Legends of Belariath
Ahrak
Reflections
The sun slowly rose through the heavens. Dark skies struggled with the burning light, changing from a dark black to a gradual misty blue. Sitting in front of his cave, the watcher pondered why the sky went from black to blue in the morning, but then blue to purple in the evening. But since it didn’t matter, he ceased further musings.
Ahrak rose slowly from his crouch and took a deep breath, for this was his true home. The cities were nightmares, filled with stenches and people, ignorant races from all corners of the world who thought themselves masters of the earth. Dark green eyes turned to the fields of trees, the mountains in the distance, the rocky crags of his own cave. What did the earth care for these things? They would till and disrupt it, but in time they would be forgotten and things would settle.
No, out here was where he belonged, the song of winds and the rustle of leaves. To watch the birds soar in the sky, to hunt the prey and taste the blood. The wild was his home, or more to the point he was the guest. He was free to roam as he pleased, sleep where he would, and live off his skills. At least that was how it had been before he had met Nadine.
If his old master, the aged human Greymauch, had said he would eventually settle down with a nice human girl, he would have laughed. A human? They were the worst of them all, especially the barbarians. Fools by and large, they were of the youngest races but had already seen fit to proclaim themselves to be lords of all. Their customs and habits were either baffling in their complexity or downright foolish in their plausibility. How they had lasted this long without destroying themselves was a mystery that still kept the Wolcat up at nights.
But Nadine... She was different, somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on it really. She was young, by human reckoning he was old enough to be her father. As far as the hairless races went, she was perhaps beautiful but to him, still mildly ugly. What was it then? Perhaps it was her good nature, her easy smile, or even her infuriatingly inquisitive mind. She was much like the Catling Psyn, always talking and talking. But for whatever reason, he knew he was in love with her and would never willingly leave her side.
Blinking out of his reverie, Ahrak shook his head and looked at the sky. Already the sun was chasing away the mists and clouds, he had spent a long time lost in his own mind. Too much time around people, he thought to himself before hefting up a quiver of arrows and checking the string on his bow. He was still strong and fast enough to catch prey on foot with only his fangs and claws... but he drew a certain pleasure from using the bow. A mark of skill to down a beast with only one shot.
Again his mind wandered to the past. When he was young, he hadn’t the instinctual desire to be a patient hunter. Chase anything and taste blood, the wet warmth of life. Greymauch had taught him how to use a bow, which meant waiting for prey to get close enough and to be at ease. Perhaps that was why he still used the weapon, to honor the memory of his fallen mentor.
With a shrug he slipped on a cloak he used only for winter hunts, the coloring off-white mixed with gray to hide his darker fur. The Mithril sword and Elven chain he left behind, for they would only slow him down in the wilds. He moved in quick yet silent strides. He was in no hurry for he knew where the trails were, but he wanted to get his muscles nice and limber in the chill air. Soon he came to a path that led to a babbling brook, and climbed up into a tree to wait for the deer to come by.
*****
Hours later he was still in the tree. Patient that he was, boredom and anxiousness.. as well as hunger were beginning to settle in. Perhaps the deer had already come by earlier, or were further to the south where the grass was beginning to grow again. Or perhaps some clumsy group of hunters had already killed the small herd with no thought to future meals. That made him grumble.
Humans had no sense worth mentioning. They could not discern the weak or old from the heard, they would kill the prime young or even the pregnant, then cry when the meat was gone in the upcoming seasons. Of course, could he really judge at the moment? His stores of meat were plentiful, but he had a hunger for fresh meat. He blamed that on instinct. Perhaps some parts of his mixed heritage saw some sense in keeping buried meat around to eat later, but for the most part, there was the desire to eat freshly killed prey.
With a sigh he leapt down from the tree, in enough time to trip over a rumbling form that charged out from the bushes. Ahrak blinked in surprise as he quickly scrambled back up to his feet. So lost had he been in his thoughts he hadn’t heard or even taken note of the creature.. and when he saw what it was he quickly wished he had. Standing a few yards away from him, crying out either in pain or fear was a small brown bear. Why the beast was out this time of year he had no clue, but he knew the mother couldn’t be far away and quickly turned to sprint away.
But it was too late. The brush exploded as a large, thundering form suddenly came in upon the scene. Ahrak froze. The bear was massive, scars of old battles covering her form as she quickly towered up to her full height, roaring in anger at the respectively smaller Wolcat standing between her and her cub.
A human might have panicked and done something foolish, such as play dead or perhaps try to fire an arrow into the bear’s eye. Ahrak was neither foolish nor human. Risking an arrow could give the bear more than enough time to charge, and an angered bear was likely to rip into him whether she thought he was dead or not.
Ahrak turned again and ran like the wind. With a push he hurdled the crying cub and twisted off to the side, taking a path he knew was covered in rocks and close trees, not that it really mattered. An angry bear could snap through branches as thick as a man’s arm if it was truly angered enough. Behind him Ahrak could hear the sounds of pursuit and could only hope the mother would not pursue too far past her cub. Ahrak was fast, but he knew a determined bear could outmatch a horse in the long run of things.
The Wolcat ran harder, pumping his long arms and legs as he hurdled roots and rocks, his sharp eyes scanning trees with low enough branches yet thick enough trunks for him to possibly seek refuge in. With the blood pounding in his ears as well as his hard breaths, it took him awhile to realize the bear was no longer following him. Still he ran on until he came to a small clearing, then whipped around, notching an arrow to his string as he forced himself to calm down. Silence from all directions but up. Birds were chirping, nothing crashed or skulked through the woods around, he was safe.
With a sigh he slowly straightened, then returned the arrow to the quiver. He felt foolish, and perhaps even a little old as he turned to make the long walk back to his cave. He no longer felt all that hungry.