The Lion and the Serpent - Chapter Nine: Trophy

I hate them, the way they grab, pinch and grope you with their cold hands of iced air. I hate how the snow blinds me, so I can’t see anything beyond hand distance... and most of all; I hate how I’m doing all this for no good reason, aside from Thirien telling me to. I despise blizzards.

The boy shivered, quite literally in his thick fur boots. The mountains of Alterac in winter were a stark degree different from dun Morogh; the wind was far stronger, though the snow wasn’t nearly as deep at least.

Tightening his grip on his spear, he advanced slowly through the ankle deep snow. He was a good height for his age, fifteen winters and six foot tall was a sign of good breeding perhaps, though he wouldn’t have known. At least he earned his broad shoulders and muscular arms, trained by that dam angry dwarf to wield more or less anything that could kill you.

Thick black fur clothing adorned his body, from head to toe, shoulder to hand. But nothing on his head, save for his short brown hair. He scanned the distance like a predator, searching for some quarry or prey with his youthful eyes, shielding them from the snow with his empty left hand. Though they lacked the glint of experience, his dark brown and almost reddish eye’s had a strange glint, one of steadfast determination.

Why oh why do I have to do this. A trial to become a man? I am a man! This is just stupid, out in the freezing cold, when Alterac city and a warm fire are just a few miles away...

He clenched his fist, adjusting his grip on the spear. Stopping, he stood the shaft of the weapon up, it’s simple iron point held some six feet up, lacking any ornate trimmings... only the scratches and dints of effective use. Much unlike it, a new well kept hunting knife rested in its sheath at his side, hanging idle from his belt. The handle was partially curved and of dwarven craftsmanship.

The view was slowly changing, with the dying blizzard lifting its cold grip on the mountain tops. A valley, a basin surrounded by hills, with small slopes and caves on several sides. Adorning the rock sides hung the sharp, spear like cones of ice you’d expect in such a climate. Not a beast could be seen or heard, only the gentle fall of light snow made any motion in this static quiet place.

Now then, what the hell was he talking about when he said find ‘mighty prey’ here? I doubt even rabbits dwell in such a place, and I’m not wasting my time on those Wendigo I spotted earlier...

A slow breath, with the cold air almost burning his lungs. But he was used to it, seven winters in dun Morogh made this pale in comparison, a walk in the park. Though, a confusing one. The Dwarf’s reasons for choosing this as a final test were unusual, especially now he insists on calling him that stupid name.
My name is John... not ‘Seiken’, whatever the hell that is.

His eyes narrowed to focus, a snort of mild annoyance pushed from his nose. Scanning over the scene of the valley, he spotted something that stuck out, a discolouration, a tarnished stain on the landscape. Tucked partly away by the broad head of a hill, a shade of red sat in its shadow.
Interesting...

His legs spurred into action; leaping from the top of the small hill he stood upon, launching himself into a steady jog with spear in hand. The basin seemed rather icy in places, his feet sometimes slipping an inch or so after every few leaps or bounds.

It wasn’t long before he reached the distant hill... taking to slow steps as he reached the top, below it rested what it previously half masked.
Blood and lots of it. The carcass of a massive Wendigo was sprawled out upon its back, its chest and abdomen ripped apart and spread seemingly at random, though most of it was missing.

...now you don’t see that everyday

He slowly approached; peering around every few seconds, whatever did this could still have been nearby.

Prodding it with the tip of his spear, the boy inspected what remained of this once unusually large beast. Its face was strewn with a mess of blood and a look of shock, while just below, what used to be its throat seemed to be completely gone. Its chest had been torn apart, the ribs pushed aside and broken in places, while its limbs bore the signs of a brief struggle. Huge claw inflicted wounds streaked across its half consumed legs and arms, from sharp talons both long and cruel.

Tilting his head, he lifted his empty hand to scratch his chin. This was a powerful animal, and whatever killed it had to of been even more so. Before he knew it he’d taken a glance at the ground around the scene, a variable mess of tracks from the fallen prey, and the predator littered the area, though now half obscured by the sudden but brief fall of blizzard snow.

Scanning them, he took note. The predator’s tracks were paw like, it moved upon its four limbs with easy muscular strides, its weight causing it to slowly sink into the snow, but not enough to make much of a sound. It had large claws, not like a bear, or a wolf, but more feline... a large stealthy cat, like the snow leopards of dun Morogh, though far larger.

The mess and chaos of the struggle made it difficult to determine the direction this beast may have taken when it finished feeding. Though, who in their right mind would want to follow it...

