begin with. Red eyes reflected the light of a pale moon, pupils slit and cunning. Mao bent low, tested his balance, then kicked off at a sprint across the red shingles. A black fox raced across the rooftops of Redlog, as free as the wind itself.
His destination was the market square, now abandoned as people fell asleep in their cozy homes after a long day of work. Josei herself was probably enjoying a dream full of maples and memories, that rare magical time between the shift of seasons when she got to visit her dead husband, Summer, in the lands of sleep. Yet another reason to fight hard in their war of letting the other sleep in. She deserved to enjoy those rare dreams for as long as possible.
Mao knew that Tulip sat huddled upon a shelf, a vigilant guard of the quiet home, so there was no need to be wary of leaving home for a bit. So he ran. The city was a flash to his loping gait, a forest of its own with its many scents and sights, it’s towering vistas of sloping roofs, ancient stone faces, and the many, many paths carved or built onto the mountain over the span of several generations. It all lay bare to his now unleashed senses, and the world expanded from what a human could see and hear and smell into a place that told you stories just by inhaling.
Though empty now, the market square’s many smells of the day still lingered. Prickling hints of seeds of every kind, animal sweat and the emotions of humans from far and wide, all mingling in this place that was so busy by day. It was almost too much to the fox’s sensitive nose, but only almost. Mao combed through the scents carefully, letting his by now experienced mind sort away distractions that would have otherwise occupied his thoughts for hours. He could - and probably would - explore this place another night. Tonight he had a target, a mission.
A vaguely familiar scent stood out when he sniffed around the stall he’d used during the day. They were permanent fixtures of the market. Small huts made in the same style as the city’s buildings with tall wooden beams, some still covered in bark, ornate roofs of either clay shingles or treated wood, and counters or shelves instead of walls so that a merchant may show off their wares to any that passed them.
Mao’s stall, which he and Josei paid a small amount to use every now and then, held the strongly ingrained scent of bitter herbs, the breath of so many humans, oils and ink and the metallic tang of coins. That was as expected, yet among these scents hung one that would fade way quicker than the stinging smell of old remedy stains, a temporary visitor. One garbed in materials not as commonly seen in Redlog. A smell of linen made from something other than sunflax, the local source of fibers for both cloth and paper. It was the subtle scent of a cousin of sunflax. Mao didn’t know what it was called but it matched his memory of the material of the thief’s burlap bag. He sniffed the spot until he’d memorized the scent, then began to slowly follow it through the market square.
Redlog’s winding streets surrounded the fox as he followed the trail. Looming shadows of dark planks, pale paper screens, and ornate red lattices of carved wood. A bounty of craftsmanship turned into well worn homes. The silent houses watched the fox as it crept from street to street, preferring the shadows over the rare spots of light shed by lanterns that had long since burned low.
The scent trail took him further than he expected, especially since the thief had seemed young. It brought him to the Red Light District on the north side of Redlog, a far leap from the market to the south. Puzzled but determined to see this through, Mao continued following the trail.
This part of the city wasn’t as quiet as the rest. Far from it. Even in the dead of night, the Red Light District kept being lively. Drunkards sang their merry tunes on the terraces of bars and restaurants, late night merchants hawked their wares in shouts muted by the hour. Travelers and locals alike mingled in a crowd that weren’t quite done enjoying their day yet.
Mao kept to the shadows, letting his dark coat meld him with the darkness. The red paper lanterns that lit up this most lively of places were far from burned down and they made the nooks and crannies that the light failed to reach into deep pockets of shadow. Perfect paths and hiding spots for a sneaky fox to flit through.
A drunk man blinked at a shadow as it opened its red eyes to peer at him, trying to determine if he was familiar or not. The drunkard eyed his cup, then blinked back at the darkness. No eyes remained but the man decided that he’d had enough brew for the night. Mao slunk away, unseen.
Following the trail had him ending up beneath the terrace of the Red Lantern, a place of entertainment and sensual delight. Madam Riarin Ros ran it, a good friend of Josei’s and a cunning trader of her craft. Mao had been there before, mostly during the day to deliver medicine or offer advice for the occasional ailment. Even entertainers grew sick at times.
