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Jinyel had a deep love of minding his own business. It was easy, for one. It required absolutely no effort except what he already wanted to spend. He could do it anywhere, anytime, and he had gotten quite good at doing it as often as possible.
He also had a deep love for others minding their own business. That never seemed to happen quite as often.
Strike. Turn. Strike. Turn. The sharp crack of stone echoed softly between motions, each impact sending a thin flake skittering down into the sand. Jinyel was getting more comfortable with it — the angle of the blow, the way pressure traveled through the flint, how a piece might split cleanly or shatter uselessly depending on how it was struck. He was beginning to tell which stones carried clean lines beneath their surface, and which hid fractures that ruined the shape midway through.
He was camped three miles north of Beacon, far out of sight, which was why it took an embarrassingly long time for him to believe the sound of hooves in the distance. Boots upon leaves. A cheerful laugh.
Monya raised her head. Curled around her, Toutouye looked up and signed, Something’s out there. Littlespark flickered hesitantly beside them, and Jinyel gave the spirit an uneasy look.
Smokeless, Jinyel thought.
Smokeless, Littlespark agreed.
The little firepit flared once, then burned down to embers. Jinyel set aside his cord and shells to scoop the fire spirit back into its censer.
Toutouye uncurled from Monya, one ear tilted toward the distant noise. Monya sat upright, ears trained forward. Her paw rustled the scatter of stone flakes and unfinished pieces Jinyel had been sculpting; people and wolf all startled at the sound of flint against flint. A dozen yards beyond them, the blue shore was stained purple by the red light of sunset. That strange blue sand amplified every sound upon it ― the waves, the gulls, the creak of leather boots on careful feet. With the unusual noise, it was impossible to judge how close those boots actually were, but Jinyel counted only four of them. Two sets of feet, with easy laughter shared between them.
“... as long as it’s your own wages you're sharing,” someone chuckled. “I’ll not teach anyone unless you pay me for that, too.
Up along the ridge line. Toutouye bent into a hunter’s crouch. That’s where I’ll be.
Understood. Jinyel pulled his bow and arrows close enough to draw at a moment’s hesitation. Be safe.
Monya remained at camp, seated but alert. Beyond, the mounts all took note of her tension and followed suit: the horses pivoted their ears forward, while Ailuhn, the sarkin, shifted her seated position into one that could more easily be turned into a leap. Even if Jinyel’s weapons hadn’t been close at hand, he was armored head to toe in the leather of a boulder snake. Few weapons could get past such a thing.
Jinyel, Monya, Ailuhn and Toutouye had no wish to threaten their visitors. But they were ready to become the greatest threat on this shore if they had to be.
Around a southern bend, two men approached on foot. They seemed human, at least to Jinyel’s eye, dressed in leather and straps with weapons dangling from their belts. Not weapons of war, Jinyel noticed. Crossbows and arrows, ropes and snares ― even the older man’s blade was shaped to cut through wilderness instead of people. A machete, not a sword.
It was an odd enough sight to earn Jinyel’s curiosity.
The first man was middle-aged, but still clearly in his physical prime. The second was half his age, and seemed to still be getting used to his physical prime. They joked with one another, and only once did Jinyel’s presence seem to give them pause. They glanced his way, noticed the jagged shape of his armor and the readiness of his animals…
… and they smiled. Not the hungry smiles of predators looking to rob, but the genuinely delighted smiles of predators spotting one of their own kind.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” said the man as soon as he came within earshot. “That peddler was telling the truth: wearing giant scales like metal plate. Me oh my, that armor’s a beauty, spikes that size must have come off a five-year beast at the very youngest, is your―”
Monya let out a sharp, short growl of warning. She didn’t stand, but she shifted in her seat just to let the visitors know she could if she wanted to.
“Well, that’s just my own poor manners.” The man tipped his hat to the she-wolf. “The name’s Gaul, this here’s my apprentice, Milane. Though you might have heard more about me and mine under a different name: Jungle Jim.”
