Thorn and Thistle
Conn woke feeling strangely bleary-eyed and stiff along his right side. He lay there in the shadows taking the sum of his surroundings and gathering the courage to stand. Rolling to his chest he moved in one cohesive movement to a seated position. He was careful to put only a small amount of weight on the injured paw. It hurt, but it did not pain him the way it had the night before. He stood slowly, keeping the weight on the right foreleg as light as possible, then gradually increasing it. He was able to get about two-thirds of his weight onto the leg before the pain was simply too strong and he knew that any more would cause greater injury. He ducked down and moved out of the cover of the thicket, the thorns of the brush pricking at him but causing no harm given the denseness of his fur. Clear of the tangle, he found Coll with his nose in the air. He was either scenting for prey or scenting for those who perhaps thought of them as prey. Either way, it was a good idea. Conn approached him quietly, turning in the opposite direction and began to scent the air as well.
The two hounds turned to face each other. By mutual and unspoken consent they moved out again, taking a route that led them further away from the creek and deeper into the woods. As the day grew longer, their hunger and thirst took on a keener edge. Finally, the need for water overcame the instinct to continue creating distance and they began to nose the ground in search of a source. Conn picked up the scent of a stream. It was not close, but it did have the advantage of running in a path that continued to lead away from where they had started. Leading with his lumbering three-and-a-half legged gait, the blond led the way to the much needed water. The trail took them through thicket and thorn bushes, around several large oaks, and ended at last on the edge of a small stream. The stream was so thin it was really little more than a trickle, but it was running water and it was enough to slake the thirst of both hounds. What was even better was that the little trickle seemed to have recently provided a similar treat for a doe and her fawns and a couple of rabbits as well based on the scents hanging in the air. As Coll stepped in to drink his fill, Conn dipped his nose to the wet earth and began to scent the path for the doe and her fawns. Unfortunately the scent turned to blood not far down the water's edge. It appeared that another predator had found the prey, or at least part of the group. before he and Coll had arrived. He retraced his steps and began with the rabbits' scent. Coll picked up his lead and began to work the scent with him.
They followed it from the side of the stream opposite that which they had approached from. The trail soon led them off to the left and continued on deeper into the woods. It grew fainter as they neared a large stand of pine, but picked up again as the overwhelming odor of pine dissipated and the saliva-inducing trace of rabbit picked up again. They had traveled for perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes when Conn stopped short. Coll came up beside him. They had found their quarry's lair. Following a pattern they had developed before joining the hunter, Coll circled to the rear of the rabbits' den. He used his paws to thrust dirt, leaves and other debris into the opening, moving rapidly with the intent to close in the hole and panic the rabbit, or hopefully rabbits, that were inside. Conn waited on the other end, his massive jaws dripping in anticipation, ready to snap on whatever came out on his side of the burrow. Coll had just about completed the task when a small rabbit burst through his end. His rear paw was thrusting another blast of debris back as the rabbit shot out. It was sheer luck that his claws raked the side of the rabbit, sending it to the ground in a spray of gore. Almost simultaneously, a large female came bolting out of the open end near Conn with a babe held by the nape of its neck between her teeth. She made it no more than six inches from the burrow before Conn had clamped down on her back, his saliva matting the fur clear down to her belly. He carried the still quivering body around to Coll, not noticing as the baby was dropped from the now lax jaws of its mother.
Conn was overly pleased with the short hunt. If Coll was a bit less impressed, it was only because he had not spent the last day in agony. The grey, however, was relieved that Conn had participated in the hunt, it would make traveling much easier if they could work together for their needs. Coll wondered how long it would take for Conn to be better. He felt a sense of urgency. Cait might whelp any day now and he wanted to be there, but they couldn't go back to the pack until it was clear that Conn was fine. He still wasn't sure why it was so important, but somehow Thom's killing stick and Conn's leg were tied together in ways that boded the blond no good. At least no good while the blond was injured. The grey stood and stretched. It was time to move. He could only hope that his need to be with Cait would lead him to her now that they were on their own and did not have the pack to follow.
Conn rose and moved off with Coll. It was good to be able to move at a reasonable pace again. He might not be able to race through the woods at full bore, but at least he did not feel as broken as he had yesterday. With any luck another day of moderately nursing his leg and he would be able to really keep up with the grey. He wondered what they would do then. Would they try to find the hunter and the pack or would they continue on their own? He liked being off on their own, but there was definitely something he would miss in leaving the hunter behind. He could feel the scratch of Maire's rough nails between his ears. He would not really mind going back.
