As heat waves shimmered off the red ground, a boy clad in runner’s wear peered at the dirt following the tracks of game. He stalked along a trail littered with hoof tracks weaving through the dirt mounds. He wiped away the beads of sweat on his brow with a leather-wrapped hand. Several soft grunts sounded off in the distance. He gave pause looking about before crawling beneath a bush. The thorns scratching against his attire went ignored as he moved further, hidden from the world.

  ‘Found you,’ the boy thought as his heart hammered away. His black eyes fell upon a group of charge-horns lumbering about. Each one had flat snouts with three pairs of protruding tusks along with two pairs of eyes. Their lumbering pink and red mass was wider than three men and longer than two lying on the ground from head to foot. The beasts were only a head taller than the average man thanks to their large hump sitting between their shoulders.

  The boy glanced over at the scene counting the number of animals present. As four of them slept lying on their sides, two more grazed further away on some of the brush, as the last pair grazed on the remains of a recently killed animal. Too little remained to recognize what. The boy winced from the smacking lips of the large swine as blood dribbled from their mouths but, he kept his resolve. They were just as much his game as he would be theirs if he failed.

  ‘Focus, Cuganwa. You are faster. Just follow the plan,’ The boy reminded himself. His eyes skirted back toward the dirt path before he wiped his brow once more. ‘Lord Kelvert, may your light shine on my efforts,’ Cuganwa prayed as he retrieved a small stone fitting perfectly in his palm.

  The boy crept to the blind side of the closest beast as its side rose and fell steadily. The others were out of sight as Cuganwa held his breath and wound his arm back.

  ‘Follow the path,’ the boy told himself as he pitched the stone.

  The rock sailed forth and struck the beast with a soft plop sound and shaking its back. The charge-horn let out a low growl. It twisted around and fixed an eye on the boy waving his hands about to get its attention. The beast’s eyes contracted, glaring at the boy, and rose to its hooves. The charge-horn released a heavy squeal calling the other’s attention. Cuganwa sped down the same tracks as heavy trampling echoed behind him. The bow peered back as he saw the towering brutes race after him.

  ‘Good. They’ve followed,’ he thought while measuring the distance. Their heavy gait did little for them in speed as they jostled about. The boy looked back, confident in his lessons.

  Cuganwa rounded several brushes, listening to their charge. Yet, the sound grew softer. The boy’s eyes widened as he looked back wondering if he had lost his pursuers. Behind him, five of the charge-horns remained trotting along.

  “Are they…” Cuganwa first questioned only for one of the beasts to let out a thunderous squeal. Its lament preceded the loud trampling once more, but from the boy’s right. Three of the beasts stormed through the brush, causing the boy to veer left in a desperate lean. The charge-horn’s tusks grazed against Cuganwa’s side, threatening to pierce his garment with such great force behind a small point. The runner regained his footing and was forced to turn the path as the other charge-horns tried to head him off. He looked into the maddened gaze of a beast, failing to notice his approach to a riverbank with rounded gray stones. The boy looked ahead, realizing his folly.

  “No!” he rasped. Before him, the embankment rose steadily and was crowned with vegetation. Green stalks were covered with red berries and topped with yellow bulbs amongst the vibrant green leaves wide enough for fanning. Their alluring colors invited any unwary picker to a plentiful harvest but, Cuganwa knew the truth. It was a death snare with every fruit filled with poisons and toxins.

  ‘I must escape! How!’

  He glanced at the wide yawning river housing the countless water bites. Their silver scales and violet bellies glistened in the noon sun. Their heads were angled with unblinking black eyes trained on him.

  ‘Faster,’ Cuganwa urged as he veered toward the right trying to return to the dirt. The charge-horns were too close, cutting him off and forcing the boy into the greenery.

  With no other choice, Cuganwa took a deep breath, crossed his arms before pulling on the extra slack of his hood down, ensuring his fingers were not exposed. Plowing through the stocks, the outer watery membranes of the red berries like dew broke on contact. Wooden barbs shot from the vibrant red cores and stuck to the leather draining the clear liquid layer. The yellow fruit atop burst immediately scattering clouds of white powder from a few. The boy ignored them all as he rushed on. The charge-horns did the same as three of the beasts followed. Cuganwa pushed through each stalk, losing more speed, and strained his breath. The charge-horns slowed in their pursuit, losing the child within the green curtain. One of the charge-horns caught sight of Cuganwa and ran forth to bite at his leg. It missed and chomped into a stalk base. Dozens of the small berries were stuck on the inside of the animal’s mouth as barbs shot toxins into the gums killing it mid-step. Its body continued and careened over the embankment and fell into the river. Scaled tails and fins flickered in the air as the water bites took on their meal.

