This choice: "I fear I am losing the respect of the men of the village," Oswyn sighs • Go Back...Chapter #5Oswyn mourns his lack of hunting prowess by: Yote   "The men will respect by even less after this debacle," Oswyn sighs. "I fear I am not made to be a great hunter like my father. Even you, a common tanner, have better reflexes than I."
"Helps to be quick off the mark in this job, sir."
"All this training and yet I do not seem to improve. I actually thought I was doing well today, catching that sow. The poor creature could barely move, so burdened was it with child." He doffs his peacock-feathered cap, absently turning it in his hands in frustration. "If I cannot hunt then I have no right to be the man in charge of defending this town when my father dies."
Despite his soft, city ways, you have a soft spot for the mayor's boy, as he has treated you with respect whenever you've had dealings with him. He clearly cared for his soon-to-be-subjects. With unusual tact, not wishing to offend his delicate nerves, you say, "If I might give you an honest word, sir, and I mean no disrespect to anybody, the reason you don't improve is cause the men set to train you won't tell you what you're doing wrong." You gesture to the violet-coloured cap in his hands and burgundy jacket. "Wearing things like that - as nice as they are, sir - the animals can see you a mile off. They're too bright. The hunters aughta told you to wear browns and greens."
"One might be excused for thinking so," he says a little primly, bristling. "But it is a truth not widely known that animals are completely colour blind. It makes no difference what colour clothes I wear."
You scratch your stubble. "Maybe so, sir. I don't have the same education as you. But I do work with a few animals, and they say they see colours just fine. T'other thing is the perfume..."
Oswyn splutters. "But it's floral! It masks my scent with the smell of flowers! Surely that can't be a bad thing. Wh-what else would you have me use?!"
"Deer piss works good."
"What?!"
"Get some deer piss, rub it under your armpits, around your crotch."
The mayor's boy turns pale. "You can not be serious. There must be some alternative..." Then his eyes move past you into the smokey darkness of the flayman's lodge. "What about those?" he says. He moves back into the lodge, gingerly lifting the arms of one of the neutered husks. He sniffs the fur. "These could mask my scent, allow me to get close to the game."
You cock an eyebrow. "Most hunters don't use 'em," you say.
"Why not?"
You shrug. "A good husk fetches a pretty penny in the capital, most hunters don't make that sort of gold." Oswyn scoffs at the mention of price, reminding you who you're talking to. "And I guess then there's the risk that one of your buddies might mistake you for a game animal and put an arrow through you."
"Then we'll go out alone," Oswyn beams, the excitement building in his voice. "Just you and me. I'll walk right up to the animals and shoot an arrow through their necks, and when we return with our trophies the town will marvel at my prowess. Go tell your manager - this week you will be hunting with me."
He turns to the flayman and begins to negotiate the purchase of...   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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