The Hunt (Tallys, Halek, Shery's Story)

[No content warnings this time; this entry is a bit short because I spent so long stewing over Shery's involvement and how I could feasibly have her on a mission like this that I ran out of time to actually write the damn thing! So for now I'm labelling this entry sub-canonical or canon-adjacent because I don't believe Shery would be able to go so far from Haven with so little fuss, at least not on the current timeline of the game. But aside from that, I am already excited by where this story is going... I hope you enjoy!]

Part I: Tracks in the Forest

Hunting had never been a favorite pastime of Tallys’s.

It was a common belief that Elves enjoyed it—and one that unfortunately proved true in most cases. Hunting was a tribe or a clan’s primary method of survival, and had been even before the great Houses were driven to return to their ancient nomadic ways by the Castigation. But even beyond the utilitarian need for sustenance, hunting was thought to be a meditative activity: pure, refreshing, almost cleansing. The act of tracking, of blending into one’s environment, of making the kill—there was all an innate, atavistic rhythm to it that couldn’t be denied. The thought was that hunting brought an Elf back into alignment with nature: a wolf stalked a deer, fed upon it, left its bones for the scavengers and carrion-eaters and the insects and (later) for the moss and the fungi and the forest itself to claim, and so too did the Elf, each taking part in a cycle as natural and perpetual as the rising of the sun. Outsiders wondered at the cruelty of a people who could supposedly hear and understand the anguish of a dying rabbit or a speared elk, but wolves, too, understood these things, and moral quivering and hesitation didn’t factor into theiractions; it would be as unnatural for them to avoid feeding out of pity as it would be for a fish to stop swimming in water for fear that it would pollute it with waste. Mankind was as much a part of nature as the beasts and the flora, and so it was thought that they should not—could not—alter their actions for something as absent from the animal world as pity for their prey, or shame. (And besides, the outside criticism was based on a misconception: it was not as if the Elves were surrounded by a constant cacophony of animal-speech. It was something that one had to actively tune in to, and—just as easily—one could shut it out.)

Still. Although she had no particular moral qualms about the act, Tallys had never really enjoyed hunting. While her cousins had jostled with each other to be able to go out and bring back game for the clan, whether on foot or astride their ahfuri, Tallys had always been more interested in other things—foraging for herbs and plants, for example, and cataloguing their many uses, or memorizing the clan’s multitudes of records and accounts in her studies to become Keeper. Hunting, she thought, was just so tedious. While she was no stranger to stillness and meditation, there was something mind-numbing and wearisome about endlessly tracking the hoofprints of a stag through soft loam, of perching in a high tree or beneath thorny brush along game trails in the hopes that some unlucky prey might wander by.

This attitude had persisted even into her Shepherd work; for as much as she found quiet fulfillment in defending people who needed her protection, the one thing she liked little more than interacting with distasteful personages like the Inquisitors or the aristocracy was the prospect of embarking on the “hunt” of investigative work. Some people, like Riel or Red, quietly thrilled at the prospect of a deeply puzzling mystery; and others, like Blade or Halek, came equipped with the natural skills that allowed them to trace leads and hunt down their targets with the relentless drive of bloodhounds on the scent.

Tallys, however, enjoyed no such chases. It was unfortunate, then, that she had been assigned with the task of hunting quarry that no one had ever seen before.

“A werewolf,” Halek scoffed. “Leave it to backwater superstition—what are the odds that we’ve been dragged out here for overblown tales of a wildcat who developed an unfortunate taste for livestock, or an actual wolf with a case of rabies?”

His nerves, Tallys observed, seemed to have been worn thin by the journey here. They were sitting in a tavern in a small township between Sion and Shyrduin named Holytree; Tallys thought the name had to come from some Elvish origin—perhaps there had been a heartwood tree planted here, once—but she could not recall anything of significance existing on this spot when her clan was alive, and certainly no tree had been planted here since, so the name was something of a mystery. Still, unlike some settlements in the North or West, the population of even this small place was rife with Diminished (despite the Norm mayor), so she was more at ease. She took a sip of her drink, wrinkling her nose at the sour vytas—it was an attempt, at least—and remarked, “You didn’t sense that anyone was lying, did you?”

