Solitary Hunt [open]
San's shoulder was not healed. But pain was relative, and if she'd been at home, in her forest, then this would be nothing next to the pit in her stomach. It was more important to stay sharp, to hunt this simulation of the Wilds instead of laying on her back and feeling her stomach burn with shame or guilt.
...or follow Ashitaka around.
She should know better than that, really. Ashitaka was the kind of human who made friends with everyone- it was enough to make her doubt he even was human. He didn't need her babysitting any more than she enjoyed trailing him like a lost pup. Laying in the plant temple was at least as rankling.
So, here she was, in a simulated forest, tracking a solitary deer through countless miles of wandering forest. The tree's rots snarled and knotted the ground like angry fingers twisted 'round a fistful of sand, they made tracking both easier and more difficult and walking treacherous. It was a good night, cool without being cold and breezy enough to mask the sounds of soft-padded feet on soil and root. The rotted leaves were soft, slipping under her stance like slimy tongues. She felt comfortable this way, the slow, patient, meditative crawl, tracking deer by spoor and foot-trail, eventually by sound and smell until you stood poised over them on a branch or a hill. The final run, hot blood against her hands and then a feast of copper-smell and salty-sweet meat. The simulation of her lost spear was light in her hand.
It was early yet, and San had yet to gain anything like that stalking closeness with her prey, but the deer was out there, and she would find it, very soon.
...or follow Ashitaka around.
She should know better than that, really. Ashitaka was the kind of human who made friends with everyone- it was enough to make her doubt he even was human. He didn't need her babysitting any more than she enjoyed trailing him like a lost pup. Laying in the plant temple was at least as rankling.
So, here she was, in a simulated forest, tracking a solitary deer through countless miles of wandering forest. The tree's rots snarled and knotted the ground like angry fingers twisted 'round a fistful of sand, they made tracking both easier and more difficult and walking treacherous. It was a good night, cool without being cold and breezy enough to mask the sounds of soft-padded feet on soil and root. The rotted leaves were soft, slipping under her stance like slimy tongues. She felt comfortable this way, the slow, patient, meditative crawl, tracking deer by spoor and foot-trail, eventually by sound and smell until you stood poised over them on a branch or a hill. The final run, hot blood against her hands and then a feast of copper-smell and salty-sweet meat. The simulation of her lost spear was light in her hand.
It was early yet, and San had yet to gain anything like that stalking closeness with her prey, but the deer was out there, and she would find it, very soon.