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Alone. Disgraced. They stalk the Earth as man blindly denies they exist. Forever shunned by the people they once were. Banished to the harsh scrub of the Arctic Tundra
And many of the Inuits in those parts have made them into some kind of sick sport. Hunting them for money. Gone are the days of hunting Narwhales for food and recycling even the bones as tools. Now they hunt for trophies, fuelled by the greed of the Western World, forever seeping deeper and deeper into their culture
This day is like any other. A party of Inuit men prepare the sledges for their long runs. It seems as noble as any other on the surface, the resolute look in their eyes, the wives waiting at home for the food to come in, but these men have guns.
Gone are the ancient ways of the Spear, where the quarry had an equal chance for survival. The philosophy of hunt or be hunted has long since gone. Enough provisions are laid onto the sleighs to last many weeks, even in the harsh Antartic chill
The men wear their thick woven Bison coats, almost resembling the creature they are going to fell. The Huskies are all set, baying and struggling on their harness, whining impatiently for the hunt. The men tie the tarpaulin tightly around the clutch of Rifles. Each man holds 3 long strips of ammunition, where each clip is enough to fell a Reindeer on its own. They all carry handguns and long hunting knives strapped to their legs.
Sleighs are checked, the runners sharpened, and the dogs tightly secured. They clamber onto the sleighs and settle themselves with the reins in their hands. Snap. The reins crack and the dogs are finally released, dashing, howling, baying for blood
Twenty miles away the creature lumbers through the small glade of Pine it has found. An Oasis in conditions as harsh as these. As the creature lumbers through the Pine it's fur collects various souvenirs from the overhanging branches; needles, leaves and twigs all attach themselves to its large frame like Limpets to a rock.
One of the most docile creatures on Earth, despite its size, it gingerly snaps the fresher greenery of the highest bows, shifting around on its two large legs to reach the previously inaccesible nutrition.
Off in the distance comes the pounding of the sleighs, drawing closer. The inquisitive creature turns its head towards the sound and sniffs the air. The smell is tantalizing, an overbearing smell like none it has ever experienced before. It slowly moves out of the Pines, looking out to the churning snow on the horizon.
Even from this distance the men can see them. Their faces bear not that of grim determination but wild excitement, bloodlust. The dogs have caugth the scent and are furiously pounding the ground with their legs, sinewy forms coiling and flexing as they advance on the beast at the edge of the forest.
The creature sees the vehicles bearing down on it but does not even think to be cautious. This creatures look like himself, yet so much smaller. How could such dainty things be capable of harm? The creature steps surely and boldly out of the forest, in full view of the Autumunal Sun, glancing across the branches of the Pines
Man an his best friends are here. The disembark more cautiously now, the creature fixed in their gazes, united in their silence. The men slowly move round to the back of the vehicle and bring out the Rifles, loading them slowly and quietly, the dogs have ceased barking now, perhaps even they are in awe if this creature. Ten feet tall and towering above them. The undoubtedly Neanderthal face of the creature surveys them from behind a mane of shaggy white hair. The creatures long arms lie at its sides, like a primevil Gorilla. And the feet! The feet dwarf even the sleighs themselves.
One of the men is enticing the creature towards him with birdsong, the creature recognises the sound and turns towards them fully. The men with the Rifles have a clear line of shot at the animal. One on its Heart and the rest to the Head. As the creature starts towards them the men take their shots in unison.
Like the felling of a mighty Redwood the creature topples to the side. A leviathon silenced by midgets. It is all over before it has even started. The men still believe in the ferocious nature of the creature. Had they stopped and looked they would have seen its child like innocence
But it is too late, the men are round the creature, trophy hunting. Half of the men lift the giant creatures' feet while the others start chopping at them. Before long the feet are severed at the ankles an loaded onto two of the sleighs. The men return and help divide the body into pieces, tossing the flesh that isn't tender to the dogs
And they are gone into the distance. This Oasis in the tundra is once again silent as the Sun reveberates its soft patterns across the trees. The only reminder something ever happened there the hair on the trees and the blood that has soaked into the crisp morning snow.
And many of the Inuits in those parts have made them into some kind of sick sport. Hunting them for money. Gone are the days of hunting Narwhales for food and recycling even the bones as tools. Now they hunt for trophies, fuelled by the greed of the Western World, forever seeping deeper and deeper into their culture
This day is like any other. A party of Inuit men prepare the sledges for their long runs. It seems as noble as any other on the surface, the resolute look in their eyes, the wives waiting at home for the food to come in, but these men have guns.
Gone are the ancient ways of the Spear, where the quarry had an equal chance for survival. The philosophy of hunt or be hunted has long since gone. Enough provisions are laid onto the sleighs to last many weeks, even in the harsh Antartic chill
The men wear their thick woven Bison coats, almost resembling the creature they are going to fell. The Huskies are all set, baying and struggling on their harness, whining impatiently for the hunt. The men tie the tarpaulin tightly around the clutch of Rifles. Each man holds 3 long strips of ammunition, where each clip is enough to fell a Reindeer on its own. They all carry handguns and long hunting knives strapped to their legs.