Halek grunted. They had spent the morning interviewing witnesses, who were all generally in agreement on the details: some sort of “man-beast” had been prowling the edges of town at night for a few months now, most often killing livestock—“it only eats the sweetmeats,” one farmer’s wife had proclaimed triumphantly, “and leaves the rest of the animal, so that’s why it strikes so often; it’s hungry”—and it did not seem to be an Endarkened, or at least not an Endarkened that anyone had ever seen (which wasn’t saying much). It stood on two legs and walked as a man did, but it had—“wolfish features”—though no one could quite articulate what that meant. The hunting party that had been sent out twice to kill it had only encountered the creature once, and that confused midnight confrontation had ended in two deaths and a mauling before it was decided reinforcements needed to be called in. The local army garrison had sent a single soldier to investigate—“and he was hardly more than a boy,” the farmer’s wife said scornfully—who’d paled so much at the gruesome descriptions and mutilated corpses that he’d advised Holytree to send a missive to the Shepherds (for surely this case lay in no earthly jurisdiction) before beating a hasty retreat back to the safety of his base.

“No,” the Hunter replied to her, “I didn’t sense a lie, but that doesn’t mean much. A person only has to believe that what they’re saying is the truth to get past me; but that’s no guarantee that what they saw still wasn’t some illusion or misunderstood shadow. Their idea of the ‘truth’ could be limited by their own faulty understanding or lack of knowledge.”

Before Tallys could respond, a sudden ruckus—and sharp burst of laughter, earning the glares of the more sober locals—drew both of their attentions to the corner of the tavern. There sat the chief reasons for Halek’s irritability: the merchants of the Azure Caravan, whom they had accompanied down here from Haven. Not only had it been slower going than Lunar Corps Shepherd officers were used to, burdened as they were by the long train of blue-canvassed, trundling wagons, but the involvement of the Azure traders had also knotted their journey with an unforeseen complication…

Halek craned his neck. “Where is she, anyway?”

Tallys smiled, tilting her head towards the tavern’s wraparound wooden counter. “At the bar. Making friends, as she seems to have developed a talent of doing.”

“Oh, joy.”

Now they both turned to look at Shery, who seemed engrossed in an animated conversation with one of the tavern servers, a short Mage woman with a morass of springy chestnut curls and a heavily-freckled round face. Tallys couldn’t help but feel a flicker of wistful pride in her friend: it seemed to her that just a short time ago the petite blonde quartermaster had struggled with even addressing Trouble or Blade, finding them so fierce and intimidating (or stonily dour, in Blade’s case) that she couldn’t even look them in the eye. But her courage and determination had grown by leaps and bounds since then. Not only was she traveling far from the city of her birth (albeit in the company and security of one of Riel’s trusted merchant caravans), but she was happily making friends with strangers. In fact, she was almost proving too good at that last part. At least half of the Azure traders were now hopelessly in love with her, and although Shery remained oblivious, Halek had exerted more energy than he’d liked playing the protector and warning would-be suitors off with stern threats.

“I’m not worried,” Tallys remarked, taking another sip of her cooling vytas. “The ‘van leader is a decent man and is looking out for her, and these merchants have Riel’s trust. But, if you’re so tired of acting the older brother, at least they’ll be moving on to Conte tomorrow morning. You’ll soon be relieved of your duties.”

Shery was the reason why they had escorted the Azure traders for so long: it was only the second of her forays outside of Haven, and this journey was by far the farthest and longest, ending in Conte-by-the-Sea to conduct business for the Order that only a quartermaster could do in person. When they’d left Haven, it hadn’t felt right to simply ride off and leave her behind in the company of strangers, not when they were taking the same route; but now that she was comfortable and familiarized, Tallys felt a slight relief that they could send her off in the morning—and not for the same reasons why Halek might be. She did not share his total skepticism about the existence of this werewolf. The sooner their keykeeper got out of Holytree, especially enfolded in the companionship of three-score merchants, the better. Even the single night the ‘van would remain here was enough to cause Tallys some unease… but she told herself that Shery would be perfectly safe so long as she stayed inside the crowded inn. Besides, since confronted with the hunting party, the “man-beast” hadn’t attacked for several weeks now.

Catching the train of Tallys’s thoughts, Halek stretched languidly and remarked, “Time to get back at it?”

