Sanyx Hunt

The wind whipped across the plains and snatched at the hunting party's cloaks. The man leading the pack stooped low to the ground as they came to a small ridgeline. He lowered his ear close to the short tough grass, which stood resiliently against the ever-present wind. Only the hollow echoing of the wind could be heard. The rest of the men stood silently gazing over the endless, grassy hills. The fall winds were dry and cool. Leaves and debris swirled and floated in the current of the wind, traveling westward across the plains. The leader rose and nodded. They resumed their trek, altering their course slightly northward. They marched silently onward, through gullies, over ridges, and deserted flats. They navigated the ocean of grass in search of their prey.

Today's hunt was not necessarily for food. Nor was it for tools. Vengeance superseded any of these. A Sanyx pack had ambushed the workers of a wheat field on the edge of the forest. The giant predators destroyed the farm and carried off several women the evening before last. The village elder now led the expedition, tracking the fearsome beasts to exact justice upon them. They were close now, the elder knew. The group jogged over yet another ridgeline and spread into a line at the top. Below them lay the Sanyx, basking in the afternoon sun. The men raised their spears and formed a semicircle about the basin where the giant cats lay.

Finally, one of the beasts caught sight of the hunting party and rose to its feet, snarling a warning to the other two Sanyx. The elder spotted the male...a distinctive stripe ran down its back. It was the male they would slay--for the females would retreat at his death. The two men standing beside him readied their bows. Sensing an attack, the male Sanyx, standing the height of two men at the shoulder moved forward, crouching low to the ground. The village elder raised his hand and his men pointed their spears forward. The archers drew their bows. The Sanyx stared at his attackers with unblinking eyes and crept ever closer. The females separated and came to face the men on the right and left flanks. Still hanging in the air, the village elders hand waited. The bloodlust sparkled in the deep yellow of the Sanyx's eyes and the hatred burned in the souls of the hunting party.

For a moment, everything froze except the wind. It was the silence before the storm. The hand hovered in the air. The predator crouched, ready to spring. The men stared held their pikes ready. Then, the hand dropped and a blur of motion followed. Arrows flew and struck. A blur of springing muscle exploded into the village elder. Pikes thrust forward. Blood spilt. Shouts and snarls filled the air. Then, as quickly as it started, the battle was over. Men leaned on their spears and sighed. A form disappeared over the next ridgeline. The village elder stood over the dead male Sanyx, weeping over his fallen brother. The hunt ended.