It was a stark difference to see the brothel at night rather than during the day. Several of the ornate paper doors, decorated with pressed flowers and painted scenery, stood open, tempting passerbys with pretty sights and alluring music. Laughter trickled out through the thin paper screens, silhouettes of people drinking and making merry visible through them.
Mao stuck his head up through a gap in the terrace floor, right where the floor ended and the wall started. He had to fight for space with a rose bush. The sweet scent of its flowers made his whiskers tremble. With ears stood tall and angling towards every sound he could catch, the fox scanned his surroundings carefully.
The scent trail continued past the Red Lantern’s front, then ended at a dark paperscreen, no light flickering behind it. The fox sniffed around the screen, concluded that the thief had went inside, then carefully listened for people inside the room. Hearing none, he carefully nosed the screen open, then slunk inside on silent paws.
A multitude of smells assaulted him as soon as he got inside. Sweat, perfume, and something… Mao shuddered.
Another set of paper screens let him into a dimly lit corridor. Much of the Red Lanter’s lower floor was set up so that rooms could be resized by sliding the screens around. Aside from the more intimate trade of personal acts, the brothel also put on performances, dances, feasts, and other reasons to party in larger groups. If one craved for more private rooms without thin paper and brittle wooden frames being the only thing that kept secret what you - or your neighbor - were doing, then the second floor and rooms further to the back of the brothel would please you well enough.
People were singing in a room nearby, others made softer sounds further ahead. Worried about being noticed, Mao sunk his claws into the rough pillar of one wall and scrambled his way up it. There were perks to bark covered pillars being a classic Redlog style.
Mao was far from as good of a climber as Tobby, but he knew his agility had most normal foxes beat. He could flow up a tree like a shadow if he really put his mind to it, limbs stronger than they should be and balance almost a given. Magic ran through his veins.
Once up in the dark rafters, the fox continued on his search for the thief. This wasn’t a place a young girl should be in, not at night while the staff worked or travelers came to partake of their intimate delights. Mao wrinkled his snout as he spotted people down in the rooms below, separated by paper walls but not by complete ceilings.
The ornate lattice work so popular in Redlog architecture made for wonderful secret passageways for those that were small and nimble, such as a fox. Or a rat… Mao stared one down as it paused to glare at him. A quick snack? It was very tempting… The rat seemed to sense his thoughts and hissed before scurrying off. Oh well, another time.
Tulip’s bloodthirsty antics had scared Mao off hunting critters as a child, but nowadays he didn’t mind a quick bite if he could catch it. Mostly mice and pigeons, but once a chicken from Peak Street. Only one, because the priest that had seen him had chased him all the way down to the Foot with a broom, promising to break every bone in his body for daring to assault the revered animal. Mao shuddered at the memory.
Chickens tasted good though… but not good enough to risk the wrath of the local priesthood. It still tempted him whenever he saw one while running Wild at night.
Thoughts growing distracted, Mao paused to get his bearings. It was hard to detect the scent of his thief through the mist of perfume and human activity. Something else drew his attention. The heedy smell of a murklily mixture. His murklily mixture.
Murklily was a somewhat picky plant to grow. It sprouted from the flesh of decaying carcasses, blooming brilliant white flowers before other scavenging flora overtook it and made it wither. The herb was a precious remedy for treating maggots and nastier parasites. They were pretty, sure, but not nearly pretty enough to cultivate simply for looks. To smell a mixture made from them here was an oddity and a clue. Dancers and courtesans rarely needed something with murklily in it. Mao’s eyes narrowed. He followed the scent.
It led him into a room on the second floor, all the way in where the more posh of the Red Lantern’s rooms for hire sat. The back also held Riarin’s office but that was further than he needed to go. The scent continued into one of the rooms for hire. Mao slunk up another pillar until he was perched on the rafters near the ceiling.
The richer rooms were built into the loft. It provided more privacy than the ground level rooms but often lacked for windows. Sometimes that was desired. Mao had to squeeze through a tight lattice work to get inside the room from above, but once inside he found what he’d been looking for.
His stolen merchandise sat on a small wooden table. It was a pretty piece of furniture carved from some rich smelling kind of wood. Cherry maybe? Mao wasn’t a woodworking expert but it had that faint smell of fruit that never really faded.
