“About: this is actually more of a recurring dream of mine than a short story. Heh, hope you enjoy non the less!”
I woke up in a dream, in a time since long passed. I was running. My breathing was rapid and my throat ablaze with cold fire, but controlled. My eyes were fixed. I held a spear in my hand, it’s weight was just right. I held a primitive torch in the other. The Roaring Blackness above had hidden the spirits and unleashed its anger upon us, anger which had awakened the Fire.
The grassy plains were a blur beneath my feet in the darkness. Dangerous footing for those who did not know the terrain well. Drums echoed in the distance, Shaman sang the hunt. We would dance with Great Two-Horn tonight. Beside me ran the others of the Hunt, Fire flickering in our hands. Great Two-Horn was a fast runner. But the Drums grant the Hunter the will to persevere.
I saw the moment. I took a few extended, leaping bounds and threw. Great Two-Horn screamed as my spear pierced his flesh. Blood would pour out of its mouth. It would try to breathe but it would die. I had killed Great Two-Horn, I would drink his pride. His spirit would strengthen mine. Blood was a Hunter’s reward.
Shaman spoke with the Spirits that night. We honoured them and danced around the Fire. Shaman revealed my name that night, she revealed it while I drank the Blood. I was the son of the Grey-Howlers who hunted in packs as we did. My name…