Gaul paused, clearly waiting for some sort of amazement on Jinyel's part. Jinyel had never heard of a Gaul or a Jungle Jim, and so he gave only a blank stare and then signed, Polite greeting. I am Hunter.
The two visitors squinted at his hands, then at each other.
“I think that was a hello,” said the younger man, Milane.
“Sure. And something about hunting.” Gaul’s hands shaped several clear, disconnected signs. Hunt. You. Me. Animal. Here. There. Quiet. Attack. Yes. No. Danger. “You understand that?”
Jinyel tilted his head. Yes.
“Will that’s one less thing to teach. What’s your name, friend?”
Hunter.
“Hunt… er?” Gaul frowned. “You saying your name is Hunter? Because stories are even better when they’re on the nose, and I can’t believe you’ve heard none of mine. You’re new to Scalvoris, ain’t you? That’s the only explanation. How about I sit next to that pretty fire of yours and tell a few? I’ve been hunting this island for decades, and there’s game in every corner just as fine as your boulder snake.” He gestured to Jinyel’s armor. “If you’re a new hunter ‘round these parts, you need to hear what I got to say. I know everything there is to know about the animals on this island. Everything.
Jinyel frowned. The man seemed friendly enough, but someone had told him about this armor. He’d come here with a purpose.
What do you want? Jinyel asked. And did you come here looking for me?
“What. Want. Come. Look.” It took a few moments of squinting for Gaul to puzzle out the meaning. “Oh, that’s mighty interesting, you use the signs to actually talk? Like a conversation? Been awhile since I seen that, me and mine mostly use it while we stalk. But yes, I heard there was a hunter coming out of Scalv-Town wearing ziemia snakeskin, and my team was heading this way anyway. We’re camped just a half-break that way, and since we won’t get moving until morning, I just had to come see boulder snake armor for myself to see if it’s real. I’m a big game hunter myself, you see, and I love to see another one running around this island. More hands makes for smoother hunts and all that. Milane, how about that venison?”
With a lopsided grin, Melane reached into Gaul’s pack and withdrew a leather parcel. Once unwrapped, a brilliant red loin of meat glittered in the firelight. A backstrap, if Jinyel wasn’t mistaken ― one of the most flavorful cuts on a deer.
“Just a few hours old, this slab.” Gaul smacked the meat with a proud smile. “Caught it on the way out from Beacon. Most of the kill’s back at camp, man who hired me has a big appetite for meat. He pays well, too. Enough to have plenty of hunters on this job. I see pots and pans next to your horses, so how about this: we butter up this hunk of meat, sear it over your fire, and I tell you what kind of trip I’m about to take into the Scaltoth Jungle. If it sounds like a challenge you can beat, then how about you come show me what you’re made of? If you’ve got what it takes to be useful in that place, I might have more jobs to put you on. If it’s too much of a challenge for your skills, then no harm done ― we’ve shared stories and a mighty fine cut of venison. What do you say?”
Scaltoth Jungle. At that, Jinyel raised an eyebrow beneath the shadow of his helmet. He’d heard the name of that place before, always accompanied by “never go there.” Dangerous things lived in that jungle. Big things. The sorts of things no one had ever seen before. Jinyel had never been irritated by questions of, ‘Are you up to the task, or are you weak?’ But what he lacked in pride, he made up for in curiosity.
The hunter glanced at the meat, and at the men who had brought it. He glanced at Monya, then up the ridge to where Toutouye was watching. There was enough meat for all of them to share, but Jinyel suspected his cousin wouldn’t come down simply for food.
One hour, Jinyel said to Gaul. That is all the time I will give before I must leave. I have my own business tonight, and I do not wish to be followed, but I will eat this with you and part ways as friends.
“I’m happy you’ll eat with me, but I’m looking for a bit more than that.”
If Scaltoth holds enough fortune to bring my hands with you, then I will come to your camp tomorrow. Not before.
“You're a strange one, aren’t you?” Gaul raised an eyebrow, his exuberance cooling into curiosity. “But fair enough, sometimes the strange ones survive best. That armor speaks more than your hands ever could. I’ll take your challenge, Hunter. Let’s see if you can resist a jungle story or two.”
