Scent and Innocence
The woods were damp from the prior day's rain, making the ground soft beneath their paws and the scents fresh and sharp. Thom had let the pack hunt for their breakfast early but had now gathered them in. It was time for them to work together on his behalf and somehow the thrill of the singular kill was outweighed by the thrum of the pending group chase. Conn and Coll shifted restlessly, milling among the other hounds, ready for release. Thom took a piece of cloth soaked in stag scent and gave each of them in turn a snout full of it. Conn thought it odd that the hunter would choke them on this false scent when they needed to find a real trail but soon lost this thought in the hum of excitement that emanated from the pack. The hunter stood and gazed at each of the hounds intently and then dropped his hand in silent signal. It was up to them now to find and sight his prey. The hunter would follow their lead. Conn and Coll took off as a pair while the others went off in varying directions, none more than thirty paces or so apart, all silent as they moved, scenting carefully.
They hunted in silence, keeping track of each other by instinct alone. As the day progressed, the sun rose and the damp gave way to humidity, making the air thick. The hounds slowed, and as nature moved them they made their way to water and drank. Here the hunter found tracks, not those of a stag, but a doe and her fawns. With gestures he redirected his pack to follow this new trail. "This is better," thought Conn, "This is real, not some foul rag unattached to the earth." The pack separated as before, engrossed in the hunt, crossing each other's paths, but maintaining enough distance to keep the potential net tight. A soft growl alerted Conn that Coll had picked up the trail. He joined him and began to follow the scent - it was weak, but true. They walked alone in silence, completely absorbed in the rush of scent and the pulse that pounded through their veins as it grew stronger. It diverged near a large oak and they parted, each following a part of the trail. Finally, through a tall stand of oak and pine, Coll stopped. He could sense how near he was. The scent pulled him toward the trees, and he crouched low and crawled nearer. Peering through the lower branches and bramble, he could just make out the doe. His chops wet, he turned silently and returned to fetch the hunter and the pack. Conn in his turn had also found his prey, two fawns tumbling in a small open patch of the woods. The doe was a few hundred paces away grazing. He crouched down to watch, knowing that Coll had already gone for the others.
As he waited he could feel a heightened sense of reality grow. He sensed the presence of each pack hound as they slowly took their places along the perimeter of the dying place, for this was where the doe and her fawns would indeed be killed. They would trap them in their peaceful glen and the hunter would take them down or one of the pack would. It did not matter, all there would be taken. He felt his saliva begin to thicken. His pulses racing and muscles quivering, he was unsure how much longer he could wait when he finally felt Thom's presence.
Then Coll stepped into the little glen. The doe's head shot up, and she turned toward her fawns with a start, only to see Conn step out snarling, blocking their path. She turned to run the other way and was instantly blocked by another hound. The fawns remained locked eye-to-eye with Conn, too frightened to move. The doe dashed around the glen desparately seeking an exit only to be blocked time after time by another hound, until finally the crack of Thom's gun signaled the end of her flight. The sound of the gun snapped the fawns into action. They leapt foward attempting to flee. Conn caught one easily by the throat and ended its life in a single tear. The other made it to the edge of the glen before his large paws landed on its hindquarters, bearing it down. It thrashed in panic, then Thom was there to end its spastic grasp at life with a single pull of his gun.
He leaned down and gave Conn a rub between the ears, heedless of his bloodied muzzle. "Tis a good thing I brought ye with, ye and yer brother have made a fine addition to our group," he fairly sang. The hounds milled about excited from the chase and heady with the scent of blood, as Thom cleaned and gutted the carcasses. He stripped the meat, salting and wrapping it for transport. With such an early kill they would not be able to stay out too long. He thought Maire would be pleased, a full larder and the house full again as well. He fed the hounds the innards and prepared to move off. He did not like the idea of camping in the kill site, it was disrespectful of the lives given to support his own. Conn relished the liver and kidneysThom had given him; the heart had gone to Coll for the doe, as was his due. The organs were so fresh it seemed they still pumped with life. The forest smelled so good, metallic with the scent of blood and wet with the rain. He licked his chops and settled down next to one of the hounds to sleep until called.
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