Dawn of the Nephilim

4. Windar part II

As he walked in, Windar was sitting in the corner of the room facing the wall, softly humming. His arms and shoulders were moving as if carving something. "Hello Ronan." Ronan paused in mid-step. A small wave of motion went through Windar's long red hair as he spoke, but he never turned his head around.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Guessed I suppose." As Windar slowly turned around, he put his wrist on the floor for support. A long sleeve crawled up his arm a bit to expose a tattoo of a dragon with blue eyes. The tattoos on his body were part of the souvenirs of his travels, along with a sadness and longing that would creep on him sometimes, when he thought no-one was looking. At this moment, Windar cracked a warm smile at Ronan.

Windar's turning made his hair fall to the side, offering Ronan a good view of his profile. Sharp features was an understatement with the man. Not an ounce of fat seemed to separate muscle and skin from bone, lending his face a weary undertone. His lean, corded body and the youthful twinkle of amusement that was currently in his eyes belied this appearance however.

"I've always been a lucky guesser" Windar said as his smile grew broader still. "Can I offer you a drink boy? Water maybe? Or perhaps something stronger? A strong drink is like a lubricant for sore muscles."

Ronan let his tongue slide over a pair of parched lips. Like scraping leather over rough, cracked wood. "Some water would be nice." "I thought so. Well, in the meantime, what do you think?" Windar said as he extended his arm towards him. Ronan found himself staring at what had to have been the object of Windar's attention before he walked in. He took the object from Windar's hand and positioned it into the light beams that filtered into the room like a sun harp. Windar got to his feet to get cups and a jar. The object seemed to be a small, detailed carving, made of some sort of white, shiny material. It resembled a smooth-skinned animal with a streamlined body, covered with rippling muscles.

As Ronan let his finger slide over the smooth curves, he considered the immense explosive power that must be present in such muscles. The creature had a long, thick tail, a bit like a cat's but less furry. On its head were two pointed ears, arched backwards like a dog's when threatened. The size suggested significant hearing abilities. Its two eyes were on the front, indicating that it must be a hunter. Usually in the animal kingdom, prey has its eyes on the side to enable them to see as much as possible, whilst hunters have eyes on the front to focus down prey. At least that was what he had read. In front of its eyes a large gaping mouth protruded, with rows of sharp teeth. Perhaps most astounding were the two large tusks emanating from the upper jaw, where you would normally expect the canines to be situated. A strange detail was that this particular specimen seemed to have a scar running across its muzzle.

"It's beautiful Windar, but what is it?" Windar returned with a jar of water and two cups, calmly taking on a lotus position. The gurgling sound of pouring water was like music to Ronan's ears. After Windar had given him the cup, and had taken a sip of his own, his eyes thoughtfully glazed over, and Ronan for a moment became acutely aware of the immensity of time and distance that opened up between them. "What is it indeed?" Windar took the carving from Ronan, and turned it around in his lap a few times. He eyed it with the eye of a sculptor, who not so much looks at what he has wrought, but looks if what was present in the material is completely visible already.

His voice took on a deep, narrator timbre when he continued speaking. "This animal is by some called a Skatné, by some Saber, and by some simply 'father death.' In the vast rolling grasslands of the east, they are respected and hated more than any other creature that lives beyond the bounds of language. Meet one at night, and you'll never live to tell the story. They are in turn hunted for their tusks, which give respect and social standing amongst the people that live there. These people are wrongly considered by some to be a rather primitive lot. The amount of times a Skatné is killed is roughly equal to the amount of times a hunter is, which explains why the custom would be considered indecent." Fair enough, thought Ronan. Windar tapped his fingers on the carving a few times as he let this sink in. "The name Skatné can roughly be translated as "night", with an undertone of terror added in. On a hunt, a single man or woman goes out with nothing but two spears and a skadra, which is a large hunting knife made out of the creature's very own tusks.