Chapter Text
Tamlen wipes the sweat off his forehead and readjusts his hold on his bow. From where he is sitting, high up in a tree, he watches Sul'salin carve the deer carcass.
He cleans out the cavern of the deer's body, scraping the sides with his knife, indentations of ribs coming through. They had wanted to go after a wolf. A wolf would have been a right enough offering for their coming-of-age ceremony. The clan would have accepted that with no argument.
But there is no wolf, and the hunt's memory still blazes in the back of his mind. He runs his fingers across his bow, taking comfort in the gods carved into it.
The deer's death was not what was planned. Firstly, there were no wolves to be found. Sul'salin had only found the tracks of one, but it was long gone, and the rain had washed away any other signs that would have helped them. He had spotted deer tracks though, fresh, and so the two of them hid behind some nearby bushes, where they were covered by the leaves and waited for something to arrive.
Sul'salin was the first to notice. He was usually the first to notice anything. He was the better tracker, but Tamlen was the better shot. He had heard it arrive from the South, had nudged Tamlen to look at it.
It was a beautiful thing. Huge antlers, a glossy coat that would supply the clan with fur, with enough meat on its bones to feed the clan for the ceremony feast.
They couldn't have been more in tune. Both elves had reached for their bows, but Sul'salin's foot got caught on a root in his adjustment. He fell to the ground, creating a racket that caused the deer to look in their direction.
Wasting no time, Tamlen had the bow in his hands and let his arrows fly. It was the satisfaction of a clean shot, the relief that came with the realization that food was indeed theirs for the taking. That the clan would not suffer hardships that Tamlen found gratifying while hunting.
Even still, the deer did not let go of life that easily. With arrows still stuck in its body, the deer ran off, with Sul'salin and Tamlen giving chase.
They caught up with it by a stream. The deer bent low to drink. Sul'salin was the first there. He had the arrow knocked in his bow.
The deer bellowed as it fell, and the two elves went to it.
"Hold it by its neck," Sul'salin said, "I'll make the final blow."
And so Tamlen grabbed the deer by its neck. He could feel the deer's muscles move under his hands. He could see them shift with each turn of the deer's head. He looked away to see Sul'salin.
The knife was in his hand. It pierced through the deer's flesh with no resistance, but that wasn't what gave Tamlen pause. What did though, was the look in Sul'salin's eyes.
There was a ravenous look, carving out a piece of his purple eyes, making them darker. It scared Tamlen, and he let go of the deer's neck, just enough for the deer to swing its head around. Its antlers went straight for Sul'salin's head, but Sul'salin had been able to dodge it, striking again at the deer's flesh, with perhaps too much rigor.
He had let Sul'salin gut the deer. Tamlen had seen it, only briefly, that hunger in his eyes, the death grip that he had held on the knife. He was content to watch for other predators, wary of the one that was only yards away.
Sul'salin had always been a happy child, eager to play, and eager to go along with whatever shenanigans Tamlen cooked up. But this, this he had only seen one other time, when they were children. It frightened him then, and it made him equally frightened now, not knowing what could be lurking under his skin.
But Sul'salin is his friend, and Tamlen knows, like the back of his hand, that Sul'salin would never hurt him. Even as his hands shake, he knows.
He swings down from the tree branches, crosses over tree roots and saplings to Sul'salin. He is almost done with the carving, and Tamlen will have to help him take it away.
"Let me help you tie the legs," he says, trying to keep his voice even, "We'll have to carry it some ways." They went out of their usual hunting grounds and would have to walk further, at least until they ran into another hunter who could help them.
Sul'salin raises his head from the carcass. The hungry look from earlier is gone, and Tamlen is more than a little relieved. He did not want to have to face that feeling again, was dreading it.
In its place is a smile, seemingly delighted at what he and Tamlen have caught. "The clan will be happy. It'll be a big day for us."
"Yes, I suppose so." He had forgotten about the ceremony, distracted as he was. He runs his hand across his face, empty, but not for much longer.
"You suppose so?" Sul'salin slaps him on the back before handing him some spare rope. "It's just one of the biggest days of our lives after all."
Tamlen is able to muster a smile, and he gets to work on tying the legs of the deer. Does Sul'salin know what he does when he gets that look in his eye? How aware of it is he? Tamlen worries about the clan knowing. Would they let him be, or would they mark him as a danger?
"Have you decided?"
"What?" Tamlen slips in his knot making, accidentally ties his thumb to the deer's hooves. He'll have to untie it all.
"Have you decided on your vallaslin?"
He tries to bring himself back to the present, away from his spiraling thoughts. Tamlen, like any other elf who comes of age, has tossed and turned over this decision. What god does he feel most connected to? What pathway does he want to take? What does he want to leave behind when he dies?
"I don't know," he says, honestly. Then he deflects, hoping to keep Sul'salin on the same subject, away from the hunt. "Have you decided?"
Sul'salin hums, his fingers deftly tying the rope. "Yes, I have."
Oh? This is news. Last time Tamlen had asked, he had said he still wasn't sure, was trying to decide between Andruil and Mythal.
"What have you decided?"
"I want Ghilan'nain to be my guide."
This is an unusual choice. Sul'salin has no gift for the halla. In fact, the halla are not great fans of him. They avoid him, much to Sul'salin's way.
"The halla won't like you anymore with Ghilan'nain's vallaslin than without it."
Sul'salin snorts, relieving some of the tension still in Tamlen's body. But he turns serious when he says, "Ghilan'nain is not only the mother of the halla, she is also our guide. I want to be a guide for our people."
His heartfelt confession makes Tamlen even more worried about his friend. It further crystallizes what he had known in the back of his mind since he saw Sul'salin stab the deer. He would not tell the clan what transpired today. It would not happen, Tamlen couldn't let that happen. Sul'salin is like a brother to him, and without his brother, he would be lost.
He keeps these worries from Sul'salin, hides them inside himself. Hardens them like marble. Instead, he says, "I'm happy for you," and watches Sul'salin grow calm, as if he had been worried about what Tamlen would think.
The two of them stand, and Sul'salin motions for Tamlen to grab the deer by its feet. Hefting it, they walk towards the North, towards the clan's camp.
As he steps over mushrooms and avoids tripping over small animals, he has a thought. Dirthamen. He'll pick Dirthamen, keeper of secrets, loyal to family and clan. Maybe this is what he was meant to do? Keep the ties that bind together. He can keep what's rolling under Sul'salin's a secret, can't he?