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WoTtober Day 2 - Hunt
The sun rose softly over the horizon, pushing its way into the sky like a giant finally standing on two feet after being on its knees for so long. The air was cool and the wind blew from tent to tent in the camp as if reminding them that a new day had dawned. That a new day could dawn. The wind continued blowing to the forest to the west, and a sudden gust knocked Mat Cauthon's hat from his head and onto a patch of newly grown grass.
‘Blast it,’ he muttered, bending down quietly and snatching his hat back. Mat continued his mission, treading slowly and following the marks in the undergrowth which signalled his prey. A rustle of twigs and he turned, smiling, counting slowly in his head as he approached. One, two three, and he had it. Not bad for an impromptu hunt in the woods, this might have been his quickest badger hunt yet. Clearly his luck was still with him.
Stuffing the poor animal into a sack, he tiptoed back to camp, passing through the tents of different styles whilst deciding where he was going to release his catch. Not the borderlands, he wouldn’t get a reaction, those dullards.
Nor the Dragonsworn too, those poor fools had followed Rand and suffered heavy losses, they didn’t need this.
He got to a crossroads and looked in each direction. Left would take him back to the Seanchan, perhaps Galgan or Selucia would fancy a morning surprise. Well no, not Selucia, if she was Tuons flaming bodyguard she’d have the creature dead in seconds, and he didn’t want that. To his right was the Aes Sedai camp, perhaps Teslyn might find it funny, it did rather like winding her up and she did seem to appreciate his particular brand of humour. Straight ahead were the Aiel, and he shivered, not flaming likely. He wouldn’t get ten paces in the camp before being hauled away.
Left, or right? Mat glanced over his shoulder and saw a tent in the distance, camped on their own and hidden in the brush. Who in the light would have camped so far away from Merrilor, as if they were on their way to leaving already. Mat frowned at it, it was remarkable he’d even spotted the thing, but now he’d seen it, he could feel the dice tumbling in his head, louder than they’d been before. He sighed and made his way towards the solitary camp, hiking into the low foothills, feet snagging in the bramble whilst his prey wrestled around in the bag. Silly thing. Mat almost felt bad. Almost.
As Mat approached the camp he saw it was less a tent and more canvas and sticks. A tall, dark haired lean fellow was sleeping, his cloth bundle as a pillow and his clothing… well it was Two Rivers garb. Mat frowned, was that…
‘My pipe!’ He exclaimed. ‘You goat-kissing son of a fade, you nicked my pipe.’
The fellow opened his eyes calmly, he’d definitely not been asleep then, and Mat approached.
‘It’s not your pipe, it’s mine,’ the man said, sitting up from his pretend slumber.
‘Too bloody right it is, it was my Da’s, I’d recognise that pipe anywhere.’
The man smiled, picking up the pipe and looking at it, and suddenly it was lit. Mat grasped his foxhead medallion reflexively, but light, it hadn’t gone cold. The man had to have channelled, but the foxhead didn’t go cold. Mat stared. For the first time in my life, he thought, I am scared.
‘It was your Da’s before you gave it to me Mat, you can’t seriously be saying you’re taking back a gift you gave me for my name-day.’
Mat dropped the bag. The badger shot out, tripping his legs and somehow Mat found himself flat on his back staring up at the sky, blinking dazedly. The man stood up and came over, offering his hand, the other holding the pipe like it was a prize possession.
‘It looks like this is the end of your badger hunting ways if seeing an old friend will do this to you.’
Mat gaped, and then took the hand, getting to his feet and brushing himself off.
‘Rand?’