[Complete] Eroh has reached his seventeenth spring and has finally become a man. With manhood comes a gift: marriage to the woman he loves. But when a strange new woman from another world enters his life, he is stuck with the decision to honor his...
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'There's my boy, the young Horn, ready to become a man!'
Father's voice boomed like thunder across the thatched roofs of Huntloch Village; a voice proud and honourable. Loved by all, so much so, his roar caused the villagers to race to their doors and windows, peek outside, and draw their ears up to listen.
I shrank in his shadow. A Chief who had so much love and gallantry, how could I live up to such a man? 'It wasn't supposed to be me,' I whispered, "you were never born to wear the bonnet.' I wanted to curse Eilor for having me bear his burden, and the weight of a firstborn, but I held my tongue. The Horn God's were listening, and I needed them on my side for the hunt.
'Come, Eroh, come!' My father waved his enormous hand. 'See what I have for you.'
He stood in front of the great torch pit that sat in the middle of the village. The wood was stacked nearly as high as the eastern and western towers. It would be here that they cooked my manhood feast on the morrow, and here where the ceremony would take place. It was a beautiful clearing, filled with freshly carved and oiled cedar tables and benches. And of old ceremony memories of songs, feasts, fights, and dancing. Now it was my turn.
I looked up at my father, trying to keep the pink from my cheeks, which was a hard task under the watchful eyes of the crowd that had gathered.
Father was a great man of tall, strong bones and thick muscles. His face was half-hidden behind a thick braided beard, concealing all but his large brown eyes. Around his torso he wore a large, golden-brown pelt, laced at the chest, with white fox furs around the collar and sleeves. Over it was thick boiled leather, laced and etched with symbols of antlers and axes. The same leathers that matched his greaves and gauntlets. They were father's hunting leathers: each piece still firm and flexible, giving him the ability to move freely, and lunge, and hack with minor restraint.
My leather's had hardly left the tannery; seeing few hunts and not a single battle. I hated wearing them. Each piece sat too hunky and rigidity for my slender frame. The tanner promised they'd become flexible in use, and snug once I'd ripen up — whatever that meant. I adjusted the leather skirt as I took a step closer to my father.
'A gift to you, My Boy!' He pulled his arm from around his back, clutching a long, rounded tipped club. I stretched my eyelids, looking upon the cedar that was smooth, glimmering of oil, and smelling of fresh-split wood. 'Do you like it? I carved it myself.' He beat the head into his calloused palm. 'It is a fine weapon. One that'll build muscle, deflect blows, and end the lives of lesser prey.'
Father took two gallant swings, causing the hairs on the villager's heads to stand. He guffawed, marveling at his work, then held it out to be taken. "Go on, my boy, it's yours."
My palms were clammy. I wiped them on my leather, then took the handle into hand. When I wrapped my fingers around it, father released his hold; the burden was too great. Before I'd balanced the weight, the rounded-head thudded into the dirt, leaving a deep indentation.
