[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjEyOC40NzQ3NDcuVkdobElFRnBjMmh5WldzLC4wAAAAAAAAAAAA/dancing-in-the-dark.regular.png[/img][/center]


[color=#A9A9A9]"Hunters of the night, together we call for your blessing."[/color] The chant occurred, a terrible sound of rising and lowering pitches, melodic and dischordant all at once. The choir of voices, men, women, and even a hound that had been swept up in the fervour, letting out an unrestrained howl, would float up into the night, to where the masters of the hunt would hopefully hear their call. [color=#A9A9A9]"We need your strength. Your ferocity. Your tenacity. Your courage. Strengthen us, and use us as conduits for your might."[/color] On it went, the fire that the group of warriors had gathered around sparking and dancing higher and higher with each line spoken.

The chant would go on, and then at the very end, the fire would grow black. The last lick of flame darted up, and was then snuffed, the entire great fire quenched in an instant by a howl of wind. The smoke rising up, the warriors would take deep breaths, turning to one another. The beat of wood against the ground would then occur. [color=#A9A9A9][b]AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN STONE. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN SINEW. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN STONE, AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN SINEW..."[/b][/color] The new chant grew in speed until it was almost incomprehensible, and then a feral [color=#A9A9A9][b]HOU-AAAAAH![/b][/color] marked its end as well, a deep sense of fervour built up by the hyperventilation... and the intervention of those that they had pleaded to. 

Let the hunt begin.

Now that they were not attempting to make a sound, the Aishrek warriors were whisper-silent. Each footfall was naught but a cat's tread, the only trace of the single-file line being a slight disturbance in the grass. The firelight they were drawn to was emitted from a clustered series of huts, just inside the treeline. Slinking through the fields, the warriors would fan out through the woods and encircle the settlement. Conversation wafted up- and there, a sentry was idly standing in a small mud 'box,' looking exhausted.

The [i]thwip[/i] of an arrow, the deathly trail it left behind silent, spelled the end for the sentry. The head had pierced the man's throat, and the shaft was buried in his windpipes. Grasping up at where this strange stick now sat, only a quiet gurgle or two could make their way past the man's lips, his killers now unimpeded in preparing the ambush.

Those inside the camp would have almost no warning. A dog's bark, and then a blur of teeth and muscle shot its way into the camp, lunging at the first person it found and clamping onto their leg. A piercing scream would awaken all but the deepest sleepers, but it was much too late to stop the attackers. Axes, spears, torches and daggers were the weapons of choice, the camp being overrun by the chants of [color=#A9A9A9][b]"KOURA KOURA KOURA"[/b][/color] bellowed out. Then, one by one, the screams and the shouts stopped. 

By the time that the dawn light had risen, all that remained of the camp were the inflammable buildings that the tribe had left and the bodies. 

[hr]

Filla felt as the adrenaline and the spirits left her body. They had driven her into the battle-lust that she had asked them to provide her, and in return she had given into the slaughter. The end of her axe was stained crimson, although no drips came from it any more. The battle was but a whirl in her mind- splitting a skull here, knocking over a torch stand there. Her throat was sore from the shouts and the screams, but in her heart she knew that she had done her people proud.

The walk to the Aishrek camp was done in confident silence. Those that had remained looked to the warriors, fists pressed against chests as a sign of respect for their achievements. Before the young woman could continue any further, Ulkren, the huntsmaster, had placed a heavy hand onto her shoulder, squeezing it firmly. [color=A9A9A9]"Your father would be proud, and your soul is blooded. We must make you an adult."[/color] The man may have been approaching his thirty-third winter, but he was by no means showing it. Every inch of Ulkren was the warrior he had been ten years ago, right down to the blood running down his spear and staining his hand. 

[color=A9A9A9][b]"COME NOW. ONE OF US HAS FINISHED HER FIRST HUNT. THE SPIRITS HAVE TAKEN HER AWAY TO THEIR DOMAIN, AND RETURNED HER, HAVING SEEN HER WORTHY OF THEIR STRENGTH."[/b][/color] The man's voice boomed around the camp, and one of the woman had already moved towards the spirit's tent, coming out with a bundle. Ulkren looked down at Filla, a stern smile on his face, and placed her down on her knees in front of the fire. [color=A9A9A9]Tell me. When the spirits overcame you... How did you feel?"[/color] 

Filla's blood drained from her face. She had known she would need to answer this, and yet... She wasn't sure how she had felt. Stammering a little, she answered. [color=A9A9A9]"It was... It was if this wave crashed over me, and took me away with it. I don't remember much."[/color] She looked up at the man, who scrutinised her for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well then. I know which spirit overtook you." The woman who had retrieved the bundle now keeled in front of the girl, Ulkren muttering something into her ear. The woman would nod and examine Fillia, before retrieving a lethally sharp shard and mutely indicating towards the jerkin and armour she was wearing.

Reluctantly, the huntress would remove it, shivering slightly as the dawn air chilled bare skin. There was hush from the tribe, and then the first cut would be made. Fillia stiffened, feeling as blood ran down her chest and soaked into the ground, but otherwise remained quiet, looking straight ahead at a point on the horizon. More cuts would follow, until the sun had truly risen above the sky and she was sure that there could be no more blood left around her chest. At long last the woman would stop, wiping at Fillia's chest with a cloth in order to clean much of the blood away. [color=A9A9A9]"Almost done,"[/color] came the first muttered words the woman had spoken, before taking a gourd and splashing the liquid across Fillia's chest.

A strong hand would painfully rub the liquid into the cuts, and then shakily the woman would help Fillia to her feat. When she stood, exhausted, and yet with the pain giving her a rush like nothing else, Ulkren would place a hand to his chest. [color=A9A9A9][b]"NO MORE A CHILD. FILLIA, CAST DOWN THE NAME GIVEN TO CHILDREN. TAKE UP THE NAME OF AN ADULT. THE SPIRIT OF THE BOAR HAS TAKEN YOU, GEREKEN."[/b][/color]

She had never felt more proud.