The harsh, angry summer sun lay languidly in the morning sky. Its oppressive, blinding rays illuminated the land below, informing even the most timid of beings of its presence and glory.
Amidst the morning heat, a fat, sweltering hog trotted through an expansive field of orange grass and weeds. It moved as if the world were its personal abode and it the leader of all living things. Frankly, the boar was so brazen it bordered the line between fearless and abject stupidity. Its brown fur blended so well into the high grass that one wouldn't be wrong to assume the earth itself had sprouted four legs and was now prowling, seeking to cannibalize its less sentient kin—or to find a willing mate to roll around in the dirt and rut with.
Then, in the blink of an eye, the overconfident boar came to a sudden stop. Alerted by a sudden noise, its large, flabby ears stood at attention on its narrow head. It drew short, hesitant breaths around the large, yellow-stained tusks protruding from its mouth. It stared in one direction, certain that something was there.
It remained frozen for a long minute. Then, as slow as a crippled goat, it began to retreat. It gave a low grunt—either a warning or a natural response to fear one couldn't be certain, but based on the way its ears flattened against its head and its body lowered to the ground, one wouldn't be wrong to assume the latter.
As it crept backward, the sound of slicing air cut through the silence—a noise like a snake with a stutter. The boar crouched lower, looking around in evident terror for the source of it's fright. Then suddenly, a spear cut through its tail. Red, velvet drops of blood stained the sunburned foliage. The boar gave a loud bray of pain and raced through the orange grass, desperate to get away from whatever creature was out for its bacon.
...
"Dammit! I almost had it. I was this close," a young male said, his fingers nearly touching to indicate how successful his hunt had almost been.
He was small and slim in stature, with olive skin, dark brown hair, a large nose, and naive brown eyes. His chest was bare, and he wore animal skins around his waist and feet.
"Yeah, and you would've had it, too, if your aim wasn't so shit, Flea," responded another male. He was tall and muscular with straight black hair that fell to his neck. He had harsh, experienced grey eyes and a pale complexion. Animal hide lay loosely around his torso, though the wraps around his feet were tight.
"Come on, Hilt, it wasn't that bad! I did manage to get its tail," Flea defended with a weak rebuttal.
Hilt chuckled mockingly, "Oh, you managed to get its tail? You should've aimed for its toe instead. You really would've gotten it then," he said in an innocent voice that was anything but sincere.
Another male laughed. He was short with brown skin, blonde hair, and happy green eyes. He had a small patch of hair under his lip and a well-developed physique. He wore hides around his waist and had a face that seemed permanently geared up to tell a joke.
"Ay, don't be too hard on de little git, Hilt boy. It ain't all his fault. With twig arms like dem, his aim could only ever be shit," he said, giving a boisterous laugh at his own joke.
Hilt chuckled along.
"Spoot, Hilt—both of you leave Flea alone and pay more attention to what you're supposed to be doing," said another male. "You're both experienced hunters; I shouldn't have to remind you that we're not exactly in safe territory right now."
The speaker was tall and mildly muscular with wild, curly black hair. His sharp blue eyes were contrasted by dark circles that suggested more than just a profound lack of sleep. A scar ran from his nose to under his lower right ear. He, along with Hilt and four other men, was dragging a large, dead, furry creature with horns on a sled of wood and vines.
"Wes only jokin' some, Kain boy. It ain't like we hav' to be on de lookout all de ways. If somethin' was itchin' to get at us, it would've been done it, no?" Spoot responded.
"It's foolish to make assumptions like that while we're out here, Spoot," another man interrupted. He was well-built, with tall black hair tied in a tail, a wild beard, and sharp blue eyes. Over his shoulder was the hide of an animal with orange fur and black stripes.
"I knows, Grind, but—"
"I don't want to hear it," Grind said, cutting Spoot off. "Now, I want all of you to listen. This is our first successful hunt in a long while. A really good hunt. You should feel proud for providing for your tribe, but I ask you to refrain from becoming complacent until we are behind the village gates. Some of you have lost family and mates to the wild; you know the danger is just waiting for you to make a mistake. Remain vigilant so you can live long enough to share this happiness with the people you love. Alright?"
"Yes, Capo," they all said in unison, the playful atmosphere evaporating into cautious vigilance.
"Good," Grind said with an affirming nod. "Spoot, climb that hill. Ensure nothing is in our way. If we have to take another path, I want to know before we expend the effort."
"Yes, Capo," Spoot said, heading toward the hill.
"Alright, everyone, take a breather," Grind ordered. "If Spoot gives the all-clear, we push on to the village. If not, we find a different path. Either way, we're bringing this beast home to roast. Am I clear?"
The men hooted and hollered in approval. Some banged their chests like beasts; others clapped so loud birds flew from their nest. Grind smiled before resting in the brown grass and drinking from his animal-skin flask.
Kain sat down beside the dead beast and drank from his own flask. Hilt sat to his left and Flea to his right.
"Who would've thought that after so long, we're finally going to be eating actual meat tonight? Can you believe it?" Flea asked, looking at Kain with eyes so filled with joy Kain found it hard to look away.
Kain gave a weak tired smiled. "You heard what the Capo said. Let's wait until we're back in the village before we let our guard down."
"Yeah, you're right. Remain vigilant like Capo said," Flea said, raising his arms and performing breathing exercises to calm himself. Kain shook his head at the young hunter's antics.
Hilt scoffed. "I don't know what you're so happy about, when you couldn't even kill the thing to begin with."
The smile on Kains face withered up and died.
"Huh?" Flea responded. His face a collage of shock and indignation
But Hilt wasn't looking at Flea; he was looking at Kain.
"Hey! I maybe didn't land the kill hit, but I still helped!" Flea barked, his fists clenched. "Where do you get off saying I didn't contribute?"
Hilt cleaned out his ear and wiped the mess on his hide shirt, ignoring Flea entirely. "Pipe down, will you? Your voice hurts my head. I never said you didn't contribute. I wasn't even talking to you. Right, Kain?"
Flea's brows furrowed in a looked confused. "What do you mean Kain couldn't kill it? I don't understand."
Hilt placed a finger on his cheek, looking up at the sky in mock thought. "I wonder... what did I mean? What do you think I meant, Kain? Because you see I personally remember your spear aimed at the beast's neck and frozen in place. I remember watching you for what felt like ten mornings, just standing there doing absolutely nothing while everyone else was fighting. While Flap was being stomped to death, you did nothing. So again, I ask: what do you think I meant, Kain?"
Kain drank from his flask, then closed it tight. "Eat shit, Hilt," he said, getting up and walking away.
Hilt sneered and chuckled. "Yeah, run! That's all you're good for anyway, you coward!"
Kain stopped dead in his tracks his fist clenched and his tired eyes narrowing in a harsh glare. He turned and marched toward Hilt. Hilt stood up, threw his flask to the ground, and met him halfway. Flea moved to intervene, but before he could, someone let out a mighty, guttural scream.