The fox dropped down from the rafters since the room was empty. There was a double bed with freshly washed sheets that smelled of lavender and something that made his nose tingle. He couldn’t help but to sniff at it for a moment, mystified by the attractive mix.
A pot as tall as the table held a neatly trimmed tree of some sort. A small kind with delicate needles instead of leaves. Another table sat by the low bed. On it sat an amphora of fragrant wine, a few leather tools of… questionable nature, and a bottle of oil. Mao ignored them and went for his stolen merchandise.
Most were bottles and jars sealed with wax and bits of cloth. He recognized the cloth because he’d bought them from a weaver down at the Farmlands this fall. A leather bag sat next to the table, way fancier than the burlap sack of the thief. Mao suspected something shifty being at foot here…
A folding screen stood to the side of the room, folded to make the smallish room look larger than it was. Mao had an idea. He shifted back into his human form, careful not to let it cause too much noise, then softly padded over to the folding screen. He lifted it over to the table and unfolded it, hiding it from sight so as to not alert the thief to their missing loot once they came back into the room.
Next he used one of the sealed jars’s contents on the wine. Harefoot powder, good for inducing puking. An excellent way to void a belly of something foul. He poured the powder into the amphora of wine by the bed. A little payback for the theft.
He then stuffed the rest of his stolen wares into the fancy bag, closed it shut, then made for the door with it over a shoulder. Maybe if he sneaked he could make it to a window down the corridor before- Footsteps outside told him that someone was approaching the room. In a brief moment of panic, Mao ducked behind the folding screen. He held his breath as the paper doors of the room opened and someone entered the room.
A cloying smell of cigarette smoke and something sweet met his nostril. Heavy footsteps trudged into the room. The bed creaked as someone sat down on it. Mao placed the scent after a moment of sniffing. It was the rich merchant from the stables! The cruel man who’d fired his servant for breaking his leg when the hay bale fell on him.
Mao’s hair stood on end at the memory, but he did his best to keep quiet. He felt his breath brush the inside of the fox mask he still wore. The merchant moved on the bed, took something off the table next to it… then swore.
“Rose oil? This isn’t what I told them to get. Bloody amateurs…”
Mao felt as if his heart would give out from nerves as the merchant rose with a grunt. The gruff old man made for the door. Mao heard it close, held his breath… then finally relaxed as he heard the man stomp down the stairs a moment later.
He retook his Wild form, lifted the bag with his mouth, and slunk through the door before the merchant could return. He made a daring leap from the window next to the top of the spiral staircase that led down to the ground floor, landed on the roof of a market stall, then took off before the street vendor below could check what had made the sound.
Success! Mao felt his mouth crook into a smug grin as he raced across the rooftops on his way home. Serves that fool right for hiring someone to steal from him! Hope you like throwing up mid-rut you, bastard! Mao’s shrill fox cackle made a stray dog start barking, waking most people on that street. By the time someone went outdoors to hush it, the fox was gone.
-
The rich old merchant, who’s name was Isaac by the way, returned to his room after a stressful argument with a receptionist. He’d paid well for this relaxing night and the lazy fools still messed up his order. Rose oil… as if he would settle for that cheap stuff. It added scent and very little else, no quality at all.
“Typical of this backwater trash heap of a city. Countryside bumpkins one and all. I bet they make do with corn cobs if they can’t be bothered to treat their customers right.” A grunt punctuated his complaint as he sat down on the bed. All this walking about made a man sore.
A soft giggle from behind the folding screen made him pause. Had the courtesan arrived already? Maybe he’d been too quick to judge. Bemused but quickly appeased, Isaac watched as a slender leg emerged from behind the screen. A silky black stocking adorned the supple flesh, ending in a dainty foot. Such a tease. The merchant leaned back on the bed and grinned.
The rest of his ‘entertainment’ soon followed, but it wasn’t what he’d expected. A white fox mask framed by a rush of red hair grinned at him. Nails trimmed to tantalizing points held the edge of the screen delicately, as gentle as silk. It sent a shiver of excitement up the old man’s back, but the mask gave him pause.
