RUKH
Raahosh has done this before, the others tell me. When Maylak’s little Esha was born, when the women received their khui, and earlier, when Farli was born many, many seasons back. But each hunt is equally dangerous, and some of the hunters were out on the game trails and we could not wait for them to return. Every day is another that puts Rukhar at risk, so it must be now, and it must be this herd.
We approach. There are six strong men. I do not know all their names, and for some reason, that shames me. They all risk their lives for my son to have a chance at his. This realization goes through my mind over and over again. My own brother leads the pack, his spear at hand, a ‘bow’ like the one Leezh carries strapped over one shoulder.
The sa-kohtsk herd is fearsome up close. The creatures have enormous mouths that gape open as their heads swing back and forth, sifting the air. There are several adults, each one so large that one foot can crush a grown man. In the center of the herd, the kit stands near its mother. It is only half the size of the others, and it is our target.
Raahosh stops, and as the hunters gather, he gestures at the kit. “I have a clear shot of it from here. We can wound it, then stampede the herd. It will be left behind.” He motions for the men to pair off. “Chase the adults. Make noise, but be cautious you do not risk your life.”
The men nod.
“Make sure they do not turn. The women are behind us, and we do not want the sa-kohtsk running in their direction.”
A trickle of fear traces down my spine at the thought. Har-loh is weak, and Rukhar small and helpless…and both are far too close nearby for my liking. But they must remain close so Rukhar can receive his khui. My gut churns uneasily at the thought. The dangers are many.
The hunters ready their weapons. There are spears, slings, and several men carry wickedly sharp bone knives like my own. One of the sa-kohtsk lumbers past, ignoring us as small and insignificant, and I think of my father and the hunt to get my khui. Did he feel the same heart-pounding terror as I do? Did his gut clench when he realized he was putting his older son and his mate in danger? Or was he too reckless to care?
I can’t imagine why he didn’t return to the tribe to get their help. He had to know the danger. Or did he just not care?
Raahosh pulls his bow free and carefully places an arrow. He aims it, and I watch as he launches an arrow. A moment later, the sa-kohtsk kit bellows in pain, and one of the adults bugles in distress. Feet move and the ground shakes. The hunt has begun.
The men split off, yelling and shaking their spears as they surge forward, chasing the confused animals. One lumbers into a trot, and the ground feels as if it is about to shake apart. Another follows it, and then the herd is moving forward, prodded by spears and screams from our hunters. We are small against them, but it is working.
At the center of the herd, the kit staggers. The mother noses it, trying to get it to move, and when it collapses to its knees, she bellows and then turns away from it, abandoning her child in favor of self-preservation. I see this from my vantage point next to Raahosh, and I’m suddenly frozen. My memories turn back to my father. This is what he chose. He sacrificed his own child – his firstborn son, Raahosh – when he was too injured. For a moment, I want the mother sa-kohtsk to turn around, to nudge her kit to its feet.
Instead, she gives a plaintive howl and lumbers away from it, abandoning it to us.
My heart feels as if it shatters in my breast. I think of Raahosh and his scarred face and come to a devastating realization.
My father was so broken that if I had been wounded like the sa-kohtsk kit before us, I suddenly have no doubt in my mind that my father would have left me behind like the mother beast does now. He would have abandoned me like he did Raahosh, to the ones he deemed as ‘bad’。 Or worse, left me in the snow one day and turned his back on me.
I think of doing that to my own son – my Rukhar – and want to vomit.
Never.
I would never leave him or Har-loh behind. Ever. My father was wrong. He did what he thought he had to do to survive, but I realize now that it was not survival. It was mindless instinct. The man I have imagined as my father for so long in my bits of memories? The man I have revered? It is not the man I should be looking to for answers. It should be the man at my side, my brother. My brother who has tirelessly hunted at my side and gave me company even when I did not want it. Who brings his pregnant wife and has her sit with mine so she will not be lonely. Who risks his own family to help me protect mine. Who opened his home to me without question, and has never expected thanks.