Author: Cindy England
Disclaimers: Brace is an elf of my own creation, played in Stormrise Holt. ElfQuest is copyright Warp Graphics Inc..
Tucking a rogue lank of dark auburn hair behind his ear, Brace hefted his polearm and sauntered down the light trail out of the hurst by his den. Years of familiarity with the brush surrounding the hurst allowed him to move quickly and quietly while busying his mind elsewhere, dark brown eyes alert for the swift movements of his prey. The metal shaper had noted, briefly, with pleasure the apparent interest Wren had suddenly taken in his craft and he felt reknewed vigor to continue the work he had started on the new blade he was engraving with Gloaming's likeness.
It was then, as he pondered on his lifemate that her mind touched his from afar, **Vulp...** she sent to Brace. **Have you seen Pinfeather?**
Smiling, he replied, **heh, no, I haven't. He's not the most social of creatures, you know.**
The weapon smith chuckled softly to himself. Social was not a word one applied to Pinfeather. His griffin bond was most assuredly snooty at the best of times and disdainful at the worst; Brace considered he might even go so far as to call him contemptuous. The metal shaper hadn't even bothered to send to the beast to come hunting with him, he knew far too well that he'd merely receive an upturned golden beak and an indignant snort for his efforts - ravvit was not glorious enough in the griffin's mind to waste the energy hunting such a small meal.
So be it, Brace thought to himself, more of the catch for those who appreciated the succulent flesh of the silky critters.
The skitter of pebbles under a low hanging bush to the left caught Brace's attention and all thoughts of moody griffin bonds vanished from his mind. Freezing in mid-stride, Brace shifted the grip on his lance, the metal having warmed itself under his palm, the leather bindings becoming tacky. Though ravvits were a small and seemingly easy game, there was an art to hunting them. The long legged creatures instinctually froze at the merest sign of danger, becoming solid statues in their surroundings, and it took extreme patience and command of the body to hold still and out wait them.
Heart beats pounded on dully. The polearm at his side became seemingly heavier. A cramp in a too tensed thigh muscle began to seize up and then throb but Brace held still, waiting. Waiting.
A leaf on the bush flickered to the side just then and a small, black furred head emerged timidly, green eyes almost glowing in the dusky light. It crawled at first, uncertain of the threat that had been and then suddenly vanished. The lure of the spring's fresh shoots proved too tempting and sharp rodent-like teeth turned their attention to the tenders before it.
Gritted teeth from the cramp in his thigh, Brace crouched low, silently, before springing, blade point downward, onto the ravvit, pinning it neatly between the shoulders. Catching it up in his strong hands, the weapon smith gave its head a quick twist, a loud popping noise signaling its broken neck and ending any pain it felt.
Brace paused momentarily to wipe the blood from his weapon upon the grass where the ravvit had just been nibbling. Then catching up his prize by the long ears, he strode back the short distance to the hurst, his mind light and at ease for the first time in many days - there was something right about returning to the natural rhythms of the hunt.