“What’s with the mask?” He asked, grey eyes narrowing with the threat of another long winded complaint to be filed later.
The courtesan simply lifted a finger to the mask’s mouth, a red line drawn into a grin. Its chin hid beneath a red lower lip, so shiny the paint looked freshly applied. Rather than round, the sides drew out into soft triangular points, like the fluff of a beast’s cheeks. Nose, from tip to where the eyes started wore a long drop of red, which matched the rounded patterns at the corner of each wide eye. A ring of yellow sat within deep sockets of black, staring with an intensity that invited unease. Hardly the kind of mask one wore to arouse, unless the local tastes ran in different ways than what the merchant was used to.
Isaac scoffed at it all, yet made no move to stop the approaching courtesan. He would see where this was going before demanding a refund… Maybe make a complaint about the quality afterwards…
The world dimmed around him as the courtesan approached. They wore a silken robe that hid all but their slender legs. Isaac’s eyes roamed the wiry build, but something kept him from grunting at the subpar… assets.
It was as if something warm had grasped his head, a pair of soft hands covering his ears. He heard a hum at the back of his head, soft and encouraging. The hair on his arms rose in… anticipation? The merchant hesitated. Something felt… off - but then the figure touched him. They embraced him like a charge of electricity, a rush of sensations.
A touch that was almost painfully charged, painted nails tracing his skin. A red grin looming closer. Isaac felt his thoughts muddle into a buzzing background noise, near incomprehensible to his addled senses. The mask’s snout opened and it was a flat, raspy beast’s tongue that pressed past his lips. Something was wrong, but their hands were on his shoulders, pulling him too close for reason to make sense anymore.
He vaguely felt something go snap in his chest - then warmth flooded his lungs. Isaac barely registered the blood as it rushed past his lips, into the hungry snout of the coy beast. It drank greedily, narrow brown eyes staring into Isaac’s fading grey ones through the round holes of the mask’s eyes. Specks of green danced in those beastly eyes, a hint of a forest surrounding slit pupils.
The beast gulped down his heart, coating the mask’s lips with yet another layer of red.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
-
Mao left home before sunrise the next day. He would need to reach his destination quickly if he wanted to have any hope of succeeding this time. He left his mother a note saying where he was off too, packed a quick sandwich for lunch, then took off into the dark morning streets. No frost held the cobblestones this morning. Spring had come to take winter’s place at last.
He descended the stairs at a jog, feet long since used to the wits and wiles of the uneven cobblestones. Rather than go up, Mao went down. He headed straight for the Foot on the west side of Redlog. A few people were leaning over the railings of the lowest level’s wall, a good distance from groundlevel still. Mao took the last set of stairs two at a time, then leapt until he felt soft grass beneath his boots.
The Foot was more like a bowl of dirt marking the end of the mountain on the western side of Redlog. The Maple Woods had it half submerged in its large green leaves, with a few spires of pine and redwood breaking up the sea of canopies.
A narrow clearing of trees followed the path down along the Foot, until it faded into a forest road once past the edge of the woods. A small gathering of people stood in the clearing. Men and women of varying ages and builds, but not one unfit. They were stretching, preparing for a taxing workout.
Mao saluted the nearest person as he joined them, earning himself a surprised grunt and a scowl in return. The Hunters’ Guild were a grouchy lot.
They didn’t stop him from joining their stretching, nor did they comment as he went through the movements of some simple punches and kicks with them. They did grumble a bit when he followed them into the woods though.
It started with a jog, a reasonable pace for people that liked to feel their legs work. A show of normalcy for the people watching from the walls. Then once under the cover of the canopies their gait shifted.
The Hunters lowered their bodies into a near crouch, hands flexing and curling into ready claws. They took off at a sprint, running at breakneck speed despite the dense undergrowth. It was like seeing a human flying. Mao did his best to keep up but quickly fell to the back of the pack despite pushing as hard as he could.
A few of the Hunters wore the grey fur cloaks that Mao had learned were magical in nature. Second skins their owners rarely went without, even while resting. Pulling the hoods up would let the old skins swallow them whole, turning their bodies into something that otherwise remained hidden.