She nodded. “Yes. It seems likely that the… beast could be hiding somewhere in the surrounding woods. I’d like to look at a map of the sightings and attacks and see if we can’t try and track it at its likeliest location.”

Halek nodded, though he said nothing to that. They both knew that—without better leads or a lucky sighting of their own—such an endeavor was about as fruitful as “finding a black cat in a coal cellar,” as Trouble would have put it. But it was all they had for now.

Still, she was coolly confident as they approached the bar to inform Shery of where they were going. She may not be as passionate about the hunt as her kinsmen could be, but Tallys fancied herself more eagle-eyed than the average rural tracker; perhaps she could pick up some clue—footprints or droppings—that the search party had missed. And there was Halek, keen of sense and extremely formidable despite his sleepy demeanor. Even if it wouldn’t be as easy as locking on to some Endarkened-blooded target, they didn’t call his people Hunters for nothing.

Shery, dressed in a practical riding skirt with her hands curled around a cup of tea, looked up brightly as they approached. “Hello,” she said, gifting them with a shy smile before dipping her head towards the friendly Mage server. “This is Miss Elizora Thackery—”

“Theria Elizora Thackery, actually,” the young woman butt in cheerfully. “But I thought the alliteration always made me sound a bit dopey, so I go by my middle name.”

“Yes—and, well, she happens to be a researcher with the most fascinating field notes about the wildlife around here.”

“I came here a few years ago to study the migratory patterns of local sparrows,” Elizora said. “Stayed because I fell in love with the town. Now I help out here for room and board and get to watch birds.”

“I thought that perhaps she could help you,” Shery continued modestly. “Given the nature of the creature you’re hunting, Miss Thackery’s expertise and knowledge of the local animals might be of help to you.”

Halek eyed the Mage with renewed interest. “I assume you’re a Wild Mage, then? Have you been able to speak to the animals around here about this werewolf? They might be able to provide a narrower idea of where it dens.”

Tallys winced inwardly, and Elizora’s bright smile dimmed slightly, but her tone was tactful as she replied, “Well, no, because… that would be illegal. I don’t use magic to study the animals, just the common techniques any field scholar would use. Not that I wouldn’t love to,” she amended, her eyes darting around nervously. “I just, erm, never got the opportunity to properly learn. If you know what I mean.”

An awkward air descended then; Halek, as far as his generally laidback demeanor would allow, looked mortified. But Tallys understood his misstep. Insulated as they were within the Shepherds’ Order, they had rapidly adapted and grown accustomed to the idea of Mages using their powers freely and openly; within their immediate community, the unthinking naturalness of it all had almost reached the levels from before the Castigation. How seamlessly they had reverted to the old ways once given permission, Tallys often thought. But that made it easy to forget that others still did not share in their newfound liberties—and that the harm of the Castigation was still being done unto the rest of the Continent.

“Perhaps you might consider joining the Shepherds, then,” Tallys remarked smoothly, hoping to direct the conversation back into safer waters. “We always have a need for people with an affinity for animals, for we have horses and ahfuri and messenger hawks aplenty. I’m sure Shery can tell you all about it.”

Her ploy worked; Elizora’s round face turned rosy with delight. “Really?” She turned eagerly to Shery. “I didn’t realize youwere a Shepherd, too! You only said that you came with the merchant ‘van, and pointed them out as the ones investigating the wolf…” She tilted her head towards Halek and Tallys.

Shery was blushing, but Tallys said, “She is our quartermaster. In many ways, her opinion outweighs ours when it comes to judging who would fill a need in our order.”

“Th-that’s not true,” Shery stammered, her eyes wide. Before they could continue the conversation, though, the Norm bartender who had been quietly wiping glasses behind the counter leaned over. He was perhaps the owner of the tavern, Tallys thought, from the way Elizora immediately dipped her eyes in deference, allowing him to enter the conversation.

“Pardon my interrupting,” he said in a heavy rural burr, “but did I hear correctly—only three of you Shepherds come to find the beast?”

Shery, Halek, and Tallys all turned to face him. “Two, actually,” Halek drawled. “Our quartermaster here is moving on with the ‘van in the morning.”