He also had a deep love for others minding their own business. That never seemed to happen quite as often.
Strike. Turn. Strike. Turn. The sharp crack of stone echoed softly between motions, each impact sending a thin flake skittering down into the sand. Jinyel was getting more comfortable with it — the angle of the blow, the way pressure traveled through the flint, how a piece might split cleanly or shatter uselessly depending on how it was struck. He was beginning to tell which stones carried clean lines beneath their surface, and which hid fractures that ruined the shape midway through.
He was camped three miles north of Beacon, far out of sight, which was why it took an embarrassingly long time for him to believe the sound of hooves in the distance. Boots upon leaves. A cheerful laugh.
Monya raised her head. Curled around her, Toutouye looked up and signed, Something’s out there. Littlespark flickered hesitantly beside them, and Jinyel gave the spirit an uneasy look.
Smokeless, Jinyel thought.
Smokeless, Littlespark agreed.
The little firepit flared once, then burned down to embers. Jinyel set aside his cord and shells to scoop the fire spirit back into its censer.
Toutouye uncurled from Monya, one ear tilted toward the distant noise. Monya sat upright, ears trained forward. Her paw rustled the scatter of stone flakes and unfinished pieces Jinyel had been sculpting; people and wolf all startled at the sound of flint against flint. A dozen yards beyond them, the blue shore was stained purple by the red light of sunset. That strange blue sand amplified every sound upon it ― the waves, the gulls, the creak of leather boots on careful feet. With the unusual noise, it was impossible to judge how close those boots actually were, but Jinyel counted only four of them. Two sets of feet, with easy laughter shared between them.
“... as long as it’s your own wages you're sharing,” someone chuckled. “I’ll not teach anyone unless you pay me for that, too.
Up along the ridge line. Toutouye bent into a hunter’s crouch. That’s where I’ll be.
Understood. Jinyel pulled his bow and arrows close enough to draw at a moment’s hesitation. Be safe.
Monya remained at camp, seated but alert. Beyond, the mounts all took note of her tension and followed suit: the horses pivoted their ears forward, while Ailuhn, the sarkin, shifted her seated position into one that could more easily be turned into a leap. Even if Jinyel’s weapons hadn’t been close at hand, he was armored head to toe in the leather of a boulder snake. Few weapons could get past such a thing.
Jinyel, Monya, Ailuhn and Toutouye had no wish to threaten their visitors. But they were ready to become the greatest threat on this shore if they had to be.
Around a southern bend, two men approached on foot. They seemed human, at least to Jinyel’s eye, dressed in leather and straps with weapons dangling from their belts. Not weapons of war, Jinyel noticed. Crossbows and arrows, ropes and snares ― even the older man’s blade was shaped to cut through wilderness instead of people. A machete, not a sword.
It was an odd enough sight to earn Jinyel’s curiosity.
The first man was middle-aged, but still clearly in his physical prime. The second was half his age, and seemed to still be getting used to his physical prime. They joked with one another, and only once did Jinyel’s presence seem to give them pause. They glanced his way, noticed the jagged shape of his armor and the readiness of his animals…
… and they smiled. Not the hungry smiles of predators looking to rob, but the genuinely delighted smiles of predators spotting one of their own kind.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” said the man as soon as he came within earshot. “That peddler was telling the truth: wearing giant scales like metal plate. Me oh my, that armor’s a beauty, spikes that size must have come off a five-year beast at the very youngest, is your―”
Monya let out a sharp, short growl of warning. She didn’t stand, but she shifted in her seat just to let the visitors know she could if she wanted to.
“Well, that’s just my own poor manners.” The man tipped his hat to the she-wolf. “The name’s Gaul, this here’s my apprentice, Milane. Though you might have heard more about me and mine under a different name: Jungle Jim.”
Gaul paused, clearly waiting for some sort of amazement on Jinyel's part. Jinyel had never heard of a Gaul or a Jungle Jim, and so he gave only a blank stare and then signed, Polite greeting. I am Hunter.