They didn’t pull the hoods up now, merely let them flow behind them. Some pelts seemingly sported muscles of their own that worked beneath the worn old fur as the hunters loped.
Lope was the right word for it, because the Hunters were wild. Not like the Wild Ones- or at least not quiet. Not yet. They were still human, mostly. Just honed to a razor’s edge for a single purpose:
Protect the people of Redlog.
They were not the Watch nor did they advertise their true callings, which gave them a bit of a misunderstood - and sometimes rightout fearful - reputation amongst the ill informed citizens.
It had been the Hunters that came for the missing children when the elves had tried to steal away with Mao and the noble scions, that dark night just before Jul 8 years ago.
Mao had used his mask for the first time to turn into a fox back then, and his scream for help, amplified by the lungs of a fox rather than the shrill cry of a human child - had summoned the Hunters. They’d turned into wolves fierce enough to kill the elves, predators of evil and protectors of home and family. Silent guardians that did what they did because it was the right thing to do. They didn’t care for their reputation, only that their territory was kept safe.
To say that they’d left an impression on Mao was a vast understatement. He adored them. He’d even tried to join their ranks, but headmaster Ulven Jägare, their leader, had said no. Continuously so.
“Why?!” Mao remembered standing in his office in the guild building, wide eyed with shock at that answer. It had been just after they’d been rescued- just a few days later. He’d been 10. Now it seemed more obvious that the hunters had refused a child from joining their dangerous group. Yet when Mao had tried again a year later and still got a no, his dream had started to grow stubborn.
He’d thrown a tantrum, further proving that he wasn’t old enough to even be considered a possible recruit. Thinking back on it made him cringe hard enough to nearly miss a step. At these speeds that could easily lead to a broken leg.
Yet he’d grown since his first attempts at joining the guild, even if those attempts hadn’t stopped once during this 8 year span of time. Maybe wearing on their patience hadn’t been the wisest of strategies, but each year had truly felt like the one. Like the magical moment he so often dreamed about where Ulven would look him in the eye, truly and without dismissal, and tell him “Yes.” That moment hadn’t arrived yet so Mao would keep trying until it did.
At first it had been his age that was the main issue, but now it seemed like they just kept coming up with excuses. Mao felt his lungs burning as he ran with them through the woods.
They trained like this almost every morning. If not always the same group. They kept patrols at all hours and thus had a rotation they went through on the regular. Never leave Redlog unguarded. It had saved Tobby’s life when he got trapped beneath a rotvälta in the forest once. From fallen trees to a conspiracy of elves hungering for the flesh of innocent children, the Hunters would fight it all. They were heroes to the young fox.
Heroes that ran too fast for him to keep up with, even now. Mao started to fall behind. It was a taxing pace to keep up for so long, but the Hunters never slowed. If anything they slowly sped up, gaining momentum with each stride, each leap longer than the last. They were a menace of endurance and intent, as swift as wolves, as fierce as bears guarding a den. While they panted in the way hunting dogs did when closing in on their prey, all adrenaline and near achieved victory thundering in their ears, Mao’s lungs just burned.
He let them speed ahead, unable to keep pace without risking his lungs giving out, or his legs breaking should his feet catch a snag at the breakneck speed of their run - a very real threat once his balanced started to suffer from exhaustion. He wouldn't be beaten though! Not again. He’d done this before, joined their run only to be left behind and gasping for air. Forced to return home shamefaced and with every muscle in his entire body as heavy as lead. Not today!
The fox mask embraced his face like a second skin, a cool fit of artistic mastery compared to the rough pelts the Hunters wore. Magic of two very different sources, though Mao couldn’t have guessed the half of it. For a short, exhilarating moment it felt as if his mask yipped in glee. Mao let it stretch his face into a snout, draw his ears up and back into pointed tips covered by velvety fuzz. His body shivered as it changed shape, flowing like water into the shape of something new, something familiar.
Clad in black fur and paws tipped by small but sharp claws, Mao took off once more. He easily caught up on all fours, jaws hanging open with tongue lolling out to the side. He got a few surprised looks from the hunter, a grin from one, and growls of disapproval from the others.