Thom and the hounds were up at first light. He moved quickly, packing up what little he had taken out for the night. He gave the hounds a portion of the deer meat in an attempt to save time. He did not really have it to spare, as empty as the larder was at home, but he wanted to move quickly and that meant no time for hunting up breakfast. The pack, fed and watered at the creek, were ready to go by the time Thom had eaten and completed his packing. They set off down the stream, in reverse of where they had been going, Thom looking for any signs of passage, the hounds scenting for Coll and Conn.
It was a good measure later when Thom stopped them all. He couldna' be sure but the scrub on the other side appeared to be pushed about a bit. It looked like something had clamored out of the creek and made its way through the brushy barrier. Thom thought they had passed through this break. He waded through the creek, coming ashore near the crushed brush. One of the older hounds took to baying. Thom was right, they had come through here, yet he still could not figure out why.
He thrust himself through the brush. Thorns clung to his clothing and thistle burrs attached themselves to his socks, making every step uncomfortable as his boots and pants pressed back into his legs and ankles. Thom found a rock and picked the burrs off, scarcely drawing any blood from his fingertips as he removed the thorns as well. Gazing from his small perch he made out the evidence of the limping tracks he had seen yesterday on the other side of the creek. He smiled at the small triumph. He had guessed correctly. The hounds were indeed running. The question that remained was, "Bloody hell, why?" Shaking off his consternation he shoved off the rock and began to follow the tracks. The hounds ran off ahead of him, baying occasionally. Eventually they came to a deepset thicket. Here he found the remains of a rabbit, a bit of blond hound fur and the evidence of a slight trace of dried blood.
They had not stayed here, that much was clear. He continued on, carefully following each loop and tuck in the intricate dance they were provided by the two hounds' circuitous route. Eventually he came upon the place they must have rested for the night. Thom examined the area carefully. It did not appear to have much to recommend it. It certainly did not have many secrets to reveal to him. He still had no idea why the hounds were running or where they were running to.
He continued following them until he reached the trickle of water. There the pack broke into wild dance. They immediately broke when Thom approached. He followed them at a good distance, his heart racing, he was going to bring Conn home. For the first time in over twenty-four hours he felt the dread lift from his heart. He found himself smiling as he followed the pack discreetly. They had separated out into the usual pattern for a kill, surrounding the quarry. He caught the direction of the wind and moved to stay downwind of the two hounds, then stepped up to get a better look. He was instantly deflated. There were two fawns hiding within a dense area of brush, sizeable enough to be worth taking down, but they were not the prize he sought. One of the pack hounds howled into the thicket, forcing the fawns to move out from their place of cover. As they bolted forward, two other hounds converged right and left forcing the deer to run along Thom's sight-line. He picked up the gun out of habit and eyed the one in the lead, bringing it down easily. With the ease of long practice he had the gun reloaded and cocked in time to catch the other fawn as the pack skillfully turned it back the other direction. It was leaping past him again, and he took it down with a single shot. It was going to cost him time to clean, skin and dress the two animals, but he needed the meat. He would just have to work fast and pray that the injury was enough to slow Conn down. After all, it wouldn't really help if he came home with the hound only to end up without enough in the larder and the lot of them starving to death over winter. With this last thought in mind he began quickly dressing the fawns.
Coll and Conn caught the faint edge of the distant sound of the gun firing. It was enough to encourage them to increase their pace to a trot. Conn noticed the bit of wince that crept up his foreleg as he forced it to take more weight and adjusted his lope to relieve the leg. He needed to run, but not at the expense of hurting himself more. It would not help him at all if he did not heal quickly. They kept the steady loping pace throughout the day, skipping an afternoon hunt and moving well into dusk. They stopped only when they found pools or springs to drink from and even then only long enough to slake their thirst. As night fell, they gave into hunger and worked together to bring down a few squirrels . It was not really enough, but they were too tired for more. In the morning they would spend the time to really hunt. Conn licked his injured paw absently as he settled down to sleep, noting the ridge where the paw had been sliced open. Then he closed his eyes and followed the scent of the stag through his dreams. Coll lay open-eyed, reluctant to let sleep come. He could smell the faint scent of stag in the air and wondered just how close it might be. He was too tired to find out at this point. The grey turned so that he was facing outward, his body a shield in front of Conn, and finally let himself drift off.
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