“What do you think a hunter is, little one?”

She thought to herself, remembering the time in her mind, and how such an odd question had come about. The memory came to her, slowly at first, with each detail etched in her mind like the carvings in a stone.

The memory of an ancient house, the artificial sun hanging low in the sky as it crests on the shoulder of the old huntmaster. She remembered it well. The scent of vanilla in the air, the cool wind fluttering in through the open courtyard. The warm summer heat filling the air, as the the sounds of hunters training drifted through the air.

“Someone who’s really good at killing things. Right?”

“Not exactly, my dear.” He chuckles at her, the sunlight dancing along his shoulder as she looked out to the grounds. The sound of metal striking metal, flesh meeting flesh, and arrow striking wood.

“But isn’t that why we train?”

“It is one aspect, yes.” She tilts her head, pointing to Merriam, a renown huntsman, as she looks to the grand huntmaster.

“But he’s a great hunter. And he kills all his prey.” The huntmaster laughs softly, ruffling the hair of his protege lightly. His head shakes as he stands, beckoning her to follow.

“Come. We have much training to do. Perhaps you will see, in time, what it means to be a huntmaster.”

She looks to the sky, for a time, smiling as the sun drifts low along the skyline. In the far distance, thunder rumbles, the echoing boom rolling across the land. She closes her eyes to take in the world around her, smiling to herself.

As her eyes open, the world quakes, the air filled with the stench of death and decay. Beside her, Merriam, presses a hand low to her back. A finger pressed to his lips, he motions for her to follow behind him, as the scent of rotting flesh lingers in the air.

She crawls through the underbrush, slowly. Patiently. The cold dirt squelching quietly beneath her bare feet as her bare body drags itself across the ground. In front of her, Merriam raises his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

All around them, Thundertusks trample the forest, startled by her simple mistake. Their massive forms crushing plants and animals alike, the herd spooked from their recent kill by her impatient attempt at the pack leader's life.

Thundertusks. A wild, feral pack based animal. Large, four legged creatures most commonly known for their tusks that bend before their face. Carnivores that bludgeon their prey to death using the natural barrier that is formed by their tusks. Their mating ritual involves battering their heads together until a winner is determined, the loser backing down if they can survive. The process lends them their famous name, and imposing presence.

And she went and tried to kill the leader of the pack, just after a kill, when they are most violent and wild. Naturally, she knew that Thundertusk pack leaders are most distracted after a fresh kill, often too busy asserting their dominance to notice a simple human hunter sneaking through the underbrush.

Suddenly, Merriam stops, nudging her with a foot, motioning in front of them. As she crawls alongside of him, peering through the underbrush, they see their mark. The thundertusk pack leader posturing over the kill, the herd calming as they slowly circling around him. Merriam holds a finger to his lips as he motions for her to follow along.

“We’ll crawl with the herd….and when you see your opening, strike. I’ll disperse the rest while you make the kill.” He whispers lowly, waving her on. She nods lightly, brushing several leaves from her face as she begins her crawl with the feet of the herd. One misplaced step, one rowdy male, or aggressive female, and she would be crushed under their feet.

And so they crawl. Inching along the ground with every passing foot, every close call, every brush with the leg of a beast large enough to crush them without a second thought. The opening came with time, her body growing cold as her mind raced, Merriam lunging forwards as he whoops and yells, scaring the pack into a frenzy and causing them to run wild.

She leaps from the brush, drawing her blade and sinking it into the flesh of the alpha. The world stains red, her face coated in blood as her body surges forwards, the knife burying itself deep in the hide of the great beast.

The pack flees, panic overtaking them as they scatter. Her hand presses against the side of the alpha, its eyes glossing over with a foggy mist as the knife pierces its heart, the air slowly escaping its dying form.

“Good job, little one.” Merriam calls, sheathing his own blade and walking over. Her blade pulls from the beast's side, blood pouring from the wound in trickling streams as she nods lowly, breathing heavily.

Yet, as she looks at the corpse of her kill, she feels a sting of sadness. The hide of the beast is one to behold, the silvery fur glistening softly under the sunlight that peeks through the canopy above. The scent of pheromones filling the air, mingling with the cracked and broken wood, the upturned soil, and the smell of blood and fetid flesh.

A primal beast, so powerful and overwhelming, brought down by her blade, and her blade alone.

She closes her eyes, taking in the smells, the sounds, the sensation of exhilaration that rushes through her. And the she says a quiet word for the beast that she has slain.

As her eyes open, she stands before her peers, her bloodied dagger held out, as her bare form stands beneath the heat of the sun, the smell of sand and dirt in the air, the cold stone underfoot. The cold wind brushing past her as she breaths in the scents of charcoal and fire, of excitement from those gathered around her, and of the stained blood that coats her dagger.

“We welcome sister Little Foot among our ranks. No more, is she a simple fledgling among eagles. No more, a shuttlefish beside sharks. She stands proud, a hunter among her peers, and a warrior of the forests and woodlands.” The huntmaster raises his sword above those who have gathered, a murmur rippling through the crowd.

“Her blade shall forever be stained by the blood of her first, true hunt. And she will be known as Holly, for the root under which she was born!” The huntmaster waves a hand, Holly stepping forward as ceremonial garb is lowered before her.

The leather uniform of her people, worn by huntmasters who need no more than the land beneath their feet, the sky to guide their way, and the blade at their side to hunt. Her uniform, a leather jerkin and leather hide skirt. A mantle of holly and feather, with thundertusk teeth, from the very alpha that she had killed, strung around her neck.

“Wear it proudly, child.” The huntmaster mutters, giving her a nod of approval. “It is a sign of your growth.” He takes her hand, clasping it between his own, before turning and raising it to the sky.

“Welcome your sister among you!” The many gathered hunters cheer as they whoop and holler to the sky, raising their weapons above them. Holly inhales proudly, raising her hand to the sky on her own, cheering proudly in the evening light of her home.

As the warmth of the revelry washes over her, the warmth of the evening sky glistening across the smooth stone rooftops of the hunters grounds, she closes her eyes and breaths in.