The Sacking of Caladar: Part 1 of ?

Sunlight filtered slowly through the trees as the buck picked its way along the dappled path, dust motes wafting through each glowing shaft of sunbeams. It was a young buck, fresh and tender from fawnhood, ready to leave its mark on the world in the way nature intended of it.  The buck, skin soft brown in color, speckled with white, looked about, silky black nose upturned as it sniffed the air for predators, and finding none of their scent upwind. there was simple logic to this fact, the predator stayed downwind, where his scent was hidden, masked and carried away by the gentle breeze.The predator, a white Seya'dune, narrowed his golden eyes, specks of amber glinting in the light as he drew back on the bowstring. He had been hunting all day, and the big cat, whose name was Socrates, could almost taste the fine venison. His clothing, the same dull drab colors of the foresst about him, concealed his shape well, while the low hood masked his features, causing him to appear as just another break in the scenery. A soft smile tinged his lips as the unsuspecting buck took one step closer, and Socrates released the arrow, the soft whistle of wind passing over the shaft the final sound the buck heard as the arrow, propelled by a compound bow of unique design, buried itself deeply in the throat of the beast. The deer dropped before it realsied it was dead, breath cut off as its might lungs heaved, life's blood oozing from around the arrow.1

A nod of satisfaction and Socrates stood, stretching and dusting bits of leaf and twig from his fur, stalking over to the buck and drawing his long, sharp, skinning knife. The deer's glassy eyes stared at him as he knelt, working quickly to remove the arrow without damaging the surrounding meat. Sausage could be made of stuffed esophagus, and Socrates found it to be his favorite treat. Laying aside his bow, created of both strong straight horn and dried sinew, and a springy ewe frame, Socrates hefted the buck over his shoulders. Grunting at the weight as he took up his bow, a gift from his father, Socrates turned, and began the trek back home.It was a pleasent walk, the scent of a fresh kill filling his sensiive nostrils, the perfetion of the growing plantlife appealing to his eyes, and the song of birds tickling his ears. "So peaceful." Socrates sighed in pleasure, passing a waymarker for his tribe, the clawlike runes depicting who claimed this territory, and their strength. Unlike other villages, his, Caladar, did not seek to pillage and plunder, but to be a peaceful trade settlement, and so every year the moss on the waystones grew a bit thicker, the hunting paths a little more worn, and the litters just a wee bit fatter. This last thought and the bulk of the deer made Socrates chuckle, and he burst into song, yowling and mewling out the age-old hunting song of his people, a royal cacaphony that sent birds screeching and squirrels chattering. It was in this way that Socrates returned to the village.2

The children saw him first, the tall cat emerging from the treeline wiht a large trophy and agrin on his face. Several cried out his name and rushed to circle him, begging for stories, deermeat, or just to be near him, and the cat laughed merrily, dubbing one boy to be his bowbearer. He didn't worry, the kitten was too sweak to draw the bow anyway, the bone's constant stretching and the sinew's contasnt pulling drawing it into it's eternal compounded S design. The assigned kitten walked proudly, holding the bow high as the others continuedd to clammer about Socrates, 'til the hunter sent them on their way with promises of fresh stew that night, and a wonderful tale or three. The children readily dispersed, and Socrates, preceeded by the kit, who he believed to be named Mikael, headed for the center of the village, to the head man's home. Down the beaten path he walked, past simple straw roofed cotages, and past all the pretty young Seya'dune girls trying to catch his eye. Socrates, however, was not in the market for a mate, but for a new tunic, and as always, he would claim the skin, complete with horns and hooves, as his share of the hunt.3

Making a stop by the flesher's hut,  Socrates explained his needs to the Seya'dune, and the black furred cat nodded, knowing exactly how to handle such an order. There was an agreement made, and Socrates turned, squaring himself for the meeting with Yelson, the headman of the village.4