A creak, the crackling compression of snow under foot. The boy held his breath, his eyes looking up sharply as his body froze perfectly still. moving his head slowly to his right, he turned his gaze to eye whatever it was that was now in perfect position to pounce.

A slow breath out, his eye fixing on it. Its sturdy sleek frame, coated in dark golden fur. Those dark savage feline eyes narrowed and locked on. He kept turning, its body now in full view. A mountain lion, though not, it was easily the size of a horse or so. Though this one was odd, it had a thick layer of dark gold and black fur around its neck and the top of its head. Its face was covered in blood, still fresh from its kill. Its front paws tensed and relaxed as it extended and retracted its blood covered claws.

It slowly opened its jaws, flashing its long dagger like canines. Tightening its massive jaw muscles an echoing growl came, the sound bouncing off the hill sides as it burst into a fully raging roar.

The boy shivered, an ancient feral fear running its way up his spine. Turning his body now, slowly he faced the enormous lion, eye to eye while he presented his spear. It stood ready, with its right paw forward, though why the beast waited he did not know.

Moments passed, with only the predator’s growl to break the silence, snow gently resting on the ground all around them.

I can’t outrun that... its jaws would be in my neck before i even turned my back...

He swallowed, making a clear gulp. All the while the predator narrowed its eyes, it knew too.

It lowered its body some inch, its legs and shoulders shifting their shape as its powerful muscles exploded forward in a display of physical power. The split second of the attack meant it was over in a second, but in this frozen desolate basin time stood still as the snow fell. The young boy felt as if the creature moved at a snail’s pace through the air, its sabre tooth jaws and giant black claws headed straight for him.

That split second ended, he dived, rolling forwards and under the beast as it flew over him. His training had made decisions a reflex, not a thought process. In battle, you didn’t have time to think, only act, then kill, or die.

The crunch of snow under foot was over shadowed by the deep booming roar of an angered predator. No sooner had he gotten back to his feet, his spear aimed and ready to strike, had the beast done much the same. It’s slashed at the snow under foot with its right paw, a gesture of strength or of annoyance, it didn’t matter at the time. Slowly at first, then at a regular prowling pace, his enemy began to circle him, jaws and claws and all.

Not wanting to risk it getting in position to pounce again, the boy did likewise, though obviously in the opposite direction. His weapon aimed and ready all the while.

I can’t outrun you, i couldn’t hide from you ...so i have to fight you. Head on. I’m dead.

He swallowed again, hard, much the same as before. However, this time his hunter didn’t take a blind bit of notice, only growling lowly as it slowly circled around the opposite way he did.

Picking how own feet up, step by step, he maintained that awkward distance he so desperately needed to maintain-
His right foot moved, further than normal on the icy snow. It moved again, sliding ten inches forward, stopping him dead in his tracks. Hit heart skipped beat... he was stood where the beast scratched the snow... it tricked him into walking onto ice.

That booming roar came again, thundering over the hills, almost forcing the boy to cower. If it wasn’t for fear, he would of, but instead his feet saw fit for him to start sliding uncontrollably across the snow blanketed ice. Spinning and sliding, his attempts at maintaining any distance or running were in vein, as he fell abruptly onto his behind... spear sliding beyond his reach, as it pounced.

It was above him, its jaws and bladed paws bearing down at him from a height. The ferocious booming roar of its anger chilling him to his core, his mind telling him to flee, to sink away, to hide.

Those reflexes, blessed things. He rolled onto then over his side and away without a thought, or hesitation. The thud of that killing machines weight landing firmly, and on its feet, in the snow covered ice was distinctive, the cracking of ice followed by an angered growl. It didn’t let up its assault, now it was so close to sinking its teeth into lean tender meat.

Shifting its great weight over, its claws began to move in a frenzy of slashes and strikes, the teenage warrior pushing himself away with his feet, still on his back. His arms proved little defence, shielding his face and body by crossing them, he could only dodge and slide along while the raging predator ripped through his leather armour, shredding it cleanly, lacerating his fleshy forearms with clean cuts. The blood flew, a fine thin spray staining the snow around him.

The adrenaline was pumping, rushing through his veins, strengthening his heart, his limbs. His roars and half screams of pain becoming more and more frantic, as he dodged, weaved and blocked what he could. His dark leather bracers fraying into tatters as it finally pinned him down. A powerful paw slamming onto the middle of his chest, stopping him dead in tracks as sharp claws slid into his flesh. He was trapped, staring the beast dead in the eye, his heart racing, and his lungs struggling to get air. His arms oozed a steady stream of crimson tears while his arms gripped loosely and weakly to his captures muscular front left leg.

