On Coming or Going
The pack stood in silence. The human hovered for a moment over the large carcass as if deciding if he had done the right thing. Then he moved off casually, gun gripped low in his hand and tipped toward the ground. If the hounds had been looking they might have noticed that the human was unusually moved by this loss. He leaned heavily against the tree that had sheltered him during the mating rituals, propping the gun and holding his hat in his hands. He had not expected to lose an old friend today. He supposed that the hound had come to mean that to him having been with him so long. "Damn if that young one isn't good though," he thought. "Something odd about that pair, but interesting too."
He glanced up watching as the other hounds surrounded the body. He noticed that the blonde hound had approached and not a member of the pack had denied him. That was also odd.
Ian was drawn to the body. He needed to understand why the man had killed the hound. He half expected the pack to challenge him, but it appeared that there was no fight left after all that had just happened. Sean and the she-hound seemed wrapped in their after-glow or stunned by the ending. Either way, neither of them were doing more than heaving next to each other and looking at the scene as it unfolded. He couldn't really blame them. Especially Sean, that had to be quite a way to become a man, or hound, or whatever that rite of passage was for him in this sense.
He was close enough now to see the older hound's body. He circled it slowly. He could see where the bullet had gone through the head. It was a clean kill, so the hound had not suffered from that. When he walked full to the other side he finally discovered why the human had killed him. The hound's rear leg was cocked off at a very odd angle and the bone splintered and poking through just above what he would think of as a knee if it pointed the right direction. The man had pulled that trigger because the hound could not be saved. When Sean had thrown him into the tree, that leg had literally shattered. It was a humane gesture as things went, he supposed. He wondered what the proper respect would be for a hound like this. In the old tales the hounds that were favored by the Chieftains were buried in the mounds or later burned at pyre in recognition of their status and their service. He supposed this human was no Chieftain, but it seemed like this hound was a leader in his own right.
Ian turned and began to dig. After a while the younger hound that had challenged the now deceased one joined him. It appeared that what he was doing was making sense to at least one member of the pack. The two hounds dug together until they tired. When they stepped back two others stepped in and continued the digging. And so it continued.
The human watched as the blonde began what could only be some arcane rite of passage from the old days of Chieftains and the Fiannas. He was amazed when his pack joined in. He was even more stunned when the young grey that had bested his hound came over with the she-hound and the two of them also helped in the digging. Finally the hounds all stood back from what was now obviously a grave. They stood in a line and waited. The human took his cue and walked slowly over. He carefully lifted the large hound and walked him into the grave, easing him down. When he walked out, he picked up a handful of dirt and spread it out over the hound. As he did so, the entire pack and the two new hounds began to bay. The sound rose up through the wood, rich and thick and mournful. He moved back a few paces and the pack fell to putting the dirt back in its place.
When the old hound was laid fully to rest, the pack circled and lay down in a ring around the new dirt. Apparently they would be there for the night. "That was the way of the old custom?" he wondered. "It's obviously the way mine will be resting this night. May they protect your travels well, old friend." He moved off to find his gear and settle for the night himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment