Ce'Aesta Lastiva, Chapter Five.

The edge of the forest was a wall of brilliant fire, drifting, falling, and clinging reds and oranges mixing together into an autumn tapestry. And from that wall, a young man emerged. 1

He was tall, taller than most men full grown. Full grown he was not, however, not quite. At only seventeen, he had some inches to left to gain, and had yet to completely fill out. His skin was fair, porcelain or alabaster some called it, a rare trait. His hair, trimmed manageably short, was painted in deep mahogany and auburn shades. On his back was strapped an unslung bow, its wood toned darker than the night. 2

A thicket of fletched shafts stood over his left shoulder, uniform in every way, from the grey wood to the green fletching, identical. A curved hunting-knife was belted to the quiver’s strap, inverted and accessible on the young man’s chest. His clothing was sturdy and comfortable, if not entirely fashionable, dark green and brown, thick, quiet cloth and boiled leather. His boots were tough, but worn, clearly used heavily, yet still resilient, just reaching their prime.3

But there were three details of this young man that stood out above the others. A tremendous grin split his face, not quite enough to show teeth, but symptomatic of an extreme peace and contentment. The grin was reflected in his eyes, deep pools of emerald that roved, constantly curious, and seemed to be filled to the brim with laughter. And over this young man’s shoulder rested a magnificent thing: a single Oaken Fox, dappled in the muted tones of the forest.4

And so Aiden emerged from the forest, that day, and strode towards the village. 5

An hour later found him threading his way down the side of the valley, back into the village he called home. The town, which consisted primarily of animal-skin Yurts of varying sizes, was filled with a quiet, festive buzz. Children ran wild through the streets, loosed of all responsibility and freed to run amok playfully. Myriad columns of smoke rose toward the heavens, telling tales to the birds of the wondrous feasts being prepared below. A few men played their games on the edge of the tents, competing in archery and feats of arms, having returned already from their hunts.6

Into this bustling scene, Aiden walked, head up, feet solid, and his grin unassailable, the Fox’s body proudly displayed. He walked straight towards the main Yurt, the Maha’s dwelling. A crowd gathered to watch him as news of his kill spread like wildfire on a windy day. The entire village was watching, as he arrived at the Maha’s door, his smile still firmly emplaced.7

A voice lashed out from within, whip like and precise.8

“Enter!”9

Aiden turned and winked dramatically to the crowd, before pushing his way through the flap. The Maha was seated, as always, on the ground before his fire, his unstrung bow across his lap. At nearly 108 years old, the old man was the recognized and uncontested leader of the tribe. He was also completely blind, although it never hindered him.10

“Aiden Ce’Lae, Hunter, what bounty did you claim for the Tribe this hunt?”11

Wordlessly, Aiden approached the old man, and placed the Fox in his waiting hands. For a moment, the ancient face knitted in confusion. A beat passed, then two. Suddenly, the ancient’s face lit up.12

“The Oaken Fox! The silent ruler of the Terra, the clever, the all knowing…” here the old man raised his voice so that it passed beyond the confines of the tent, reaching out to the waiting ears beyond.13

“On this Day, Aiden, you have presented us with a most incredible blessing. The Oaken Fox! The cunning and noble ruler of the woods, the better of many hunters. This feat is not one that will be repeated, I expect, within my lifetime, or my predecessor’s. This is a feat that bodes well for your future. This kill is a most auspicious beginning, and prophesies a prosperous life that will shape the world. Go now, Aiden, a man.”14

----------Six weeks later -------------15

Aiden scratched idly at the Scar that was etched into his right forearm. His sightline had been awarded the night of the festival, and was both a great honor and an excruciating ordeal. The ceremony took place after the first phase of the feast, when everyone was flush with good food and wine. Aiden’s mother took his knife and, after a highly traditionalized blessing, ran it down his non-dominant forearm, cutting deeply into it. After further blessings, a ladleful of sand was drawn out of the huge pot wherein it had been boiling, and poured into the wound, after which, under yet more blessings, the wound was seared, doused in strong alcohol, and wrapped.16

After six weeks, the wound had finally mostly closed over the sand, thanks to much careful care and many, many blessings. The legend of the Rimurri was that as long as a man bore the soil of his homeland, his sight and aim would always remain true. So the soil would always be with him, within him. It was called a “Sightline” and all Rimurri men bore them, proudly. It was a sign of maturity, and differentiated the Rimurri men from the children.17

The men around Aiden all possessed such lines. The twenty-five of them were the bulk of what the Rimurri called “Stalkers.” Fine hunters who plied their trade at war; they were feared by all who knew them. Enemies knew little of them, except that they would remarkably appear from where no hiding place could be found, riddle their foes with arrows that rarely missed their mark, and then once again vanish. 18

Needless to say, on his first day as a Rimurri stalker, Aiden was so excited he could barely stand still. They had been sent out by the Maha, to investigate rumors that scouting and raiding parties had been striking into the hill country from some unknown location. And so they stalked.