Sniff, and a sniff. The giant mountain lion inspected and sniffed his prey curiously, his scarred wet nose poking the boy in the head while his dagger like jaws hovered dangerously close.

I’m... trapped, beaten... i ... don’t know what to...

The Lion moved its head back a few inches, its dark yellow eyes meeting the boy’s. Sizing him up, staring more through him, than at him. Looking within, for fear. A mocking grin perked upon the beasts lips. It knew it had triumphed.

The boy’s heart shivered with anger as he saw this, his grasp tightening.

...you think, me funny? Cute? ... I’ll show you who’s top of the food chain you hairy son of a-

Reflex, it’s a very beautiful thing. Even though this was a very dangerous and unenviable position to be in. He had trained for such moments, under the instruction of his Dwarven tutor. As his chest boomed with a defiant angered roar, his left hand jabbed upward aimed for his assailant’s throat, while his right hand bolted like lightning to grasp the curved hunting knife at his side, pulling it back to impale it deep into the muscular limb that held him down.
It happened as he had always been taught, the beast choked for a second... but before it could strike or bite, the razor sharp blade slid its way cleanly into the animals front knee. The thick cartilage within didn’t hold, being cut clean in half, its strong fleshy material no match for the cruelty of sharp dwarven steel.

Inhaling deep, the beast fell forward as its knee joint buckled and collapsed the wrong way, the blade being twisted as it hurtled over on its side. Its raging roar now replaced with a shriek moan, still deep and troublesome, but it had become the scream of an animal beset by unimaginable pain.

Crashing into the snow, the knife was pulled away and out, the sound of cracking bone and the twisting of hard flesh drowned out by the booming groan of the beast’s agony. But it was not slain, only wounded. Both setting upon each other instantly, but the boy had the upper hand. Clinging to the lion’s belly, he began jabbing and thrusting the wicked hunting knife when and where he could.

It struggled ferociously, defiantly even, resisting fearlessly despite its injury. The pair rolling around and wrestling in the snow, the lion battling on in an attempt to fight the angry human boy loose. Clinging tightly to its hairy Maine with one hand, the knife in the other, the boy held on for dear life with his legs wrapped barely around the wounded predator’s waist. A jab, a thrust, a twisting stab... clawing, rolling, wrestling and roaring. Both as ferocious as the other.

As minutes of frantic struggling passed, exhaustion set in. Finally collapsing onto its right side, the Lion fell, the boy leaping backward and onto his feet. Knife in hand. Both panting, grasping for air desperately.

As the boy regained his composure, he looked to his attacker. It was beaten, but alive. Still struggling to move, to try and stand, to fight to the last. Though its mind and heart was willing, its body was broken. Its front knee was near completely severed, and it lay in a growing pool of its own blood, oozing from numerous stabs, slashes and deep puncturing wounds covering its body. The great lion’s eyes kept locked on him however, fixated. Its groans lowering to whispers and horribly pained growls.

John swallowed, for the final time as he picked up his spear. All that adrenaline washing over him and away as his heart steadied. Closing those few steps to the beast, he looked down on it, eye to eye once more. Peering deeply into those yellow feline eyes, the eyes of a predator. Of his trophy.
“Shush... close your eyes, I’ll make it stop, the pain will end...” he found himself uttering quietly, his throat clearing. He didn’t know why he said them, or even to what end. But he knew it was only right.

His arms seemed to raise themselves without command, lifting his simple spear above his head, maintaining that intimate eye contact.
“Thank you... for putting up such a good fight...” he muttered, bowing his head.

The spear plunged downward, with speed, with strength, with perfect aim. Its ribs broke first, the smashing crunch of bone being shattered and displaced was unmistakeable. But the spear didn’t stop, pushing down and through to its heart.

Its jaws opened wide, exposing its great rows of flesh tearing teeth. While its eyes, its eyes exploded with fire and rage. A last roar in death was a beautiful thing, for those who saw it at least. With the last of its breath exhaled, and only the distant echo of death to be heard thundering around the hills, it laid its head into the snow, slain.

The boy took a deep breath, inhaling the frosty air of the mountains once more. Its chill burning his lungs, he felt invigorated, stronger. Perhaps the dwarf was right, perhaps this ritual hunt really does make a boy into a man.

The silent pause went on for what seemed moments, perhaps minutes, as he eventually looked to his burning, blood oozing wounds, and then to his kill...

“You’ll make a fine fur cloak indeed, a trophy fit for a king... shame you’ll have to settle for me”

(( Nifty little backtrack to the past there =D And a hunt no less! *cheers*

Honestly, your attention to detail is astounding. Can I employ you to write mine?

My eyes hurt.... but there's more chapters! ))