They pushed themselves harder, increasing their pace, hearts hammering as loud as drums. He could hear it clearly in this shape, ears no longer too weak to pick up on the pace of another body. It was a flood of sensations to the fox in the Hunters’ midst. Mao drank it all in with singing nerves and an itch to his pointed teeth. They swept across the ground like gods unleashed, blood a thrum in their ears and breaths short and harried. Yet what they felt was freedom and the joys of speed.
By the time they stopped, more than a few Hunters had to lean against a tree to recover their breath. It was obvious that they’d pushed themselves harder to lose the fox following in their wake. Mao was proud to have outrun a few of them, even if it got him dirty looks.
He got no praise, no congratulations or looks of approval. It was a bit disappointing. No one said anything mean though. The Hunters were a quiet lot, at least when outsiders were present. Mao hoped to change the fact that he was an outsider, he dreamed of the day when they would welcome him as an equal.
A newer member that couldn’t have been that much older than Mao took a spot in front of the group and cleared his throat. Mao recognized him as Russ, a young man he envied for having been allowed to join the Guild where he himself had been denied for years. He tried not to hold it against Russ though, they were to become allies one day, after all. Hopefully.
Russ was a tall fellow of sun-kissed skin and brown hair that bordered on red. Russet red if you liked fancy names for different shades of colors. Mao sometimes wondered if it had served as inspiration for the man’s name. If so, then it had hit the mark better than Tobby’s name had.
Though a Hunter by rank, Russ wasn’t too impressive. He was far from the stoic men and women of the Guild’s older ranks. He lacked their weather worn looks, the toned builds that spoke of years of heavy work. He didn’t have the multitude of scars that many of them sported - oh he had scars, just not as many. A set of… Mao thought they were teeth marks, he wasn’t sure. They sat on either side of his face, as if something large had closed its jaws around it at some point…
What a terrifying thought. It made Mao shudder whenever he thought about it. Funny that whatever had decided to bite Russ’ face hadn’t killed him… How he’d survived such a damning hold was a mystery, one he kept close to his chest no matter how much Mao pried. What really made the fox envy him though wasn’t his appearance, it was the red pelted fur cloak hanging around his shoulders.
He didn’t always wear it, in fact he was mostly seen without it, an oddity compared to most other Hunters. Even if there was a reason not to wear it all the time yet, Mao didn’t get that. If he had a cloak that let him turn into a wolfman he would be bringing it with him everywhere. Sort of like his fox mask… It baffled him a bit. It was almost as if Russ didn’t realize what a blessing a magical item like that was to have.
Maybe he didn’t know how to use it yet? Mao eyed it as he slunk up to the front of the gathering group of Hunters, taking a place next to an old veteran that kept her lower face covered in bandages. Thick bandages, otherwise you might notice that she didn’t have most of her lower jaw. Something had ripped part of it off once, along with most of her tongue. She could still howl like the others but words were forever lost to her. At least the spoken kind.
‘Good morning, Shika’. Mao signed with his hands, grinning toothily as she shot him a glare. Shika did not enjoy his company and she was one of the most vocal about it- erh, signed? Her hands moved in quick but clear motions, signaling her displeasure at his presence.
‘Good morning to you too, cheeky bugger. Back to delay us again? Thought you’d know by now that you can’t keep up with us. Go home already. This isn’t a game.’
Mao feigned a hurt look. Shika was not fooled. She could see his glittering eyes, the restless energy that made him shift from foot to foot despite their frenzied run just minutes ago. Mao signed a reply while Russ gave his usual morning speech. The young Hunter was to lead the morning exercises, not because he had the experience, but to get experience. Speaking in front of and instructing a crowd was a good way to build up confidence according to headmaster Ulven.
‘I kept up just fine with the run, or didn’t you see? Kept pace all the way to the end.’ Mao kept his eyes forward, watching Russ to be polite, but glanced back now and then when he sensed movement from Shika. She would tap him if he missed anything. He knew it annoyed her to chat during practice but he couldn’t help it. She was one of the few hunters that would humor his attempts at small talk.
‘You used your mask to keep up. Would have eaten dust without shifting. We run in the open more than in cover. You can’t rely on it.’ Shika finished her retort with a sign Mao suspected meant ‘idiot’. He wasn’t perfect at the Hunters’ signs just yet.