  The next charge-horn followed after Cuganwa as more powder descended on them. The beast took a breath. Toxins coursed through the creature causing every muscle to spasm. Each limb locked out sending the beast into a roll and toppling more of the stalks. Within the snare, another stalk arose coiling like a serpent. The enormous bulb rose from the center, peeling back the sepals and revealing hundreds of thorns. It darted forth, sinking its bite into the leg of the beast. With ease, dragging the creature deeper into the thick center of the snare out of sight.

  Cuganwa staggered in his steps, brushing past the stalks. His head became muddled from the lack of air. His grip grew painful to maintain. His lungs burned and ached, threatening to force his breath. Each press grew slower. In the rise of his rear foot, he struck under the chin of the remaining charge-horn. Fear spurred him on as he pressed harder, increasing his speed. His heart hammered along with something else. Another beat coursed through him just a bit lower. His lungs eased in their burn. His thoughts grew clearer.

  ‘Great Lord, please guide me,’ Cuganwa thought followed the strongest direction of the radiating pulses. He started toward the left. A moment later, he no longer felt the bombardment of stalks on his arms. Cuganwa kept his head low and released the grip of his hood. He remained cautious of his sweat filled with the powder and kept it from entering his mouth. Layers of powder were caked onto his brow and cheeks. He slowly breathed through the gritted teeth, relieving the burn in his chest.

  ‘I can make it.’ He cut through two dunes as the remaining charge-horns funneled through.

  “Duck, boy!” someone shouted.

  Cuganwa dived to the dirt as several twangs sounded in the distance. He could hear the coursing arrows strike with sharp thuds. The missiles fired true, burying in the eyes and necks of each beast. The animals fell to the floor. Blood trailed from their wounds into the dirt.

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  “Recover!” someone commanded.

  Eight men stood from a nearby brush line and stepped forward. Each wearing a red shawl matching the land around them and covering their light brown tunics tucked into their trousers of the same color and held in place by red sashes. Slung across their chests were tools of sheathed knives, axes, pickaxes, waterskins, and extra pouches. At their sides sat quivers of arrows. Each hunter also wore an ivory knife sheathed in their sash marking their hunter status in the village.

  “Secure the area,” a large man with a short afro and wider face than most ordered. They encircled the game and Cuganwa removed their shawls to the contrast with the red land as a warning with arrows notched and ready for the pull.

  Cuganwa breathed slowly as he turned his head to the sky, sitting back on his heels. He kept his eyes closed, fearful of the powder on his face.

  “Hold on, Cuganwa! Pull back your hood, boy,” the larger man ordered as he and another hunter approached with a large sack and water skin. The child did so, revealing his matted wet hair. “Don’t move, boy. By the Great Lord, why did you run through the snare?” Cuganwa remained silent as the cool water trickled down his face washing away the powder.

  “You act too much like the charge-horns themselves,” the other hunter stated. “Although, I can’t say your effort did not bring results. Six grown monsters. A good hall.”

  “Must be a mating party. It is that time of year. Not bad for a first run, Cuganwa. But let’s see what your father says.” The man pushed a rag into the boy’s hand, letting him wipe away the rest. The child opened his eyes seeing a cheerful smile. “Welcome back, Little Charge-horn. Care to tell us what happened?”

  A sheepish smile crawled over Cuganwa’s face. “I…thought I ran too fast. They tried to ambush me,” he admitted.

  Many of the others laughed “Well, now you know better.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Many of us have learned things the hard way. Now change into your clothes.”

  As the boy dressed, Odaru let out a sharp whistle.

  The hunter then left to instruct the other hunters as several whip-necks rose above the shrub and dunes. The animals had narrow snouts with wide amber eyes at the sides and triangular ears flickering at gnats. Layers of bone covered the crests and sides of their large heads with small horns protruding from the bone. Their long thin necks did well to support the animals’ large heads. Each of them had two water humps aligned with their spines and thin tails ending with brush-like coarse fur. Each of their long legs had knotted muscles and had wide hooved toes and flat feet that could cover a man’s face. The beasts stood nearly three times a man’s height making them one of the tallest creatures in the drylands. Their enormous backs bared saddles made from leather, wood, and bone fitted with two seats facing toward the front and flank. Long bones jutted out from the sides of the saddles to the rear with tightly woven tarps attached for cargo.

  The animals moved in a line following the pull of their reins as another man rose from the other side of the dunes. He had a thick salt and peppered beard bound in a knot that reached down to mid-chest. Below were necklaces of wooden beads painted in a dark blue, each representing a successful hunt. Unlike the others, he wore a red tunic marking his position as the party leader. With broad shoulders and a stern glare, Cuganwa kept his eyes turned away as he glanced at the runner’s garment covered in powder and dotted with viper kiss berries. The man stalked forwards leading four of the whip-necks as another hunter following did the same. The two led the animals in a small circle within the ring of hunters.

