Lets make a wager on that

Frodo Silvertongue · 01-21-2012, 11:36 AM

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Word Count :: 663 Sure thing

Frodo ran down the cliff, a long route around, willingly. He sniffed at the carcass, at her shattered brains and bruised and crippled body, and felt some sort of sympathy, but ultimately victory. Frodo watched in awe as Light shifted, and began coating the body with some kind of herbs, muttering prayers of some sort. Frodo was an atheist himself, so he knew not what the man was talking of, but he smiled all the same and also wished the cow well, into the afterlife where she would grow plump on ubiquitous grass.

The cocky smirk surprised Frodo. He’d agreed, the kill was easy, so didn’t that mean he should be the one that was smirking? The rules of their game were quite complicated… gone about in a rather way actually, but he remembered they’d planned to see which was the most difficult. And he knew birds were harder to catch than this, especially as they’d be high in the sky and Light apparently didn’t want to use a bow. So for the moment, Frodo had his heart set on the birds being more challenging to catch, just like he’d predicted. They were no easy target. And he’d prove himself right! It was. Now, birds are far more tricksy. he stated with a shrug, and then paused before replying; Sure. Frodo quickly shifted into optime himself, waiting for his new friend to come back.

He helped Light with the cutting up with the female and then bundled up half of it while he did the same. While they carried the meat back to the tribe it was in silence. He dumped his load in the storage area of the pack, and then beckoned with a shadowed hand. It was time for the birds. Silently, he jogged through the grass like a horse, elegant and graceful, poised with the structure of a doe. He picked back up his belongings, that were a few leagues away, and placed them back into the comfortable areas on his back and shoulders. Drawing out his bow and a single arrow, he then pushed onwards, until they reached a large, rocky outcrop that stood over most of the tribe. He knocked the arrow in place, and directed his eyesight towards the flock of birds that flew in the sky above, a good quarter of a mile away.

Frodo crouched low in the grass, as he had done thousands of times before, and watched them, still and quiet. Now. he whispered. This is where I’m gonna be fetchin’ some. Do what you will with those birds, though I think you’ll be findin’ it hard to pluck ‘em outa the sky. he smirked a little, as the birds were well out of reach for anyone without weapons. He turned to Light. Look at those, an’ tell me that wing-born creatures are easier to catch than large game. They’re challengin’ , that they are. Do you wish to give in, Light? he watched steadily, his green eyes open wide. They were beautiful creatures, large of their breed, brought only together as a flock from the winter. Frodo focused on them steadily, breathing in and out. He then knocked an arrow into place and drew the string back, holding his arm until he had a sure aim. And he let the arrow loose. But the bird saw it well before it got within a metre, and swooped out of the way. The birds were clever. Frodo swore and knocked another arrow, doing the same. And the same outcome. And he’d had plenty of practice. His aim was unfaltering, but not quick enough. It was only on his third arrow that he managed to strike the feathered beast through the eye, and it tumbled to the ground. Yet that was only the beginning. He would collect his game later, for now he focused on plucking the creatures out of the clouds, one by one.

Image courtesy of Scott Hudson **; Table by the Mentors!

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