“-and since Shika and Mao seem to have so much to talk about, you two will form a pair for the spars.” Russ finished his instructions and shot Mao a pointed look. It was nothing compared to the seething glare he got from Shika. The medicine maker just saluted with a grin. To be included into their spars was a small victory!
“Roger that, boss.”
The other Hunters formed pairs of their own and spread out, leaving each pair ample space to move in. Mao bounced on the balls of his feet, clenched and unclenched his fists. He felt his body perk back up now that the exhaustion from the run had finally faded.
‘Ready when you are,’ he signed at Shika, grinning confidently. He had a good feeling about today’s spar. Enough confidence to think himself a match for a fully trained Hunter. Shika kicked his ass.
-
Ulven Jägare, the headmaster of Redlog’s Hunters’ Guild, interrupted Mao’s attempt at getting revenge on Shika. She kept dodging him, blocked any punches he threw, and responded to his attempt at throwing dirt at her with a pinecone to the nose. Even the damned Maple Woods seemed to be on her side today. Damn damn.
“Here again today, Mao?” The grey old Hunter gave him an appraising look, as he always did when catching Mao amongst the Hunters. Mao unpinched his nose, tilted his head back down, and dearly hoped that the nosebleed wouldn’t continue. It was a damn challenge to look cool and dignified with a nosebleed. Shika had the aim of a devil.
“I wouldn’t dare to be late for the morning practise,” Mao answered. His nose made him sound a little stuffier than usual. He grimaced. Ulven ignored it, as was polite, even if the embarrassment would have been well deserved.
“We haven’t taken you into the Guild just yet, Mao. You’re allowed to sleep in until we do.”
Ulven held up a hand in front of the other to sign something only Shika could see. The mute Hunter made a grunting sound, nodded, and went off to find someone else to beat the hell out of. Mao offered his silent sympathies to the poor soul that would take his place. Shika believed in tough love. Would that make sparring an act of kindness? Possibly.
“I’ve been trying to join for 8 years now. I’m starting to wonder if that invitation is ever gonna come.” Mao let his grin slip off his face. Ulven caught the hurt in his voice but made no comment on it.
“We would hardly invite a child into our ranks.”
“I’m not a child anymore though.”
“But you sometimes act like one.”
This time the old Hunter gave Mao a piercing stare. His silvery eyes could stare holes through tempered metal, or so the rumours claimed. Mao avoided it by watching the nearby Hunters sparring. Some had taken to practicing grappling and were tearing up dust as they rolled about on the ground, hands like claws searching for a victory hold on their opponents.
Ulven sighed. “Walk with me. There is another issue we need to discuss… But we’ll talk about the Guild first.” The old Hunter waited for Mao to follow, then went off along a game trail through the forest.
“I kept up with the run today.” Mao felt a little silly when he said that, but it was a victory he felt too proud of to keep to himself. To his surprise, Ulven smiled.
“I heard. Though I imagine the others weren’t too pleased over your method of doing so.”
Mao grimaced. “You got your cloaks, I got my mask. What’s the difference?”
“It’s about time and place. Today you could use it just fine. We had the cover of the woods, a predetermined destination, routine and no pressing danger,” Ulven tread through the cranberry bushes at a relaxed pace, eyes ahead and grey hair gleaming whenever the sun reached through a hole in the tree crowns above.
“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Mao walked after the older man since the game trail wasn’t too wide. The underbrush of the Maple Woods was a taxing terrain to traverse if you didn’t know where to step. Neither of them were in a hurry right now, so following the trail at this pace was just fine for both.
“But, you can’t pull the same trick everywhere. What would you have done if we’d been running through the city?” Ulven looked back as he asked that, grey eyes fixing Mao with a questioning stare.
“Erh, ducked into an alleyway to shift, probably.”
“And if we’d been short on time, unable to spare you that moment?”
“Then…” Mao wasn’t sure. “It wouldn’t have relied on just me though. I could have caught up.” He felt as if the old Hunter had laid a trap around his words.
“We do not travel in groups to replace each other at times when one can’t keep up. We do it to strengthen each other. Everyone plays a part. Failure to do so might cost someone dearly.”