The two visitors squinted at his hands, then at each other.
“I think that was a hello,” said the younger man, Milane.
“Sure. And something about hunting.” Gaul’s hands shaped several clear, disconnected signs. Hunt. You. Me. Animal. Here. There. Quiet. Attack. Yes. No. Danger. “You understand that?”
Jinyel tilted his head. Yes.
“Will that’s one less thing to teach. What’s your name, friend?”
Hunter.
“Hunt… er?” Gaul frowned. “You saying your name is Hunter? Because stories are even better when they’re on the nose, and I can’t believe you’ve heard none of mine. You’re new to Scalvoris, ain’t you? That’s the only explanation. How about I sit next to that pretty fire of yours and tell a few? I’ve been hunting this island for decades, and there’s game in every corner just as fine as your boulder snake.” He gestured to Jinyel’s armor. “If you’re a new hunter ‘round these parts, you need to hear what I got to say. I know everything there is to know about the animals on this island. Everything.
Jinyel frowned. The man seemed friendly enough, but someone had told him about this armor. He’d come here with a purpose.
What do you want? Jinyel asked. And did you come here looking for me?
“What. Want. Come. Look.” It took a few moments of squinting for Gaul to puzzle out the meaning. “Oh, that’s mighty interesting, you use the signs to actually talk? Like a conversation? Been awhile since I seen that, me and mine mostly use it while we stalk. But yes, I heard there was a hunter coming out of Scalv-Town wearing ziemia snakeskin, and my team was heading this way anyway. We’re camped just a half-break that way, and since we won’t get moving until morning, I just had to come see boulder snake armor for myself to see if it’s real. I’m a big game hunter myself, you see, and I love to see another one running around this island. More hands makes for smoother hunts and all that. Milane, how about that venison?”
With a lopsided grin, Melane reached into Gaul’s pack and withdrew a leather parcel. Once unwrapped, a brilliant red loin of meat glittered in the firelight. A backstrap, if Jinyel wasn’t mistaken ― one of the most flavorful cuts on a deer.
“Just a few hours old, this slab.” Gaul smacked the meat with a proud smile. “Caught it on the way out from Beacon. Most of the kill’s back at camp, man who hired me has a big appetite for meat. He pays well, too. Enough to have plenty of hunters on this job. I see pots and pans next to your horses, so how about this: we butter up this hunk of meat, sear it over your fire, and I tell you what kind of trip I’m about to take into the Scaltoth Jungle. If it sounds like a challenge you can beat, then how about you come show me what you’re made of? If you’ve got what it takes to be useful in that place, I might have more jobs to put you on. If it’s too much of a challenge for your skills, then no harm done ― we’ve shared stories and a mighty fine cut of venison. What do you say?”
Scaltoth Jungle. At that, Jinyel raised an eyebrow beneath the shadow of his helmet. He’d heard the name of that place before, always accompanied by “never go there.” Dangerous things lived in that jungle. Big things. The sorts of things no one had ever seen before. Jinyel had never been irritated by questions of, ‘Are you up to the task, or are you weak?’ But what he lacked in pride, he made up for in curiosity.
The hunter glanced at the meat, and at the men who had brought it. He glanced at Monya, then up the ridge to where Toutouye was watching. There was enough meat for all of them to share, but Jinyel suspected his cousin wouldn’t come down simply for food.
One hour, Jinyel said to Gaul. That is all the time I will give before I must leave. I have my own business tonight, and I do not wish to be followed, but I will eat this with you and part ways as friends.
“I’m happy you’ll eat with me, but I’m looking for a bit more than that.”
If Scaltoth holds enough fortune to bring my hands with you, then I will come to your camp tomorrow. Not before.
“You're a strange one, aren’t you?” Gaul raised an eyebrow, his exuberance cooling into curiosity. “But fair enough, sometimes the strange ones survive best. That armor speaks more than your hands ever could. I’ll take your challenge, Hunter. Let’s see if you can resist a jungle story or two.”