The bartender stared at them in blank disbelief. “There arn’t more coming? Only the pair of you—and you gon’ try your hand at catching it?” And he looked directly at Tallys as he said it.

Tallys regarded him coolly. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

The man grimaced and wiped down his counter without answering, but his expression conveyed his opinion. Elizora looked embarrassed, but Halek’s tone was sarcastic as he said, “Don’t see many women hunters around here, do you?”

“Look. We probably had thirty men through here, locals and travelers, tryin’ to track that thing down. We lost two people and I don’t know how many animals. You catch it, I’m happy. But we thought you Shep’erds were come with a whole unit, a big squadron of you—that’s what that fool soldier from the garrison said would happen if’n the mayor wrote to ya. Now you’re here, and there’s just the two of ya, and I’m thinkin’ maybe the thing can’t be caught, after all.” He paused and gave Tallys a rather disdainful look. “Or if it can be, not by a woman with a wooden bow. And one who looks like the wind can push her over, at that.”

It was almost refreshing, Tallys thought dryly, amused, to be judged more for her sex than for her race—her being an Elf didn’t play into it, it seemed. Shery was stiff with silent indignation and discomfort, and Halek stirred behind her, but Tallys shifted her weight subtly towards him, a signal to stand down. Normally he wouldn’t be phased by the paltry ramblings of a skeptical rural roughneck, but he was still tetchy from the long trip.

“I understand,” Tallys said, “that there is a reward offered for the creature’s capture.”

The barkeeper eyed her warily. “Aye. Ten deucalions. A pretty sum.”

“I hope the Order will let me keep it,” Tallys said, and went out.

#

They spent the afternoon combing the surrounding woods for any sign of the werewolf. Judging by the map she had sketched on while the mayor gave them his gabbled accounts, the creature only seemed to prowl on the very edges of the settlements, only striking once deep within Holytree’s borders. For the most part, it lingered on the outskirts, favoring the more isolated farms and pastures, and seemingly on the northeastern side: there were six marked encounters on that fringe and only one or two in the other directions. So that was where she started.

They did not speak much throughout that wearisome trawl, picking their way through ferns and scalloped leaf litter. The forests here in the Southern Crescent had a different attitude to them than the ones in the Damba Plains around Haven; it was not quite a tropical climate yet, but certainly warmer and brighter, supporting more species like alder, willow, poplar, and ash than the more common oak, birch, and maple up north. She trailed her fingers against the springy, yielding trees that she passed. This was a young wood, and thus a silent one, for the trees here required several more centuries before they began to grow towards anything like sentience.

As they searched, she kept her ears open for the passing gossip of the woodland creatures, and even paused to converse with a squirrel and an arrow hawk; but the squirrel slept at night, the only time the werewolf ever struck, and the hawk was indifferent and impatient to hunt, so she sent it on its way.

It was only with faint hope—more resigned obligation—that she (carefully) approached a mother doe and her ungainly, gamboling fawn, resting in a shadow-dappled meadow; but before she could even bring up the werewolf, the doe said, a bit warily, If you’re lost, your herd is that way.

Tallys paused. My herd?

The doe dipped her head, indicating the direction she meant. Then her nostrils flared and she added, Oh. I’m sorry. Not your herd, after all.

It was only then that Tallys realized they were being watched; not even Halek had sensed it, judging by his lax body language. She turned, scanning the surrounding trees, and it was her sudden alertness that drove the doe to urge her fawn out of the meadow and towards some quieter locale; Halek caught on to the movement and reached for his spear. Tallys, operating more on blind instinct than anything else, stepped forward and raised her hand in the sign of family, calling out in Elvish, “Peace, my kinsmen. I come in warmth and welcome.”

And just as wordlessly as the doe had left, three Elves melted out of the treeline, dressed in a strange, foreign garb that she had never seen before. “Hail, sister,” said one of them quietly, a dark-skinned, slender man with bright hazel eyes, “the gods smile upon our meeting.”

It was the automatic gift of tongues that prevented her from realizing it immediately: he spoke a kind of Elvish that Tallys had never heard before, not in her two hundred years on this earth. It was a staccato and jagged dialect, flint and shale in comparison to her cool leaf and water. Tallys and Halek watched as more foreign Elves made their ways out of the trees. Not my herd, indeed.