Of Tears & Darkness: 1 Light of Elliana

Part 3 - Savages

Early morning sunlight gleamed softly through tree boughs, gently swaying above. Golden light dappled the forest floor around Prince Donovan. He carefully adjusted his steel razor and shaved his chin. Donovan ran his hand softly over his face, making sure he hadn't missed a spot. After wiping the blade on his brown leggings, he carefully sheathed it.

Donovan knelt closer to the small square polished silver mirror which sat on a log. He needed his hair cut-his dark brown hair was touching his shoulders. For the first time in weeks, he had managed to trim his mustache straight and had not nicked himself.

"Yes, brother, your eyes are still the prettiest hazel, and no, your hair is not too long. Wear it behind your head like mine; it saves time from cutting it," Changa commented.

Changa gathered his sandy hair behind his head and secured it with a traditional leather strap and a wooden peg. His broad-shouldered Centaur friend turned to face him with a devious smirk. One small braid hung down alongside each side of his clean-shaven face. His blue eyes were a touch darker than the sky. He donned his brown-sleeved tunic and pulled on his leather vest, which almost matched the color of his chestnut hindquarters. Deftly, he fastened its iron buckles and leather straps and snugged it into place. Lastly, he slid his quiver on his back and fastened its iron buckle.

Donovan walked over to kneel beside a deep pool in the clear spring-fed stream. After rinsing his face, he paused. "Donovan, it would be most improper for a Prince of the Realm to be seen with his hair uncut and unkempt. You are twenty years of age and must mind your appearance." Donovan used his best impersonation of his father's voice he could muster.

"Would it be unseemly for a six-foot-tall prince to imitate a diving bird?" Changa said behind Prince Donovan. A firm hand grasped his belt, while another grabbed his left shoulder as his brother hurled him into the creek.

"Hey, wait-" Was all Donovan managed to get out before he plunged headfirst into the stream. Coldwater took his breath away with an icy rush. Shivering and coughing, Donovan waded to the stream bank amidst laughter voiced by everyone in the party.

Changa stood at the stream-bank, offering him a hand while laughing good-naturedly. "Come, Donovan, the day is young, and we are here to hunt boar."

Half an hour later, found Donovan wearing brown leggings, a dark green sleeved tunic, and a brown leather doublet fastened with iron and leather buckles. On his head sat a dark green felted wool recocket hat adorned with a pheasant's long tail feather. These caps were currently the rage amongst men of all ages, and he found them fetching as well.

After about a half-hour ride, Prince Donovan and the party arrived at a favored hunting haunt. It was a vast expansive forest filled with high ridges, large hills, and hollows filled with thick undergrowth. This area held a great boar, with a deformed right front hoof that had eluded them for two years. Donovan studied mud and leaves on a forest trail where it ran through dense foxtails.

Prince Donovan followed the path to where it crossed a small clear brook. In black muck before him was a fresh deformed hoof print. He pointed out where the boar had traveled through the thick thorny underbrush. With a smooth-flowing motion, Changa si­lently drew an arrow from his quiver and placed it on his short bow's string. Prince Donovan mounted his brown destrier and led their party in pursuit of their quarry.

Abruptly, a cry rang out from a ridge above them, prompting Donovan to whirl about and face whatever was coming their way. He drew his one-and-one-half hand long sword, determined to meet whatever challenge came his way. Highlighted against the bright sky in the distance was a lone rider galloping through the wood towards them. Behind him appeared three mounted Nyen upon horses who were slowly closing the gap.