Sleighs are checked, the runners sharpened, and the dogs tightly secured. They clamber onto the sleighs and settle themselves with the reins in their hands. Snap. The reins crack and the dogs are finally released, dashing, howling, baying for blood
Twenty miles away the creature lumbers through the small glade of Pine it has found. An Oasis in conditions as harsh as these. As the creature lumbers through the Pine it's fur collects various souvenirs from the overhanging branches; needles, leaves and twigs all attach themselves to its large frame like Limpets to a rock.
One of the most docile creatures on Earth, despite its size, it gingerly snaps the fresher greenery of the highest bows, shifting around on its two large legs to reach the previously inaccesible nutrition.
Off in the distance comes the pounding of the sleighs, drawing closer. The inquisitive creature turns its head towards the sound and sniffs the air. The smell is tantalizing, an overbearing smell like none it has ever experienced before. It slowly moves out of the Pines, looking out to the churning snow on the horizon.
Even from this distance the men can see them. Their faces bear not that of grim determination but wild excitement, bloodlust. The dogs have caugth the scent and are furiously pounding the ground with their legs, sinewy forms coiling and flexing as they advance on the beast at the edge of the forest.
The creature sees the vehicles bearing down on it but does not even think to be cautious. This creatures look like himself, yet so much smaller. How could such dainty things be capable of harm? The creature steps surely and boldly out of the forest, in full view of the Autumunal Sun, glancing across the branches of the Pines
Man an his best friends are here. The disembark more cautiously now, the creature fixed in their gazes, united in their silence. The men slowly move round to the back of the vehicle and bring out the Rifles, loading them slowly and quietly, the dogs have ceased barking now, perhaps even they are in awe if this creature. Ten feet tall and towering above them. The undoubtedly Neanderthal face of the creature surveys them from behind a mane of shaggy white hair. The creatures long arms lie at its sides, like a primevil Gorilla. And the feet! The feet dwarf even the sleighs themselves.
One of the men is enticing the creature towards him with birdsong, the creature recognises the sound and turns towards them fully. The men with the Rifles have a clear line of shot at the animal. One on its Heart and the rest to the Head. As the creature starts towards them the men take their shots in unison.
Like the felling of a mighty Redwood the creature topples to the side. A leviathon silenced by midgets. It is all over before it has even started. The men still believe in the ferocious nature of the creature. Had they stopped and looked they would have seen its child like innocence
But it is too late, the men are round the creature, trophy hunting. Half of the men lift the giant creatures' feet while the others start chopping at them. Before long the feet are severed at the ankles an loaded onto two of the sleighs. The men return and help divide the body into pieces, tossing the flesh that isn't tender to the dogs
And they are gone into the distance. This Oasis in the tundra is once again silent as the Sun reveberates its soft patterns across the trees. The only reminder something ever happened there the hair on the trees and the blood that has soaked into the crisp morning snow.
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Hmm
I think I decided to capitalise them becuase they're the names of body parts
Quite why? I have no idea anymore.
Thanks for the feedback all the same.
I think I decided to capitalise them becuase they're the names of body parts
Quite why? I have no idea anymore.
Thanks for the feedback all the same.
"One on its Heart and the rest to the Head." Those two got me, but as I said it's an excellent piece and it's only a petty thing from me.
They are the names of things, in the same way that someone's Christian and surnames have capitals.
Although I may have gone a little overboard ...
Although I may have gone a little overboard ...
The random capitalisation of some of your words is my only quarrel in an overall, extremely nice piece of writing.
The story wouldn't really have worked if the creature had put up a fight, it was simply an emphasis of man's evil and the creature's innocence; as you no doubt gathered.
Thanks all.
Thanks all.
Great writing - and I think the balance of the descriptive passages is almost spot-on. I wanted the creature to put up a fight - even to win, but it wouldn't be in it's innocent nature - almost a tragedy in that way.
I felt that I didn't squeeze as much description into the story as I usually do, whether that was for better or for worse I'm not sure.
kernel has a firm entry and Glove's is the usual rollercoaster of suspense. It's a close one ... I hope.
kernel has a firm entry and Glove's is the usual rollercoaster of suspense. It's a close one ... I hope.
I liked that ... nice little tale, the creature's innocence described very well indeed.
tnc wrote:
> So ... if it was that good, and you read it, what did you like?
What I like about it is the voice seems genuine and knowledgable - it's believable. Also, the writing style clear and quite atmospheric. Furthermore, it fits Meka's theme very well. It's one of the best, though unknown kernal's will probably pip it.
> So ... if it was that good, and you read it, what did you like?
What I like about it is the voice seems genuine and knowledgable - it's believable. Also, the writing style clear and quite atmospheric. Furthermore, it fits Meka's theme very well. It's one of the best, though unknown kernal's will probably pip it.
I didn't actually see Crossbob's the first time, it was a reply to Glove.
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