Mao scratched his neck, brow furrowing at Ulven’s words. “Why are you so sure that I can’t keep up? Sure I might not be as fast… but that’s why we train, isn’t it?”
Apparently content with the distance they’d covered, Ulven stopped. They stood in a dense part of the woods, a good stretch away from the training Hunters. Headmaster Ulven fixed Mao with a weary look, years of experience resting in every line of his face. It made the younger man feel small, uncertain. He wanted to prove himself, to inspire a different expression when looked upon.
Ulven took his time deciding upon a reply, but when he spoke it was with words Mao didn’t like hearing. The truth was too heavy for his dreams to hold.
“You’ve tried to keep up with us for 8 years. At a stumbling pace at the start, as was to be expected of a child with big dreams… but you’ve grown since then.”
Mao’s lips formed a thin line as he listened. Ulven continued.
“Grown and developed. We’ve kept an eye on you, seen every milestone.” The old Hunter sat down on a fallen tree and folded his hands on his lap. His eyes looked tired, as if he’d had this conversation a hundred times before, with a hundred different young faces.
“To be a Hunter is taxing. We take on a big responsibility. While the Watch keeps human affairs fair and safe, we ensure that the Wilds don’t claim more than their fair share from us. You would make a fine watchman, Mao, but I fear you might fall short should you be pitted against a greater foe than that.”
“Why,” He couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Ulven just watched him with those tired eyes. Experience weighted heavily on the old Hunter.
“You are smart, fast, good at adapting. An elf would run circles around you. A vätte would snare twine around your muzzle and run you like a horse. The dwarves would break your jaw the moment you said something clever.”
“You don’t face those alone. The Wild Ones-”
“Would eat you alive. You’re a good fox, Mao, a damn good one, but it isn’t one fit to run among wolves. I didn’t rip you out of the elves’ grip to watch you challenge them 8 years later. It is as much my duty to see people’s limits as it is to fight for and protect them. You are not suited to become a Hunter. I’m sorry Mao.”
Words that nearly brought tears to the eye, which would have made Mao want to sink through the ground in shame if he broke down like that in front of Ulven. It wasn’t fair. How could he be so certain? If only they gave him a chance to prove- Mao realized he’d said that last part out loud. Ulven had a look of sad sympathy on his face. It made Mao’s vision swim with anger.
“I can prove you wrong. I just need a chance to-”
“No. This is final. I don’t mind you tagging along during practise and leisure. It’s good for the body, but you can’t come along during patrols and missions. You’ll get in the way more than you’ll help and we can’t afford that. Not when our duty is to protect.”
Mao balled his fists, roiling emotions suggesting so many different words that wouldn’t have helped him on bit. Ulven just watched him.
“It’s not fair…” Mao said quietly. A mere whisper. He wanted to scream, yell and kick, prove that they were wrong. How dare they shut him down without giving him a proper chance. Mao gritted his teeth, seethed… then exhaled. The anger left him feeling unsteady, distraught. Headmaster Ulven closed his eyes.
“Join the Watch if you still want to protect these lands. You’d be a blessing for their ranks with your wit and nose. You’ll outrun nearly any human even on two legs.”
Ulven could see it in Mao’s flashing eyes that it wasn’t what the young man wanted. He didn’t see the glory in such a career and that… that was probably what made it the most clear to Ulven that this wasn’t the path he’d choose for this ambitious young man. You didn’t become a Hunter for the glory. It wasn’t that kind of passion, even if Mao’s burned hotly.
“Take a moment to cool down.” Ulven said. “I sought you out for a different conversation than this, but it had to be said. Again, I’m sorry..” Ulven exhaled and leaned back. Mao unclenched his fists after another shuddering breath of anger.
“I’m… I’m calm. Talk.” Mao clearly wasn’t calm, but some emotions simply had to run their course without suppressing them.
This conversation would no doubt make its reappearance at some other point, Ulven knew, but for now it was said and done. Let the fox stew over it for a while. Come to terms with it. For now, Ulven gave Mao a distraction. A far heavier topic with implications the old Hunter didn’t like one bit.
“A Wild One killed a merchant in the Red Lantern yesterday. Do you know anything about it, Mao?”
Mao froze.