- TMK -

Katakos sat by the cascade. He tasted the air, sweetened as falling water dissolved into white, then blue vapor. Mist ebbed around him, dampening his shaggy coat. The fur was woolly rhino, made to battle Lokrhadan ice. Water was no threat to his hide clothing. His rifle maybe, but there was no game by the falls. Here though, Katakos could rest his eyes and savor the midsummer fragrance of green pines.

 

However, the hot, fishy stink of Gondir’s breath woke Katakos from his slumber.

           

“Mercy, Gond,” Katakos pushed Gondir’s snout away. The baliyon snorted in protest.

           

“What?” Katakos opened his eyes and found the creature’s rounded, equine snout in his face. Gondir bent his head lower, shoving gnarled horns at Katakos.

           

“Fine. Smile for me if you’re so desperate for a scrap.”

           

Gondir reared on his hind legs. His clawed forelegs curled into his chest like a mantis. The gesture was how baliyons behaved in the wild, how they acted when threatened. Gondir could sever Katakos’ head from his neck with less than a swing. But Katakos knew Gondir for too many winters to be afraid. The damned creature just wanted to get his way.

           

“Smile. Or the only thing you’re getting from here to Nuvukak are stale oats.”

           

Gondir ejected another gust of white breath from flaring nostrils but relented a moment later. The six-inch claws on his forelegs clacked faintly against stone as the creature opened its fleshy, pink maw.

           

“Pulling teeth with you every goddamn time.”

           

Katakos withdrew his long knife, probing the spaces between Gondir’s serrated fangs. When finished, he moved for the spiky molars in the back. Immediately, the blade caught on rancid hide nestled between impacted teeth. Gondir let out a guttural whine.

           

“Ah! Shut it…” Katakos said, edging the hide out with the blade’s curve. “Had I let this rot, you would’ve gotten another tooth ache and I’d be out another hundred cauldrons to the arcane surgeon.” 

           

Gondir grunted once more as Katakos extracted the hide. The baliyon clacked his jaw together like a horse chewing on a bit.

           

“See? Feels better not to have that garbage in your mouth.”

           

Gondir used his head to gesture at the deer and stoat dangling in a nearby pine.

           

“Deal’s a deal,” Katakos sighed. He cut the line holding the stoat, the cadaver falling against a bed of pine needles. Gondir growled, rearing on his hind legs to slam his claws against the ground.

           

“Absolutely not. Didn’t lug the deer here so you could turn the hide into your personal chew toy. I already have to tie the damned thing up ‘cause of you. Stoat or oats, your choice.”

           

Gondir conceded. His fangs dug into the weasel’s skin. Small bones splintered as the baliyon’s jaws did their work.

           

Soon, there was nothing left. Gondir’s tongue lapped the red dusting of stoat against the rocks.

           

“Enjoy it. When we get to Nuvukak, those pelts you’re so keen on are my ticket to cold drink, a hot meal,” Katakos said, leaning beside the pine, “And, Gods willing, a nice fucking bath.”

           

The hunter closed his eyes, the waterfall lullaby carrying him to a dreamless sleep. 

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