A mourning dove flies across our path as the horses pass by. Usually, my father does not accompany me on hunts but today, he seemed eager to come along. We did not specify our targets-deer, mountain lions, bears, elk or Groundlings. Whatever came along would be our prey.
But we thought nothing of the paltry mourning dove and so let it disappear into the woods. There would be better game. Since it was autumn, we could expect that many deer would be running about rabidly in search of a mate and my father and I did see a couple as we ambled along. But our shots had missed-the deer were quick today.
A little after noon, we stopped to water the horses at one of the streams made up of water from a melted glacier of the ice age. Opening a sack of jerky mother had smoked from our last catch, father and I still scanned the horizon for any movement.
When we felt rested, father and I remounted and started to leave. But my horse, Schist, would not move. I squeezed him several times before finally kicking him. Still, the horse kept his hooves planted in the hard earth, grunting in annoyance at my urging. He then whipped around and nodded ahead.
I looked and saw a figure on the horizon-it was one of them. The creature stared at us inquisitively but it did not run-it was too stupid to know any better. Before I could tell father anything, Schist had sprang forward, dashing between the trees and jumping over logs, closing the roughly one thousand-foot gap between us and the Groundling.
Father had seen it too and he took off after us. It was only after about fifteen seconds that the Groundling realized he was in serious jeopardy and he let out a sound that was something between a shriek and a grunt. He then turned on his heels and ran as fast as his stubby legs would allow.
But he had gotten started too late and it was not long before Schist had literally descended upon the creature, pinning one of his forelegs on either side of the Groundling’s body and blowing hot air into his face. This gave father enough time to catch up and together, he and I shot arrows into the Groundling.
I dismounted, tied the body behind my saddle and then climbed aboard Schist. Father and I smiled broadly and I patted Schist’s neck vigorously. “Good boy!” I cried over and over. But this was not atypical. Schist was a well-trained hunting horse. He was likely just as intelligent as our human ancestors had been. The only thing separating him from them was a lack of speech and dexterity. I am given to understand the horses of the past were quite dumb creatures-at least in comparison to Schist. They were shorter as well. In their day, Schist would have likely stood at around fifteen hands tall. But instead, he compliments our own size and soars at over nineteen hands while weighing about seventeen hundred pounds.
We rode back into our village. When the other families saw the dead Groundling, they spontaneously burst into applause. This too was a regular occurrence. Since father and I were two of the most successful hunters in the village, whenever we returned with a catch, we always received boisterous ovation. We stopped in front of the Chieftain’s home and took the body inside to show her.
The ancient humans were given something called money in exchange for products but we have no use for such a thing. Rather, we receive extra food or a piece of fine clothing made from valuable furs. This time, father and I got the former. I never did know exactly what they did with the bodies of the dead Groundlings. I always hypothesized that they were put some place far out in the woods where they could serve as an example to the other Groundlings. But my theory was never confirmed.
Father and I then returned to our home. I took Schist and father’s sorrel stallion, Aura, to the barnyard and then went inside. My mother, as usual, was overjoyed at the food we received. Our gift consisted of a butchered chicken, a few eggs and a large basket of berries,
My mother quickly put the chicken on a spit and placed it over the fire to roast. Topaz watched all of this with a curious eye. “When will I be able to go with you, papa?” he asked father in a rather whiny tone.
“Someday when you’re older, son” father replied as he sat down at the table and ate one of the berries. Topaz was unrelenting.
“But, papa, I’m the best at surviving! I could live in the woods if I wanted to!” he complained.
“Yes, well, you cannot live in the woods. That would be a shameful thing for an Honoree to do. Only those mongrel Groundlings belong in the wilderness” father declared.
None of the Honorees thought of the Groundlings in a friendly way but father in particular despised them. I always assumed it had to with his upbringing, just as in my case although I was not nearly as directly hateful towards them as he was.
I am stating this in reference to an incident that happened a few minutes after my father’s last remark. He sat in a chair that had a direct view of the window and as he was plucking away at the berries, he suddenly froze and stared outside.
From my seat, I turned and saw a Groundling peering in the window while scratching at the glass vigorously. The smell of the roasting chicken had attracted the hungry creature and I could tell that he was staring right at the fireplace.
Father huffed and stood up. He went outside, yelling, “get out of here, you undesirable! Get before I stick an arrow in you!” He kicked at the creature, who whimpered and scurried away into the forest.
Father came back inside and sat down at the table with an angry snort. “Those vermin!” he scoffed under his breath.
“Well, it’s autumn now. Winter is coming and they need food so we’re probably going to see them in the village more often” mother said.
“‘They need food!’” father muttered. “As far as I’m concerned, the whole lot of them can starve and freeze to death!” This was just one of the many vile statements that father regularly made in regards to the Groundlings.