Karak stalked the young buck, moving silently across the forest floor. Three days tracking had led to this moment. The scent of prey filled his nostrils as he gripped his spear, the weight familiar in his scarred hand. The forest spoke to him—leaves shifting, birds warning, sunlight breaking differently where creatures passed. The spirits favored him today.
His muscles tensed beneath ochre-marked skin. The buck was just ahead. "The weak wait for fortune," he whispered, "but Karak makes the spirits grant what he demands."
A sound. Not the buck. His amber eyes narrowed beneath his prominent brow. Someone had entered his hunting grounds.
Anger flashed through him like lightning. Another hunter dared tread in territory he had marked with symbols cut into bark and stone? He moved behind a thicket, watching.
There. The intruder.
The buck forgotten, Karak's hand tightened around his spear. Yet curiosity tempered his rage. Who would dare? Was it a scout from an enemy clan? Or perhaps a traveler who brought something of value.
The spirits had altered his hunt. A wise chieftain pays attention to such signs.
Decision made, Karak rose to his full height. Let this stranger see him as he was—a chieftain marked by gods. He struck his spear against stone, the crack echoing through trees.
"You walk in Karak's hunting grounds," he called, stepping into view. "Tell Karak why you have come, and he will decide whether your bones join the earth here or your words bring value to his ears."