  “Ah, Sutama. A good hall for today,” Odaru called out as he strolled forward.

  He gave a harsh look drifting to the charge-horn covered in the white powder and back to the boy. In a deep tone, he replied, “And what is this?”

  Odaru sighed. “A lesson learned.” Both hunters were looking at the boy as he finished dressing.

  Sutama handed his reins to Odaru and walked toward Cuganwa. “Well,” the man barked. Cuganwa stood straight and turned to him immediately. “What reason are you, or the prey, covered in that mess?” He pointed in the direction of the snare, emphasizing the anger flared in his eyes.

  Cuganwa stood straight as he blurted out, “I was tricked! I thought I lost them!” Odaru looked at Cuganwa with a cautious stare as the man motioned for him to lower his voice. In a softer but, clear tone, he continued, “They slowed their pace and cut me off from the path when I looked to see if they were still there.”

  The man’s brow furrowed. Sutama then continued, “We’ve lost runners for that foolishness, and we’ve warned you ahead of time. How did you get into the snare?”

  “When they cut me off, I was too close to the river…”

  “And you ran through it?” Sutama’s eyes went wide. The hunting leader scratched his beard, allowing Cuganwa’s silence to answer the question. He then turned toward the game as two of the hunters retrieved the arrows. “What say you, boys! Is Cuganwa worthy to keep in the party?”

  “I say he is,” Odaru answered first. “He knows what to expect now. I doubt any game will touch him after this.”

  “I agree. Bait is hard to come by. We may need to keep one that works well,” another hunter teased.

  All around the circle, most agreed to keep him in with only two of the hunters disagreeing. Both were sixteen and would be the youngest if not for Cuganwa only a few years younger. The boy’s heart pounded fiercely, rivaling its echo within the snare.

  ‘Let me stay. Let me earn my station. If I am here, I can prove myself,’ the boy thought to himself as he kept his fists clenched fighting the urge to fidget.

  Sutama crossed his arms as he looked silently into the distance. When his eyes shifted to the child, he uncrossed his arms, revealing an ivory knife in his hands.

  “Seems you may be ready, Cuganwa,” Sutama said.

  He extended the weapon out to the boy. Cuganwa’s eyes were widened as he retrieved the knife and pulled it out of the sheath. It was an entire single piece from the tip to the hilt. A polished sheen glistened in the sun covered the weapon. The blade was carved into a natural claw-like shape following the tusks of a heavy-horns, massive animals in the northern region of the drylands. Cuganwa ran a finger over the indented designs of a charge-horn’s head beneath Kelvert’s star. The boy looked up to see his father wearing a smirk.

  “Good work. You’ve passed the initiation. Just don’t mention the snare around your mother.”

  “Yes, father. Thank you,” the boy said.

  “Sutama! Blood-manes are gathering in the north,” another hunter said. Those on the same side looked as the remaining hunters toward the south kept their wary eyes forward for more danger.

  The man then moved on as he took command of the group. “We have our new runner!” Now let’s get the sleds built and mount up for home!”

  “Yes sir,” the others sounded in unison. Cuganwa eagerly took the twine at the back of his sheath and fastened it to his sash before turning to help the others. Six of the hunters removed supplies from the saddles and laid them on the ground. With quick work, three sleds were fastened together using pairs of large femur bones covered in resin and several other bones, leather, tarps, and twine. Each sled had enough room to carry two of the beasts. With some digging and maneuvering, the group soon had the charge-horns bound to the sleds. Each sled had two whip-necks towing them with a rope fastened to the rear saddle horns. Despite the extra weight, the whip-necks pulled the animals with ease. Sutama drove the lead steed as another hunter sat facing the opposite direction with their bow in hand. The whip-neck beside them had the same. The second pair of whip-necks was unmanned but, their reins tied to the sled before them as they dragged their own. Cuganwa and Odaru sat a pair in the rear alongside the younger hunters and the last sled. The remaining two whip-necks were driven by hunters unburdened by any load as free-riders.

  As the group rode off at a slower pace, loud grinding filled the air. Cuganwa looked out into the horizon, remembering the strange buzz in his stomach before he ran on. The boy pulled out the knife, admiring his prize. He now had a purpose in the village. Even for running, many sought after hunting positions in the territories of the drylands. Cuganwa outraced the others. “Thank you, Lord Kelvert. I will do what I can,” Cuganwa prayed.