He was lost.
Aye, there were mountains, but they were not his mountains. There were trees, but those of his homeland. His legs knew the slopes, but his heart did not. In nigh half a moon he had not seen one familiar medicine plant. And the beasts...some bled and tasted the same: deer and elk and fish and rabbit. Others were strange. Here there were lizards as great as a longhouse with leather wings like those of a bat. They circled the peaks above him and roared their thunder with the lungs of a hundred bears. They glittered like twisting knives forged of copper and gems. He scarcely believed his eyes.
"What madness is this?" he had asked himself as he gazed, bewildered, up at them. There came no answer. Once, there was another within him, taunting him and driving him to madness until he lay utterly broken. As for the time before it had entered his mind unbidden...he could not recall. Now, there was only silence: blessed, yet unnerving in its rawness. Deafening. He wondered if he was dead at last, and this the realm of his god. There was good hunting here, after all. It was the closest to sense that he had made of anything. If it were so, then he knew that such signs would reveal themselves in time. So he traveled on. Towards what, he did not know.
The morning after the flying lizards, he awoke to rain and birds, broke his fast with the last of his smoked venison, and continued down the rugged valley. For three days, he had followed a babbling creek that cut a rocky clearing and forged the path ahead. Now he made it four. By noon, as his footsteps slowed in anticipation of a short rest, something glinted on the horizon. He cocked his head but could make nothing more of the thing. Was it a city, perhaps? A signal fire? ...Was it a sign? Whatever it could be, it burned bright against the dense forest. He pressed on, propelled if only by a need for certainty.
But it was not a fire, nor was it civilization. No: it was another lizard. The creature lay limp across the rocks. Its massive scales, each as broad as his hand, shimmered and caught the sunlight like fine-hewn jewelry. A woven bracelet hung from its tree-trunk wrist, embroidered with a string of pictures and lines. Had it known people? he wondered. If it had, they were brave indeed to come near such a goliath.
The beast was a small one — smaller, at least, than those of its kin that he had spotted skyward. Yet up close, it was easily the largest animal he had ever witnessed. Larger than the moose. Larger even than the white bear. He circled it cautiously, his hand resting on the ax head at his hip, until he came at last face-to-face with one filmy, clouded eye. He stared for a moment into the void of its catlike pupil, paralyzed by wonderment. Then a fly landed on that glassy surface. He leaned away, the spell broken. The beast was dead.
And then he spotted it: an arrow. And another in its chest, and yet another protruding from its thigh. He bent to inspect the wounds and ran his fingers through smears of thick blood. He drew them back in surprise. His eyes narrowed. The thing was still warm. Still very warm. This was not some lost quarry left to rot. He had stumbled upon a fresh kill. The hunters would not be far.
And far they were not, for no sooner had he stood again then he heard them crashing and yelling and crunching through the underbrush. There were several of them. Three, at least. Enough to cause him more trouble than he wished for without a man at his back. Without a moment's hesitation, he rounded the massive corpse, swung his shield from his back, dug its point into the gravel before him, and crouched. Stealth was a woman's art: meant for smaller bodies and nimbler hands. He did not expect it to last long. Still, he waited.
"I saw her come down by that tree, there, I know she did — "
"She could land on my own mother and I wouldn't come near her," another interjected. "They're hot on our tail. We need to go. Now."
"We're not leaving without those teeth," a third growled. A woman. "We didn't come out this far just to scamper away like scared little mice." An appreciative whistle cut through the sound of rushing water. The hunters stopped in their tracks for a moment, admiring their kill. "There she is. There's our girl. Fan out. Keep an eye on the treeline. And be useful and hand me that saw — wait, what's — "
She had stopped speaking. Feet pounded rock and gravel as she approached. He glanced at his shoulder and scowled. His cloak was brilliant red. What a fool he'd been. He was completely unequipped for this. He stood, shield and ax at the ready, and eyed each of these strangers in turn.
"What in the — "
"Ambush!" the fearful man declared. "I told you we shouldn't have — "
The woman held a hand up. "Shut your damned mouth for one minute, Aren. Will you? Just look at him. He's no tribal. He's not even human." She stepped towards him slowly, her hand resting on the hilt of a wicked sword, ready to draw it. Her eyes darted between his ax, his shield, his horns. He'd seen it a hundred times over. She was sizing him up. She was preparing to attack. "You have one chance to explain yourself, stranger," she growled, "before we gut you and send your corpse over the falls."
He glanced at the others. Could he survive this? He did not know.
He had no other options.
